VER. 288. All the lines that follow were not added to the poem till the year 1710. What immediately followed this, and made the conclusion, were these:-- My humble Muse in unambitious strains Paints the green forests and the flowery plains; Where I obscurely pass my careless days, Pleased in the silent shade with empty praise, Enough for me that to the listening swains First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains. VER. 305, 306. Originally thus in the MS.-- When brass decays, when trophies lie o'erthrown, And mouldering into dust drops the proud stone. VER. 319-322. Originally thus in the MS.-- Oh fact accurst! oh sacrilegious brood, Sworn to rebellion, principled in blood! Since that dire morn what tears has Albion shed, Gods! what new wounds, &c. VER. 325, 326. Thus in the MS.-- Till Anna rose and bade the Furies cease; 'Let there be peace'--she said, and all was peace. Between VER. 328 and 329, originally stood these lines-- From shore to shore exulting shouts he heard, O'er all his banks a lambent light appear'd, With sparkling flames heaven's glowing concave shone, Fictitious stars, and glories not her own. He saw, and gently rose above the stream; His shining horns diffuse a golden gleam: With pearl and gold his towery front was dress'd, The tributes of the distant East and West. VER. 361-364. Originally thus in the MS.-- Let Venice boast her towers amidst the main, Where the rough Adrian swells and roars in vain; Here not a town, but spacious realm shall have A sure foundation on the rolling wave. VER. 383-387 were originally thus-- Now shall our fleets the bloody cross display To the rich regions of the rising day, Or those green isles, where headlong Titan steeps His hissing axle in the Atlantic deeps: Tempt icy seas, &c. ODE ON ST CECILIA'S DAY, MDCCVIII. 1 Descend, ye Nine! descend and sing; The breathing instruments inspire, Wake into voice each silent string, And sweep the sounding lyre; In a sadly-pleasing strain Let the warbling lute complain: Let the loud trumpet sound, Till the roofs all around The shrill echoes rebound: While in more lengthen'd notes and slow, The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow. Hark! the numbers soft and clear, Gently steal upon the ear; Now louder, and yet louder rise, And fill with spreading sounds the skies; Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats; Till, by degrees, remote and small, The strains decay, And melt away, In a dying, dying fall.