Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/563

 Hark! how through many a melting note She now prolongs her lays: How sweetly down the void they float The breeze their magic path attends; The stars shine out; the forest bends; The wakeful heifers graze.

Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring To this sequester'd spot, If then the plaintive Siren sing, O softly tread beneath her bower And think of Heaven's disposing power, Of man's uncertain lot.

O think, o'er all this mortal stage What mournful scenes arise: What ruin waits on kingly rage; How often virtue dwells with woe; How many griefs from knowledge flow; How swiftly pleasure flies!

O sacred bird! let me at eve, Thus wandering all alone, Thy tender counsel oft receive, Bear witness to thy pensive airs, And pity Nature's common cares, Till I forget my own.