Pure stream, in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave, No torrents stain thy limpid source; No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread; 10 While, lightly poised, the scaly brood In myriads cleave thy crystal flood; The springing trout, in speckled pride, The salmon, monarch of the tide, The ruthless pike, intent on war, The silver eel, and mottled par. Devolving from thy parent lake, A charming maze thy waters make, By bowers of birch, and groves of pine, And edges flower'd with eglantine. 20 Still on thy banks, so gaily green, May numerous herds and flocks be seen, And lasses, chanting o'er the pail, And shepherds, piping in the dale, And ancient faith, that knows no guile, And Industry, embrown'd with toil, And hearts resolved, and hands prepared, The blessings they enjoy to guard. * * * * * ODE TO BLUE-EYED ANN. 1 When the rough north forgets to howl, And ocean's billows cease to roll; When Lybian sands are bound in frost, And cold to Nova-Zembla's lost; When heavenly bodies cease to move, My blue-eyed Ann I'll cease to love! 2 No more shall flowers the meads adorn, Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn, Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring, Nor parching heats the dog-star bring, Nor laughing lilies paint the grove, When blue-eyed Ann I cease to love. 3 No more shall joy in hope be found, Nor pleasures dance their frolic round, Nor love's light god inhabit earth, Nor beauty give the passion birth, Nor heat to summer sunshine cleave, When blue-eyed Nanny I deceive. 4 When rolling seasons cease to change, Inconstancy forgets to range; When lavish May no more shall bloom, Nor gardens yield a rich perfume; When Nature from her sphere shall start, I'll tear my Nanny from my heart. * * * * * ODE TO INDEPENDENCE. STROPHE. Thy spirit, Independence! let me share, Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye; Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. Deep in the frozen regions of the north, A goddess violated brought thee forth, Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime, Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying clime. What time the iron-hearted Gaul, With frantic Superstition for his guide, 10 Arm'd with the dagger and the pall, The sons of Woden to the field defied; The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood, In Heaven's name urged the infernal blow, And red the stream began to flow: The vanquished were baptised with blood![1] ANTISTROPHE.