Each lonely scene shall thee restore, For thee the tear be duly shed; SONG LIII. BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.* THOU Soft flowing Avon, by thy silver stream, Of things more than mortal, sweet Shakspeare would dream; The fairies by moon-light dance round his green bed, For hallow'd the turf is which pillow'd his head. The love-stricken maiden, the soft-sighing swain, Here youth shall be fam'd for their love, and their truth, For the raptures of fancy here poets shall tread, Flow on, silver Avon, in song ever flow, Be the swans on thy borders still whiter than snow! * In his ode upon dedicating a building, and erecting a statue, to Shakspeare, at Stratford-upon-Avon. SONG LIV. PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE. BY MRS. GREVILLE. OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain, Sweet airy being, wanton sprite, If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd As ancient stories tell; And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd, Thou sought'st a wond'rous spell. * O! deign once more t'exert thy power! Sovereign as juice from western flower, † I ask no kind return in love, * See Shakspeare's Midsummer-night's Dream." + Ibid. Nor ease, nor peace, that heart can know, That like the needle true, Turns at the touch of joy or woe, Far as distress the soul can wound, 'Tis pain in each degree; 'Tis bliss but to a certain boundBeyond-is agony ! Then take this treacherous sense of mine, O! haste to shed the sovereign balm, At her approach, see Hope, see Fear, And Disappointment in the rear, The tears, which Pity taught to flow, The heart, that throb'd at other's woe, The wounds, which now each moment bleed, Each moment then shall close; And tranquil days shall still succeed To nights of sweet repose. O fairy-elf! but grant me this, So may the glow-worm's glimmering light, To some new region of delight, And be thy acorn-goblet fill'd With heaven's ambrosial dew, From sweetest, freshest flowers distill'd, And what of life remains for me, SONG LV. THE FAIRIES. COME follow, follow me, Light tripping o'er the green; Come follow Mab your queen : Hand in hand we'll dance around, For this place is fairy ground. When mortals are at rest, Unheard and unespied, Through key-holes we do glide; Over tables, stools, and shelves, We trip it with our fairy-elves. And if the house be foul, Then we pinch their arms and thighs; But if the house be swept, Every night before we go, Then o'er a mushroom's head Pearly drops of dew we drink, The brains of nightingales, Is meat that's eas'ly chew'd; Tails of worms and marrow of mice, Do make a dish that's wond'rous nice. |