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The landskip such, inspiring perfect ease,

And flowery beds, that slumbrous influence Where INDOLENCE (for so the wizard hight11) kest,4

Close-hid his castle mid embowering trees,

From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant That half shut out the beams of Phoebus bright,

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If ought of oaten stop,2 or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,
Like thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs and dying gales,

1 rustics, peasants *This song, which flows almost like an improvisation, Collins constructed from the scene in Cymbeline IV. ii, 215-229, in which Guiderius and Arviragus speak over the body of their sister Imogen, who is disguised as Fidele and O nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired whom they suppose to be dead:

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sun

2

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The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweetened not thy breath: the ruddock ¦ ‡
would.

With charitable bill,

this:

.. bring thee all

Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers

are none,

To winter-ground thy corse.

“Although less popular than The Deserted Village and Gray's Elegy, the Ode to Evening is yet like them in embodying in exquisite form sights, sounds, and feelings of such permanent beauty that age cannot wither them nor custom stale."-W. C. Bronson. See also Eng. Lit., 219-220.

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No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

7

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,

The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.*

16

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has Th' applause of listening senates to command, broke;

How joeund did they drive their team afield!

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

8

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.

9

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour.1

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

10

The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes.

17

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes con-
fined;

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,

18

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

19

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted
vault

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

11

Can storied urn or animated bust

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?

12

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed,

Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

13

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

14

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

15

Their sober wishes never learned to stray;
Along the cool sequestered vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

20

Yet even these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture
decked,

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

21

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered
Muse,8

The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

22

For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?

23

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless 61. e.. write fattering

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