18
ODE III.
O thou, whate'er thy awful name,
Whose breath awak'd th' immortal flame
That moves my active veins;
Thou, who by fair affection's ties
Hast doubled all my future joys,
And half disarm'd my pains;
Let universal Candour still,
Clear as yon heav'n-reflecting rill,
Preserve my open mind;
Nor This, nor That man's crooked views,
One mean or cruel doubt infuse
To injure human kind.
ODE