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And, wrapt in clouds, in tempefts toft,

Weave the airy web of fate;

While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main, 8

Sees o'er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral train.

1

II. I.

Thou spak'ft, and lo! a new creation glow'd.

Each unhewn mass of living ftone

Was clad in horrors not its own,

And at its base the trembling nations bow'd.

Giant Error, darkly grand,

Grafp'd the globe with iron hand.

Circled with feats of blifs, the Lord of Light

Saw proftrate worlds adore his golden height.

The ftatue, waking with immortal powers, 9

Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the spheres ;

The indignant pyramid fublimely towers,

And braves the efforts of a host of years.

Sweet Mufic breathes her foul into the wind;

And bright-ey'd Painting ftamps the image of the mind.

II. 2.

Round their rude ark old Egypt's forcerers rife!

A timbrell'd anthem fwells the gale,

And bids the God of Thunders hail; 10

With lowings loud the captive God replies.

Clouds of incenfe court thy fmile,

Scaly monarch of the Nile! 11

But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee? 12

Go, count the bufy drops that fwell the fea.

Proud land! what eye can trace thy mystic lore, Lock'd up in characters as dark as night? 13

What eye thofe long, long labyrinths dare explore, 14

To which the parted foul oft wings her flight;

Again to vifit her cold cell of clay,

Charm'd with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay?

II. 3.

On yon hoar fummit, mildly bright 15

With purple ether's liquid light,

High o'er the world, the white-rob'd Magi gaze
On dazzling bursts of heav'nly fire;

Start at each blue, portentous blaze,
Each flame that flits with adverse spire.
But fay, what founds my ear invade 16

From Delphi's venerable shade?

The temple rocks, the laurel waves!

"The God! the God!" the Sybil cries.

Her figure fwells! fhe foams, fhe raves!

Her figure fwells to more than mortal fize!

Streams of rapture roll along,

Silver notes afcend the skies:

Wake, Echo, wake and catch the fong,

Oh catch it, ere it dies.

The Sybil fpeaks, the dream is o'er,

The holy harpings charm no more.

In vain she checks the God's controul;

His madding fpirit fills her frame,

And moulds the features of her soul,

Breathing a prophetic flame.

The cavern frowns! its hundred mouths unclofe!

And, in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows.

III. I.

Mona, thy Druid-rites awake the dead!

Rites thy brown oaks would never dare

Ev'n whisper to the idle air;

Rites that have chain'd old Ocean on his bed.

Shiver'd by thy piercing glance,

Pointless falls the hero's lance.

Thy magic bids the imperial eagle fly, 17

And mars the laureate wreath of victory.

Hark, the bard's foul infpires the vocal string!
At every paufe dread Silence hovers o'er :
While murky Night fails round on raven-wing,.
Deepening the tempeft's howl, the torrent's roar ;

Chas'd by the morn from Snowdon's awful brow,

Where late fhe fat and fcowl'd on the black wave below.

H

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