38 ODE TO MEMORY. When, in the.s?dor '0f her deathless lays, She h?il'd .thee parent of each tuneful Muse .? Soui of each passion, life of every thought, Fount of rich Science, root of Wisdom's trea, Without thee Heav'n's divinest gifts were nought, Ev'n Hope were dead, if.aninspir'd by thee. She does but plant anew thy fairest flowers, And 'tend their blossoms in her own domain; She can no more than snatch thy sunniest hours, An'd bid them glow beneath her brighter reign. Heav'n's self is but a copy of thy skill, From that bright picture, whose anfading hue No mortal artist did to man reveal; ?Fis Faith embodies, but thy pencil drew. On all the powers of mind thy radiance streams, Like planets only by reflection bright, Wit does but hold his prism to thy beams, And flash abroad. the many-colour'd light. Thine too the charms, whioh Faney's art reveals, Her sportive hand may vary and combine, ......... ?Google
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