Into Britain's fertile land, Stretching far her proud command. Look back and view, thro' many a year, Cæsar, Julius Cæsar, there. Now to Tempe's verdant wood, Over the mid-ocean flood Lo! the islands of the sea-- Sappho, Lesbos mourns for thee: Greece, arouse thy humbled head, Where are all thy mighty dead, Who states to endless ruin hurl'd And carried vengeance through the world?-- Troy, thy vanish'd pomp resume, Or, weeping at thy Hector's tomb, Yet those faded scenes renew, Whose memory is to Homer due. Fancy, lead me wandering still Up to Ida's cloud-topt hill; Not a laurel there doth grow But in vision thou shalt show,-- Every sprig on Virgil's tomb Shall in livelier colours bloom, And every triumph Rome has seen Flourish on the years between. Now she bears me far away In the east to meet the day, Leads me over Ganges' streams, Mother of the morning beams-- O'er the ocean hath she ran, Places me on Tinian; Farther, farther in the east, Till it almost meets the west, Let us wandering both be lost On Taitis sea-beat coast, Bear me from that distant strand, Over ocean, over land, To California's golden shore-- Fancy, stop, and rove no more. Now, tho' late, returning home, Lead me to Belinda's tomb; Let me glide as well as you Through the shroud and coffin too, And behold, a moment, there, All that once was good and fair-- Who doth here so soundly sleep? Shall we break this prison deep?-- Thunders cannot wake the maid, Lightnings cannot pierce the shade, And tho' wintry tempests roar, Tempests shall disturb no more. Yet must those eyes in darkness stay, That once were rivals to the day?-- Like heaven's bright lamp beneath the main They are but set to rise again. Fancy, thou the muses' pride, In thy painted realms reside Endless images of things, Fluttering each on golden wings, Ideal objects, such a store, The universe could hold no more: Fancy, to thy power I owe Half my happiness below; By thee Elysian groves were made, Thine were the notes that Orpheus play'd; By thee was Pluto charm'd so well While rapture seiz'd the sons of hell-- Come, O come--perceiv'd by none, You and I will walk alone. [A] Milton's Paradise Lost, B. II, V. 1052.--_Freneau's note._ [35] From the edition of 1786. The later editions omitted all but the first twenty and the last fourteen lines of the poem, and gave to this fragment the title "Ode to Fancy." The omitted lines, much changed, were then made a separate poem, under the title "Fancy's Ramble." THE PRAYER OF ORPHEUS Sad monarch of the world below, Stern guardian of this drowsy shade, Through these unlovely realms I go To seek a captive thou hast made. O'er Stygian waters have I pass'd, Contemning Jove's severe decree, And reached thy sable court at last To find my lost Eurydicè.