IX. See the green space: on either hand See, in the midst she takes her stand, X. Hark, how through many a melting note How sweetly down the void they float! XI. Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring To this sequester'd spot, If then the plaintive Syren sing, Oh, softly tread beneath her bower, XII. Oh, think, o'er all this mortal stage, XIII. O sacred bird, let me at eve, L ODE XVI. TO CALEB HARDINGE, M.D.1 I. WITH Sordid floods the wintry Urn2 No longer a poetic scene. No longer there thy raptur'd eye II. From Hampstead's airy summit me When common men (the dread of fame) Adjudg'd as one of evil name, Before the sun, the anointed head." Then seek thou too the pious town, III. Deem not I call thee to deplore The thunderer's lifted hand. 1 For many years physician to King George II. He died in 1776. His brother relates a story of Caleb's dispute with Akenside about a bilious colic. Two more inflammable spirits seldom came together; Hardinge despising every physician except himself, and Akenside catching fire at a word. But, in his peacefuller hours, Hardinge was a delightful companion, often bringing "the Attic Muse" to his fireside. See Nichols' Lit. Anec., viii. 523, and Illustrations of the Eighteenth Century, iii. 4.-W. 2 Aquarius. 3 The allusion is to Charles the First. |