Page:Odes on several subjects - Akenside (1745).djvu/45

When shall I plow thy azure tides,
And, as thy fleece-white hills aspire,
Bless the fair shade that on their sides
Imbow'rs the village and the sacred spire,
While the green hedge, below, the golden slope divides?

Ye nymphs who guard the pathless grove,
Ye blue-ey'd sisters of the streams,
With whom I wont at morn to rove,
With whom at noon I talk'd in dreams;
O take me to your haunts again,
The rocky spring, the greenwood glade;
To prompt my slumbers in the murm'ring shade,
And sooth my vacant ear with many an airy strain.

And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn
Thy drooping master's unpropitious hand;
Now brighter skies and fresher gales return,
Now fairer maids thy melody demand.
Daughters of Albion, guard your votive lyre!
O blooming god of Thespia's laurell'd quire,