While secret-leaguing nations frown around,
Ready to pour the long-expected storm;
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O Peace! the fairest child of heaven,
To whom the sylvan reign was given,
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First Spirit.
Hear, Alfred, father of the state,
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By Rufus' hall, where Thames polluted flows,
Provoked, the Genius of the river rose,
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Thus safely low, my friend, thou canst not fall:
Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all;
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Accept, loved Nymph, this tribute due
To tender friendship, love, and you:
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The dreadful hour with leaden pace approached,
Lashed fiercely on by unrelenting fate,
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Sweet tyrant Love,— but hear me now!
And cure while young this pleasing smart;
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Ah, urged too late! from beauty's bondage free,
Why did I trust my liberty with thee?
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For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to love,
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O thou, whose tender serious eyes
Expressive speak the mind I love;
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O nightingale, best poet of the grove,
That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee,
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Sweet valley, say, where, pensive lying,
For me, our children, England, sighing,
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Among the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colours dressed!
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Oh, could I draw, my friend, thy genuine mind,
Just as the living forms by thee designed;
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Tell me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled;
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One day the God of fond desire,
On mischief bent, to Damon said,
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The wanton's charms, however bright,
Are like the false illusive light
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He's not the happy man, to whom is given
A plenteous fortune by indulgent Heaven;
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Sweet, sleeky Doctor! dear pacific soul!
Lay at the beef, and suck the vital bowl!
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Thine is the gentle day of love,
When youths and virgins try their fate;
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Ethereal race, inhabitants of air,
Who hymn your god amid the secret grove;
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Hard is the fate of him who loves,
Yet dares not tell his trembling pain,
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Go, little book, and find our Friend,
Who Nature and the Muses loves,
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While with the public, you, my Lord, lament
A friend and father lost; permit the muse,
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When blooming spring
Arrays the laughing fields in green,
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My trembling muse your honour does address,
That it's a bold attempt most humbly I confess;
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Ye fabled Muses, I your aid disclaim,
Your airy raptures, and your fancied flame;
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When last we parted, thou wert young and fair,
How beautiful let fond remembrance say!
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From those eternal regions bright,
Where suns, that never set in night,
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