POETRT. 



AN ODE TO FANCY. 



For the Bee. 



^ WAFT me, Fancy, when you fly 

 To tinge with gold some azute fky ; 

 Or when you roam through Albion's isle, 



lead mc where the muses smile ; 

 Lead me to Shakespeare's sacred tomb. 

 Where violets breathe, and roses bloom j 

 Let us the seasons charms survey, 

 Where nature paints the devious way ; 

 Along the winding riv'let's side 



Where Shenstone once was wont to glide'; 

 And pensive stand by mofsy cell, 

 Where fays and fairies us'd to dwell j 

 Or on the banks of Leven's ftiore, 

 The early fate of Bruce deplore ; 

 And listen to the voice of spring, 

 When thy lov'd Login us'd to sing ; 

 'While deep embow'r'd in Ljmond's vale, 

 The cuckow carelefj chaunts his tale. 



In Thomson's grove by Tweed's pure stream. 

 You wrapt me in a mystic dream. 

 Which mem'ry pleas'd fhall oft renew, 

 And fondly ev'ry trace pursue: 



1 saw, with wonder and surprise, 

 -Amidst a grove, an altar rise ; 



A spiral wreath of Mantuan bay 

 Entvvin'd it round j and on it lay 

 The fruits and flow'rs of ev'ry field, 

 And all chat earth and seas cou'd yitld; 

 While radi'jit forms descending came. 

 And there ulor'd gieat nature's name; 

 Some of those forms I instant knew, 

 While others scarce appear'd to view. 

 At distance gliding through the spact, 

 L'ke misty forms in silemn pace. 

 The muses led the blind along, 

 "First facheis of the vocal tiirong ; 

 I h?ard the early Spartan fife. 

 Wake martial music into life; 

 And Ofsijn's harp the sounds prolong. 

 And Milton tur.e his wondrous song. 



Then came a bard whom you had form'ii, 

 Whom genius with her wirgs adorn'd, 

 Wildly to soar aloft en high, 

 -And in the whirlwind's bxeath to fly j 



