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Inscribed in gray ink upper right: "9"; in graphite center: "x"; on verso in black ink upper left: "10"; in graphite center: "x"

Lettered on inlaid page: "A PINDARIC ODE. 89 | III. 1. | Far from the sun and summer gale, | In thy green lap has Nature’s darling laid, | What time, where lucid Avon stray’d, | To him the mighty mother did unveil | Her awful face: the dauntless child | Stretch’d forth his little arms, and smil’d. | This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear | Richly paint the vernal year: | Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy! | This can unlock the gates of Joy; | Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, | Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. | III. 2. | Nor second he, that rode sublime | Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, | The secrets of th’ abyss to spy. | He pass’d the flaming bounds of Place and Time: | The"; Lettered on verso, on inlaid page: "90 THE PROGRESS OF POESY. | The living throne, the sapphire blaze, | Where angels tremble, while they gaze, | He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, | Clos’d his eyes in endless night. | Behold, where Dryden’s less presumptuous car, | Wide o’er the fields of glory bear | Two coursers of ethereal race, | With necks in thunder cloth’d, and long- | resounding pace. | III. 3. | Hark, his hands the lyre explore! | Bright-eyed Fancy, hov’ring o’er, | Scatters from her pictur’d urn | Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. | But ah! ‘tis heard no more-- | Oh! Lyre divine, what daring spirit | Wakes thee now? tho’ he inherit | Nor"