10 Hark, through many a melting note
She now prolongs her lays:
How sweetly down the void they float!
The breeze their magic path attends,
The stars shine out, the forest bends,
The wakeful heifers gaze.
11 Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring
To this sequester'd spot,
If then the plaintive Syren sing,
Oh! softly tread beneath her bower,
And think of heaven's disposing power,
Of man's uncertain lot.
12 Oh! think, o'er all this mortal stage,
What mournful scenes arise:
What ruin waits on kingly rage,
How often virtue dwells with woe,
How many griefs from knowledge flow,
How swiftly pleasure flies.
13 O sacred bird, let me at eve,
Thus wandering all alone,
Thy tender counsel oft receive,
Bear witness to thy pensive airs,
And pity Nature's common cares,
Till I forget my own.
ODE XVI.
TO CALEB HARDINGE, M. D.
1 With sordid floods the wintry Urn [1]
Hath stain'd fair Richmond's level green;
Her naked hill the Dryads mourn,
No longer a poetic scene.
No longer there the raptured eye
The beauteous forms of earth or sky
Surveys as in their Author's mind;
And London shelters from the year
Those whom thy social hours to share
The Attic Muse design'd.
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