84 THE PROGRESS OF POESY.

Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:
Now rolling down the sleep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, fee it pour:
The rocks and nodding groves rebel low to the
roar.

II. 2.

Oh! Sovereign of the willing foul,
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the fullen Cares,
And frantic Paffions, hear thy soft controul.
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his car,
And drop'd his thirfty lance at thy command.
Perching on the fceptred hand
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and light'nings of his eye.

I. 3.

84 THE PROGRESS OF POESY,
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:
Now rolling down the fleep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, fee it pour:
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the
roar.

II. 2.

Oh! Sovereign of the willing foul,
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the fallen Cares,
And frantic Paffions, hear thy soft controul.
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his car,
And drop'd his thirty lance at thy command.
Perchting on the feeptred hand
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of lumber lie
The terror of his beak, and light'nings of his eye.

I. 3.

B1992.8.11(22) ba- obj- 3632 -0002

This Image has been Color Corrected:
Disregard any color charts in the Image area

Yale Center for British Art, 2010