XXVIII.

  Th’ historic Muse illumes the maze
    For ages veil’d in gloomy night,
  Where empire with meridian blaze
    Once trod ambition’s giddy height: 
  Tho’ headlong from the dang’rous steep
  Its pageants roll’d with wasteful sweep,
Her tablet still records the deeds of fame
And wakes the patriot’s, and the hero’s flame.

XXIX.

  While meek philosophy explores
    Creation’s vast stupendous round;
  Sublime her piercing vision soars,
    And bursts the system’s distant bound. 
  Lo! mid’ the dark deep void of space
  A rushing world[A] her eye can trace!—­
It moves majestic in its ample sphere,
Sheds its long light, and rolls its ling’ring year.

[A] Alluding to Mr. Herschel’s wonderful discoveries, and particularly
    to his discovery of a new planet called the Georgium Sidus.

XXX.

  Ah! still diffuse thy genial ray,
    Fair Science, on my Albion’s plain! 
  And still thy grateful homage pay
    Where Montagu has rear’d her fane;
  Where eloquence and wit entwine
  Their attic wreath around her shrine;
And still, while Learning shall unfold her store,
With their bright signet stamp the classic ore.

XXXI.

  Enlight’ning Peace! for thine the hours
    That wisdom decks in moral grace,
  And thine invention’s fairy powers,
    The charm improv’d of nature’s face;
  Propitious come! in silence laid
  Beneath thy olive’s grateful shade,
Pour the mild bliss that sooths the tuneful mind,
And in thy zone the hostile spirit bind.

XXXII.

  While Albion on her parent deep
    Shall rest, may glory light her shore,
  May honour there his vigils keep
    Till time shall wing its course no more;
Till angels wrap the spheres in fire,
  Till earth and yon fair orbs expire,
While chaos mounted on the wasting flame,
Shall spread eternal shade o’er nature’s frame.

EDWIN AND ELTRUDA,

A legendary tale.

  Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;
  The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
  And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones
  Do use to chant it.  It is silly, sooth,
  And dallies with the innocence of love,
  Like the old age.
Shakspeare’s twelfth night.

EDWIN AND ELTRUDA

A legendary tale.

Where the pure Derwent’s waters glide
  Along their mossy bed,
Close by the river’s verdant side,
  A castle rear’d its head.

The ancient pile by time is raz’d,
  Where Gothic trophies frown’d;
Where once the gilded armour blaz’d,
  And banners wav’d around.