RIMES.
PINGO MIHI ET ARTI.
LONDON. PRINTED FOR CHARLES DILLY.
M DCC LXXXI.
ADVERTISEMENT.
WHEN such of the ODES in this publication as extend to greater length were composed, it was observed, that whatever art might be used to diversify the cadence, there was still somewhat wanting to the delight of the ear. This defect was perceived to be chiefly owing to uniformity of stanza, which protracted to any degree, must ever fatigue, as extinguishing the great source of all pleasure, variety.
To remedy this, a particular series of stanzas was adopted; in which the two first correspond, and are succeeded by a third of as different a measure as might be. This was thought to answer every intention proposed; and appearing to present as perfect a succession of sounds as rime would admit, was called by way of eminence, MELODY.
It was not till this plan was chosen, after trying most modifications that rime could allow, that it was considered that the very model of Pindar was followed. Such authority added to the author's confidence in the perfection of his method, but detracted much from the pride of invention, by recalling to his memory the real truth, which was, that he had only revived the ancient term, MELOS.
Mr. Congreve has long since observed, in his discourse on the Pindaric ode, that the use of the STROPHE, ANTISTROPHE, and EPODE is obsolete and impertinent. But such is the superstition for Antiquity that they are retained to this day, tho' even their ancient use and origin cannot be ascertained. That, as they are commonly used, they confine the spirit of the greater modern Ode, without adding to its melody must be confessed. Yet they must be retained, because they give it regularity! This is the only reason of most modern poets for retaining them. They seldom appear to have observed, that in a long or grand production of the lyric kind, the admission of a similar variety would contribute not a little to the riches of poetry.
To have their full effect the Strophe, Antistrophe, and Epode, or as they are here denominated, the CADENCE, ANTIPHONY, and UNISON, must have the property, either of distinct harmony, or brevity. Every one must have observed that in the more elegant French and Italian odes, there are two distinct parts in every stanza. These, like the parts of a Scots tune, vary the measure and contribute exceedingly to entertain the ear. For example in this stanza of Malherbe,
C'est en la paix que toutes choses
Succédent selon nos desirs:
Comme au Printems naissent les roses,
En la paix naissent les plaisirs.
Elle met les pompes aux villes;
Donne aux chams les moissons fertilles;
Et de la majesté des loix
Appuyant les pouvoirs supremes,
Fait demeurer les diademes
Fermes sur la teste des Rois.
the first four lines are of a melody distinct from the six last. This plan was well followed by Mr. Gray in his odes on the Spring, and Eton College. And that he was very sensible of this beauty appears from his observation inserted among the Notes on Mr. Mason's edition of his Poems. "There is," says he,
a
tout ensemble
of sound as well as of sense in poetical composition always necessary to its perfection. What is gone before, still dwells upon the ear, and insensibly harmonizes with the present line, as in that succession of fleeting notes which is called melody.
So much for distinctness of harmony; as to brevity the other requisite, its effect is obvious.
From these observations the reader will expect that the author has paid a particular regard to his numbers. He has so. He always considered harmony as the chief perfection of the ode. Music was indeed the first companion of lyric poetry: and at this day, who would not prefer a careless production of Dryden, tho' void of every excellence but harmony, to the most laboured of Cowley, tho' rendered heavy with the very gold of fancy?
To the Melodies in this Collection succeed another species of lyric poetry here called SYMPHONIES. By which name it is to be understood, that the stanza is varied throughout, as the subject seemed to demand an answering mode.
Dithyrambic Odes, On Enthusiasm, and To Laughter, were likewise prepared, but are not here given, as there was no occasion to swell the Collection, till the opinion of the public respecting its merit should be known.
CONTENTS.
MELODIES.
I. THE Education of the Muse Page 3
II. To Pleasure Page 11
III. The Temple of Liberty Page 13
IV. To Science Page 19
V. On the military preparations 1779 Page 22
VI. The harp of Ossian Page 26
VII. On the painting of Poesy Page 29
SYMPHONIES.
I. On the music of Poesy Page 35
II. The defeat of the Opera Page 40
ODES. BOOK I.
I. To the Lyre Page 45
II. To Peace Page 60
III. The Landscape Page 61
IV. The birth of Jealousy Page 64
V. To Time Page 67
VI. The prophecy of Tweed Page 68
VII. On life, from Sadi Page 71
VIII. The cradle of Shakespeare Page 73
IX. To a Lady Page 77
X. L'Ozioso Page 78
XI. Written on a blank leaf before the Basia of Secundus Page 85
XII. To an Antiquary Page 86
XIII. To a Parrot Page 88
ODES. BOOK II.
I. To Autumn Page 93
II. On leaving the country Page 97
III. To Miss * * * * * Page 104
IV. To the Lark Page 106
V. To Vanity Page 108
VI. To a Rivulet Page 111
VII. From the Italian Page 114
VIII. From the Provenzal of Richard I. Page 115
IX. From the same Page 116
X. To a Nightingale, from the Provenzal Page 117
XI. From the same Page 119
XII. From the same Page 120
XIII. From the same Page 122
XIV. From the Norse Page 123
XV. The Vale of Woe. After the Gaelic manner Page 124
XVI. The Ghost of Azo. In the Provenzal style 126
SONNETS.
I. On the progress of the English Language Page 131
II. Page 132
III. To Hope Page 133
IV. To Sleep. From the Italian Page 134
V. The Tomb of Petrarch. From the same. Page 136
MELODIES.
MELODIES.
MELODY I. THE EDUCATION OF THE MUSE.
CADENCE I.
'THY infant form, thou rosy fay,
'May Beauty with each brighter charm array,
'Thy mind each Virtue tend:
'O fair! O holy! Lo my heavenly place
'I leave thy blessed birth to grace,
'These airs of joy to lend.'
So Harmony attuned her lyre
What day the lovely Muse was born;
So Harmony attuned her lyre,
So hailed the long expected morn.
ANTIPHONY I.
The rose that to the summer ray
But half her blushing beauties dares display,
So sweetly never smiled;
The jocund Spring, when from her fragrant bed
She comes the genial Hours to lead,
As Fancy's sacred child;
When now the happy hand of Time
Gave every rising grace to view;
The port of majesty sublime,
Of love the eye, the crimson hue.
UNISON I.
The mountain's front to tread,
With solitary step to dally
Thro' each wild and haunted valley,
Thro' each grove of sable shade,
Were her delights. There by some stream
She gathered flowers of every beam
The flowing honours of her head to crown;
Or, on a velvet bank at ease reclined,
She caught the notes that by the vernal wind
Were from the wood in floating measures blown.
CADENCE II.
Taught by the warbling race of air,
Her voice she tuned in sweetest descant clear,
And new born ditties tried:
With these the blessed the swains her early care;
And Echo soon each willing fair,
And scornful maid replied;
All fears that chill, and hopes that fire
The bosom of the faithful youth;
The stolen treasures of desire,
The ardent vow of endless truth.
ANTIPHONY II.
O happy age! when known no toil
Save to obtain some haughty damsel's smile;
And feed the fleecy flock.
The fruits a feast of sprightly relish gave,
With beverage from the orient wave
And honey from the rock.
O happy age! when shapes of light,
Now shewn but to the mental eye,
To dwell with man their radiant flight
Would hasten from the friendly sky.
UNISON II.
The mind untaught in vain,
Her powers tho' blooming vigor nourish,
Hopes in perfect pride to flourish:
Culture must her might maintain.
Soft and more soft ye breezes blow,
More soft ye billows rise, for, lo!
The tuneful Vision stems the azure tide:
To Pleasure's Isle her destined course she bends,
Her parent Fancy at the helm attends,
And Harmony's smooth chimes each wild wind chide.
CADENCE III.
Now in her golden cradle lies
The infant Morn amid the varied dyes
Of every dewy flower;
The lowly violet, the sovereign rose
Around their mingled tints disclose,
Their mingled fragrance pour;
With purple lustre glows the deep
Resplendent to the orient ray:
The comely band their progress keep
Exulting thro' the watry way.
ANTIPHONY III.
The Gales their gentle aid applied,
Along the tide the painted galley hied,
That spred a shining plain:
And soon, emergent from the western skies,
They saw the verdant groves arise
That crowned the gay domain.
A cloud of breathing incense sweet
To slumber soothed the ambient main:
The merry mariners to meet
Shone on the strand a wanton train.
UNISON III.
To Pleasure's dome they came.
With gold emblazoned and vermilion
Beamed abroad the bright pavilion
To the sun's meridian flame.
There on a couch with fragrance spread
The Queen and young Desire were laid,
Desire her mate and chosen solace dear:
The Smiles and decent Graces stood around
The sovereign pair with perfect beauty crowned,
With every gift of Love and laughing Chear.
CADENCE IV.
But chief the heavenly Fair excelled;
The Muse with wondering gaze her state beheld
And thoughts of fond delight;
Her blooming shape revealed in loose attire,
Her azure eyes of amorous fire,
Her locks of golden light.
The Empress with a winning smile
To greet the welcome guests arose:
'Be yours whate'er my hallowed isle
'To Art or lavish Nature owes.'
ANTIPHONY IV.
Tho' he of Thebes informed thy frame
Small praise, O lyre, his richest skill could claim
To paint that fairy scene:
Where native May eternal empire held
O'er hill and shade and florid field
And balmy sky serene;
Where, rising slow with rapturous swell,
Aerial strains were heard to stray;
Like notes that from a master shell
In distant echoes spread away.
UNISON IV.
Here long the enamoured maid,
All lost in dreams of dear delusion,
Thro' the beauteous profusion
Led by bright eyed Rapture played.
Exploring now the lawn's amel,
Now happy groves of odorous smell,
Now gardens trim with blooming fruits o'ergrown,
And tuneful streams that living crystal flowed,
And sunny hills with purple vines that glowed,
Elysian bowers, and cells grotesque and lone.
CADENCE V.
Nor barren of meet progeny:
For Youth there dwelt, and fair Felicity,
And Health that sprightly maid;
For Feast rejoiced amid the vines to rove,
And Ease approved the still alcove,
And Love the secret shade;
O vanity of earthly joy!
How early lost that better soil!
When Justice sought her former sky
The deeps involved the magic isle!
ANTIPHONY V.
And now the charms of fair design
And elegance the Goddess can combine
With sweet simplicity:
Her strains declared the cultivated mind,
Awake to every bliss refined,
Of grace and harmony.
Yet wanted to complete her skill
Like science of the realm of woe:
The sadder sympathy to feel,
The sager sentiment to know.
UNISON V.
Ye blest abodes adieu!
For now again the liquid azure
With bold prow the pilgrims measure
Seats of other clime to view.
Bright be thy course thou star of eve,
With purest splendor gild the wave,
That trembles yet with gleams of fading day;
Till slowly peering from her eastern bed,
The perfect moon exalt her blessed head,
And crown the level deep with silver ray.
CADENCE VI.
From mirth to sadness brief the road,
And easy. Ere the blush of morning glowed
They met the gloomy ground.
Deep silence lulled each visionary vale,
Save where the warbling nightingale
Her hidden recess found.
Even from the solar blaze the land
Was dim with night of boundless woods,
That sleeped along the lonely strand
And murmured o'er the sable floods.
ANTIPHONY VI.
Obscure amid a winding glade,
Where darkest pines their chilling horrors spred,
Arose a rocky cave;
There Melancholy's modest form was seen,
The pensive eye disclosed the Queen,
And sad demeanour grave.
With her was Wisdom reverend sage;
His awful front, his snowy hair,
Expressed him of the train of Age,
And versant in the storms of Care.
UNISON VI.
Of science much and truth
He spoke, the flowery paths of error
That to snares of toil and terror
Lead the hapless soul they sooth:
And oft their solemn talk between,
A tale of tears would intervene.—
Oh heavenly Virgin what delights were thine!
Now potent to controul the wondering heart
By every sympathy of magic Art,
By Nature's force, and Reason's light divine.
MELODY II. TO PLEASURE.
CADENCE I.
YE hymns that rule the Aeolian lyre
To Pleasure homage bear.
The song, O Queen, inspire,
And with indulgent audience own:
If song thy grace or vows atone,
Incline thy sovereign ear
From thy elysian throne.
ANTIPHONY I.
The throne thy parent Nature gave,
What day her empire rose
Of chaos from the grave;
Where reigns Desire, thy chosen mate,
The Smiles the Loves the Graces wait,
And Music's airs disclose
The splendors of thy state.
UNISON I.
Thee, Goddess, thee adore
The great, the wise, the gay,
All, all thy blessed laws obey;
All, tho' by differing rites, thy gracious aid implore.
How enchanting the roseate smile of the Spring
When her Morning ascends on ambrosial wing,
The winter dispelling and night!
More enchanting, Oh empress of every desire!
Is thy smile to the soul when the shadows retire
Of sorrow before thy fair light.
CADENCE II.
In gilded domes let others try
With eager wishes vain
To win thy placid eye;
Or sail to either Indian shore
To bribe thee with their gathered store;
Thy source sincere nor Gain
May ever find nor Power.
ANTIPHONY II.
Thy present suppliant be lent
The balmy walks of Health,
The fountains of Content,
That life's small garden may divide
With chearful and with constant tide;
So shall his days by stealth
In even tenor glide.
UNISON II.
Joy has its tears. The reign
Of Rapture oft is found
To border on the hostile bound
Of cruel Agony, and Horror's dark domain.
He requires not in triumph to stem the wide deep,
But along the safe shore his smooth progress to keep,
With thee and Repose by his side.
Nor rapid with transport nor silent with woe,
Soft and pure let the gale of felicity blow,
And Prudence each movement provide.
MELODY III. THE TEMPLE OF LIBERTY.
CADENCE I.
WHAT accents streaming from the solemn shell
Dilate their choral symphony?
What songs of warbled extacy
O'er Albion's hoary mountains swell
And float along the sky?
Oh Liberty! thy natal day
To hymn awakes the festive lay:
Amid the empyrean fires
Bend from their golden thrones thy sainted sires
As their loud harps to thee a thousand minstrels sway.
ANTIPHONY I.
With diamond inflamed and glowing gold,
Emergent from the orient air,
Thy consecrated courts appear,
Where they whose hearts thy love controlled
Celestial raptures share.
For ever bright with living green,
Around elysian groves are seen;
Young Spring from her ambrosial vase
Her silver dews and fragrant blooms displays;
And all the Pleasures vie to grace the happy scene.
UNISON I.
Revive, revive, thou British lyre!
Revive thy genuine fire!
Thy genuine transports bestow!
To deck each worshipped head
Let Fame her radiant chaplet braid;
Her sonorous clarion blow!
Conciliate their gallant bands
The Fathers of each rival realm,
And hither oft in grace they send;
The social sympathy to tend,
The foes of Liberty to whelm,
And o'er the favoured shores ordain
The glories of her reign.
CADENCE II.
While starry legions from the azure clime
Pour on the sight their blended rays
To whom shall Glory's altar blaze?
To whom the golden sire of rhyme
The soaring anthem raise?
To them the prime whose dauntless mind
The noble stand made by the ancient Britons against the progress of the Roman arms.
The eagle of the east confined;
Who as he sped his bloody path
Oft by the lightning of their rapid wrath
Shorn of his gaudy plumes fled screaming on the wind.
ANTIPHONY II.
Her rent sails fluttering o'er the stormy wave
State of the kingdom under king John, when the barons obtained the Great Charter.
Behold the publick prow obey
Each blast that wheels her boisterous way;
No pilot from the rocks to save
Or to the port convey
To
sc. Alcaei frag.
.
Lo! on the deck in warlike guise
The chosen mariners arise;
New tackle binds each steady sail;
Supreme in state she wooes the vernal gale,
And every treacherous shoal and daring rock defies.
UNISON II.
The generous heir of Cambria's fame
Llewellyn, the assertor of the liberty of Wales.
Declare with loud acclaim,
With strains of deep anguish deplore:
Let equal accents wait
The rival of his hapless fate,
The vaunt tower of the northern shore
Wallace, the Brutus of Scotland.
.
Lend the martial trumpet breath;
Borne on that fiery courser view,
By Valour led and Victory,
The lord of Scotia's chivalry
King Robert Bruce.
;
His march a fearless train ensue,
Where'er they go, the home bred Muse
Her rural incense strews.
CADENCE III.
From gloom escaped the rosy star of morn
Influence of the Reformation on liberty.
Precedes the jocund hours of light:
Ah dreary storms their splendor blight!
Yet soon the rainbow's hues adorn
The horrors of the night.
Dissolving each opposing cloud
The sun devolves his noonday flood:
What scenes appear his blaze beneath!
The crown refulgent thro' the shades of death!
The sable scaffold dyed with dews of sovereign blood!
ANTIPHONY III.
He dies! He dies! the holy Anarch dies!
Ye sons of Albion be free!
Resounds the voice of Liberty
While nations gaze with wondering eyes
The fall of Tyranny.
The happy flow of Glory's tide
The numbers of eminent men who distinguished the age of Cromwell. Milton's influence on their counsels. See his Sonnets.
Gay fleets with shouts of triumph ride:
Stern chiefs their glittering banners wave,
While sages teach each adverse blast to brave,
Airs from the seraph shell their ardent labours guide.
UNISON III.
The crown of amaranth to blend
On wings of flame ascend,
O Muse, to the regions of day
Region de la luce e l'auree stelle. Tasso, Gier. 9.
;
Where living fountains bye,
The flowrets of eternity
To breezes of harmony play.
Nassau's mild front thou wreath entwine,
Before whose matin radiance fled
The coward Wolf, and left his prey
With grim despair. His howling way
Fantastic Folly leads and Dread,
While Scorn's deriding retinue
And Grief and Shame pursue.
CADENCE IV.
How art thou fallen from thy summer sky
Louis XIV. whose ambition threatened the liberties of Europe till it was effectually extinguished by the Duke of Marlborough.
,
Thou meteor, whose lustre drear
Shot torments thro' the sickly air,
Gave provinces to penury
And all the waste of war!
Where'er thy deadly influence flowed
The thunder of the battle glowed;
Mad Slaughter poured the rain of gore
The blasted plains and flaming cities o'er,
And Famine and Despair and Desolation trod.
ANTIPHONY IV.
Till clad in Virtue's light the warrior rose
Decreed lost empires to redeem:
The British lion followed him,
And thro' the files of serried foes
Diffused the sanguine stream.
His state a pomp of Graces led,
As on the car of Fate conveyed,
He held his victor way. Around
Exulting monarchs grateful trophies crowned;
And Liberty and Peace their sacred treasures spred.
UNISON IV.
High on the sunny mount of Power,
To Fame's indulgent shower,
The branches of Este
The House of Brunswick, it is well known, derive their genealogy from Azo I. Count of Este, Marquis of Tuscany.
arise.
Long o'er the hallowed stem
May Fortune's regal bounties teem,
And lift its fair head to the skies.
Can ever Tyranny control
With lasting sway the happy isle?
Can Winter still his rule retain?
The tempests of his iron reign,
When Spring reveals her genial smile,
New music to each river yield,
New verdure to each field.
MELODY IV. TO SCIENCE.
Menand.
CADENCE I.
SUN of the mind, whose blessed beams exile
Of sullen Ignorance the gloomy power,
With every phantom wild
That haunts his desert reign.
ANTIPHONY I.
Thee, Teacher! on the fabled marge of Nile
The sober Memory to Wisdom bore;
There Fancy thee beguiled
With many a mystic strain.
UNISON I.
Where green Hymettus, clad with thyme,
Spreads fragrance thro' the Attic air,
Thy holy form appeared;
And oft in Latium's happy clime,
From many a shade and grotto fair,
Thy solemn voice was heard:
Thy ample shrine ere Britain reared;
Where Bacon soon his votive honours brought,
And sagest Locke explored the maze of thought.
CADENCE II.
The radiant circuit of the stars to trace,
The secrets of the earth and hoary main,
The steady laws of Fate,
My vows solicit not.
ANTIPHONY II.
'What is above, O ye of mortal race,'
The Athenian
Socrates.
said, 'incites your care in vain:
'Be this your hope elate,
'To mend your proper lot.
UNISON II.
Soon as the heir of pain appears,
What ghastly spectres wait around
The hapless birth to seize!
The Passions tend his blooming years,
The Cares his perfect age confound,
His toils till Death release:
The silent grave his only ease!
Where never more, alas, he wakes to weep,
But closes his brief day in endless sleep.
CADENCE III.
These ills to heal, to bear, impart thy skill:
Tho' every passion every storm prepare,
Yet thou thy blest ally
Can'st save, celestial Guide.
And lead to scenes where Fancy sports at will
(So great thy power!) far from the realm of Care;
Where Beauty, Harmony,
And pensive Ease reside.
UNISON III.
Since scant the source of pleasure flows,
Instruct the fleeting stream to guide,
To guide, not to confine;
With every little flower that blows
Around the variable tide
To deck life's sober shrine:
For every purer joy is thine.
By thee alone are all our cares redrest:
True wisdom is the art of being blest.
MELODY V. ON THE MILITARY PREPARATIONS MDCCLXXIX.
PRELUDE.
THE kingly oaks whose lofty crest
The wrath of every storm defies,
Of genial Spring the glad supplies
To guard their lustre crave:
So they whom Honour's crown hath blest
Require the Muse's sacred rain,
From Time, from Envy's hateful train
Their ancient state to save.
CADENCE I.
When first the chiefs
Of Albion led
Their legions to the Gallic shore,
The patriot flame
Informed each breast:
That flame, alas, appears no more.
Such is the baleful power
Corruption, idol vile! of thy destroying shower.
ANTIPHONY I.
O lasting shame
To every son
Of whom the gallant Edward led,
When Cressy's field
Saw Conquest crown
With chaplet bright his helmed head!
When wounded by Despair
The Gallic Genius fled and sought his native air.
UNISON I.
A breast of diamond serene and strong
Was thine, of mighty sire thou mightier son;
All regal merits did to thee belong,
Chief of the sable mail! that grace a throne.
As from a storm the golden sun displays
His awful pomp in his meridian tower;
O greater than thy fame! such seemed thy power,
When o'er the vales of Poitiers at thy blaze
The lilied legions fled with wild amaze.
CADENCE II.
Ye fays that rove
The moon loved mead
Where Seine extends his flowery stream,
What wonder thrilled
Your little breasts
To see the British symbols beam
Along your haunted shore;
Where seldom hostile foot had dared to pace before.
ANTIPHONY II.
For vain was art,
For numbers vain
To stay heroic Henry's course.
Witness ye plains
Of Azincour
Yet red with signals of his force!
Nor force his sole renown,
For gems of every virtue decked his warlike crown.
UNISON II.
And thou, perfidious Spain, yet darest engage
The sons of them who laid thy glory low
What time Eliza swayed her happier age;
An age when valour still was vice's foe!
With adverse sails tho' dark was all the main,
Yet did the chiefs their steady honour hold:
But Liberty, to guard her favoured reign,
With power invisible her foes controlled,
And bad her own dread storms their pomp enfold.
CADENCE III.
When Cromwell steered
The golden helm
Of empire he unjustly won,
Before his name
The Gallic king
Sat trembling on his painted throne:
Nor less when from afar
The lord of Blenheim rolled the purple tide of war.
ANTIPHONY III.
Still, still the fires
Of British fame
Beneath their silent embers live.
They but demand
Some happy gale
Their ancient fervors to revive:
Else whence of Wolfe the fate,
That wild Canada's lakes and Albion's hills repeat?
UNISON III.
O then ye line of warlike sires awake!
Ye British youth awake to ancient praise.
Your souls let generous emulation take,
To hide your fathers light with brighter rays.
The wretched path of luxury forego,
The wretched path that ever leads to shame.
With patriot heat bid ever bosom glow:
From Hazard's hand the wreath of Glory claim,
True to your birth and to your country's fame.
CLOSE.
Thus hath the Muse with feeble skill
Her temple to Renown prepared;
And many a solemn statue reared,
The radiant space to crown.
Blest did her power attend her will:
Did Britons as they gaze aspire
To imitate the godlike choir,
And make their praise their own.
MELODY VI. THE HARP OF OSSIAN.
PRELUDE.
THO' rich majestic Homer's lay,
Tho' ages bend to Maro's sway,
Supreme of Latian song;
Yet, Ossian, mid the sainted train,
Shall to thy harp of solemn strain
No second place belong.
CADENCE.
He fortunate whose eye
Could first thy beam espy,
Glimmering thro' shades of solitary night;
Whose hand, blest lyre, anew thy splendor could excite.
O heaths of Morven, and ye rocky isles,
That dare the surges of the western main,
Oft, when mild Eve diffused her rosy smiles,
The master soothed you with his mighty strain:
Emergent from the chambers of the rain,
While airy shapes with rapture heard the lays,
As thro' the watry shore, and desert plain,
And shaggy caves obscure, in winding maze
The wondering echoes spred the accents of their praise.
ANTIPHONY.
Of kings ye modern throng
Attend the moral song;
Learn, to be great ye only need be good:
So Fingal's holy stem gods of their people stood.
Like incense swelling from the sacred fire,
Illustrious chief, thy tuneful dictates flow;
Able each breast with virtue to inspire
That wakes to human bliss or human woe.
No more shall dull Oblivion rest thy foe;
Thy ebon harp Fame in her shrine shall place,
All worthy in the brightest rank to glow;
No tinsel hues the simple frame deface,
But gems and purest gold with orient lustre grace.
UNISON.
Envy in vain
Shall seek to dim the light of thy name.
When the eagle from his rock
Descries the crows dark children of the wood,
He degrades not his pride
By the base encounter;
But rising in the blaze of noon,
Leaves his foes in the regions of darkness.
Such shall be thy praise
Thou Son of the Mighty!
CLOSE.
To hide the king of day
In vain the clouds display
Their shade:
Soon as the king of day
Assumes meridian sway
They fade.
MELODY VII. ON THE PAINTING OF POESY.
The art itself is nature.
SHAKESP.
CADENCE I.
FAIR is the star whose golden light
Declares the coming day;
Fair is the moon's serenest ray
That decks the realm of night;
Of beauty and of life the sire
How fair, O sun, thy sovereign fire!
Yet fairer to the mental gaze
The sacred song's unrivalled blaze.
ANTIPHONY I.
O Poesy, enchanting maid!
Again I seek thy shrine;
Again confess thy power divine,
Again implore thy aid.
Thy shrine, where rich in varied airs
Her harp sweet Harmony prepares;
And Fancy waves her magic wand,
That lulls the soul in visions bland.
UNISON I.
In all her pride tho' beauteous Spring appear,
Of brightest tint with many a gem
Yet can thy skill adorn her diadem,
And with new music bless the ear:
To Summer's train can added graces bring,
And o'er her bower ethereal roses fling:
To Autumn's field far richer stores impart,
And teach even Winter's storms to sooth the heart.
CADENCE II.
Can, Picture, all thy living hues,
Can all thy art attire
In equal pomp the fairy choir
That wait the pensive Muse;
When all obedient to her spell,
The fluttering idols crowd her cell,
Succinct with eager speed to fill
The mandates of her mighty will?
ANTIPHONY II.
The sacred song o'er Virtue's path
The blooms of joy can spread,
Then crown her pupil's favoured head
With Fame's immortal wreath.
How many a clime, how many an age
May Wisdom reap from Shakespeare's page,
Led by his ethic scene to scan
The various heart of various man!
UNISION II.
Informed with being, tho' the colours rise
Beneath the pencil's warmest power,
Yet soon, alas, arrives the fatal hour
That banishes the fading dyes.
But Night resuming her primeval sway,
Shall ever hide the golden orb of day,
Ere cease the wondering nations to inquire
Who Ilium sung? Who tuned the Theban lyre?
SYMPHONIES.
SYMPHONIES.
SYMPHONY I. ON THE MUSIC OF POESY.
QUEEN of the song, O Muse, thy parent dear,
Bright Fancy, thy sole guardian never rose;
Tho' ever she precede thy wandering way,
Fresh flowers to strew in wild profusion gay;
To Harmony thy heart did still disclose
Like amity, as oft thy raptured ear
With sweetest airs she charmed, or solemn tones severe.
The sonorous trump she blows, that hill and dale
Resound with all their echoes. At her call
The grizly, war prepares his deadly storms,
The lightning of the sword and fulgent arms,
The thunder of the conflict, and dire rain
Sanguine, that deluges the boisterous field.
Stern Slaughter and the horrid form of Death
Exert their terrors; Anguish, and Dismay,
And Desolation. Clad in steel and panoply
Exulting Valour waves his crimson crest,
And shews the tide of battle where to roar.
O'er the grim scene the Muse ascending sings
Sublime in glory, and with golden light
Illumes the raging tempest; as the sun,
When thro' embattled clouds he pours the day,
Gilding with richest blaze the dark of heaven.
Far other when the rural pipe she plies,
With flowing rills the flowing music vies;
By simple huts and verdant vales she roves,
Romantic bowers and visionary groves,
Of love repeating much, and love's disdain,
The melting transport, and the pleasing pain.
The tragic lute to melancholy strains
Of deepest woe she wakes and wild despair;
The frequent tear declares her ample rule,
Silence that speaks unutterable thoughts,
The eye aghast with terrors extacy,
And all the sober family of sorrow,
Laughter attends thee, O Queen, and the Jests with dimpled cheeks. The Loves and Pleasures wave their golden locks wreathed with roses: Ridicule mimics the uncouth gait of Humour; while inspiring the merry flute, thou visitest the comic walks of life, instructing man what he ought to be by shewing him what he is.
Alas! what warbled sorrows meet the ear,
What notes of anguish fill the sighing gale,
When from thy solitary mansions drear,
O Elegy! is heard the plaintive tale
Of Grace and Worth envied by sullen Death;
Of all the fading vanities of man;
Joined with the weeping viol's softest breath,
That vibrates to the heart each dying strain.
Instinct with all thy living fire
What verse can paint thy power, O lyre!
As to the Muse's potent call
Thy spectres fill her airy hall
Like spectret swarming to the wizard's hall.
T. WARTON.
.
Now to Mirth the lay devoting
And the florid tribe of joy;
Dreams of fleeting bliss promoting
Wanton airs in mazes floating
All thy sacred art employ.
In sable stole arrayed
Bedewed with falling tears
When awful Grief appears,
Chill and slow
The melancholy measures flow;
And pensive Pity lends her pious aid
To tend the mournful maid.
'Hail thou form in shining cincture
'Clad of pure cerulean tincture,
'Ever may thy pleasing ray
'With bland benignity
'Heal the indignity
'Of cruel Chance, and Time's malignant sway.'
Blyth Hope approves, and to the warbled air
In many an antic maze leads her attendance fair.
Oh Fear, thou tyrant of the feeble mind!
The languid line,
That seems in sickly mood to pine,
May ever move thy frantic influence blind.
When Horror joins thy train,
What phantoms fill the wizard plain!
Stern ministers of Fate and guardians of his reign.
Rich the richest praise above
Who can speak thy hymn, O Love;
What air of minstrelsy divine
Shall express
Thy power to bless,
Shall thy varied rule define?
Smite the deep shell with harshest hand!
Rage in giant horrors clad,
Rears aloft his ghastly head:
Eyes that living lightnings glare,
Frowning front, and horrent hair,
The grizly king declare,
As in Fancy's shrine he takes his gloomy stand.
Nor to the features sole of deepest shade,
But every softer colour of the mind,
Sweet Harmony attunes her magic power.
So when the Morn dilates the dewey shower,
The varying blooms a varying mirror find;
Their lovely hues in lovelier light arrayed
With gleams of brightest beauty paint the glowing glade.
SYMPHONY II. THE DEFEAT OF THE OPERA.
SHE said and smiled. At Fancy's high command
Taste left the British strand,
The Phantom to explore
On fair Ausonia's romantic shore.
The shield of Truth he bore;
But ere its potent virtue he unveiled,
Thus with stern speech her leaden ear assailed.
Daughter of Dulness, from the happy fields
Of Albion I come and bear thy doom;
No longer hope with tuneful sorcery
To witch the vulgar ear. Fled is the time
When Superstition spread primeval night
O'er all the nations: when sweet Poesy
Muttered her vigils from the cloystered cell:
As by the moon's pale lamp the ruddy monk
And nun lascivious met with ardent vows
Saint Venus, chief religion of their choir.
Why then, thou birth of that detested day,
Should honour's robe vest thy fantastic state?
Why still thy lying pride (thy pride is great!)
The homage bear of many a dull domain?
Declare the cause, thou spectre! speak and die.
To him the Power, (but first an air was heard)
Within her breast tho' dull, her breast tho' dark,
Revolving thoughts of seeming argument,
Framed her reply. I know thee and my fate!
Yet ere thou seal my meditated fall
Attend my speech that, wove with sighs and tears,
Slow finds its mournful way
A faint imitation of some wonderfully affecting speeches in modern tragedies.
. On classic days
On classic days tho' fallen and critic tongues,
Just is my rule and ancient. When fair Greece
Nurtured each art of elegance, the lyre
Aided the hero's sorrows. From fair Greece
My regal forms, arrayed in pomp and gold,
That sing, and singing in their glory move,
This line from Milton. The reader will observe several parodies of that Poet in this Production, which, as he is read by all, required no mark.
,
Derive their lineage. That plea refused
(For Nonsense as more old grows more deformed)
Yet merit in my sons may move thy mind.
Did not Quinault with sweetest ease devote
His sprightly verses to adorn my pomp,
That Lulli with the soul of music gave
To flutter round the captivated heart
Of amorous damsels on the banks of Seine?
Where chief my temple rises in full blaze
Illumed, while silken peers and silken dames
Of painted beauty feed their wondering sight
With all the magic of the moving scene.
Lo Metastasio, my joy and pride,
With pleasing care the golden anvil tries
Of calm Correction, and with rhymes annealed
Of purest splendor decks my gorgeous shrine.
Nay, yielding that my art is false and vain,
Not small their cause; for well a bard has sung
Great beauty is a great excuse to sin
Gran scusa a paccar' è gran bellezza. Testi.
.
And who of all the race of Poesy
With more enchantment fills the raptured soul?
When like a simple shepherdess
I tread the flowery plain,
Tuning my pipe to slender strain
The labours of the swain to bless:
Or when with solemn tones and slow
The gilded palace I pervade,
And sadly chaunt the funeral tale
Of kings, that from the stroke of woe
The panoply of gold to shade
And serried guards could nought avail.
Feebly the spoke with fading mien. For Taste,
Who suffers no appeal, had now revealed
The shining orb of Truth, that blasts anon
All false and empty with celestial light.
Oblivion bore her to her silent cell;
And dire shrieks rose from many an echo wild.
ODES. BOOK I.
ODES.
BOOK I.
ODE I TO THE LYRE.
Auditis? An me ludit amabilis
Insania? Audire et videor pios
Errare per lucos, amoenae
Quas et aquae subeunt et aurae!
HOR.
OH blest of heaven, sweet shell, whose soul
Thy ardors fire, thy charms control!
Him not Ambition's trophied car
Shall thro' the purple plain of war
Betray to where the giddy steep
Of Power o'erhangs the raging deep.
Him not the noisy bar entice
To sell his fury and his lies.
Nor shall a feeble ship convey
His treasures o'er the watry way,
While all his hopes and fears obey
The fickle wind's malignant sway.
But crowned with peace and moderate pleasure,
His days shall pass in lettered leisure;
In turning oft the classic page,
Warm with the Muse's lovely rage;
Where Fancy feigns what Sense approves,
Where Wisdom idles with the Loves;
Of genius where the flame divine
Blazes in Truth's irradiate shrine.
Oh blest of heaven, sweet shell, whose soul
Thy ardors fire, thy charms control!
For him o'er Nature's varied frame
Powers of descriptive poetry in general, and the lyric in particular, which delights in the strongest painting, to give nature what colours it pleases, and to move the passions.
Bright Beauty spreads her fairest flame;
With life instinct and harmony
The universe salutes his eye.
To thy enchanting measures, lo!
Each mountain bends his awful brow,
The wandering streams no longer stray,
Or tune to thine their flowing lay;
A deeper murmur breathes along
The mansions of the warbling throng;
From storms released the placid main
Spreads to the sun his shining reign;
Aē urial music fills the sky,
The gales shed roses as they fly:
Responsive to thy breathing strings
The golden harp empyrial rings
That tuned by Order's mighty hand
Controls great Nature's general band:
The Parent from her sovereign throne
With rapture hears thy magic tone,
And bids her realm thy living fire
Confess in fair symphonious choir.
Oh blest of heaven, sweet shell, whose soul
Thy ardors fire, thy charms control!
Thy weeping strain if Sorrow chill,
Delusive cares the bosom fill;
The sighs of grief thy call obey,
The tears of beauty own thy sway,
As to the tale of love's sweet woe,
In silent sympathy they flow.
If Wit the sprightly carol play,
The Thoughts, in conscious freedom gay,
Bright to the laughing eye of day
Their variable plumes display,
And dancing to the merry lay,
Thro' flowery vales of transport stray.
When fury fires thy sacred frame,
All nature feels the thrilling flame;
See at thy voice pale lightnings gleam,
The clouds release their wintry stream;
Riding the gloom on whirlwind wing,
Wild shrieks the tempest's angry king.
While fang nine steams and shadows dun
Defraud the splendor of the sun,
And bursting rocks with hideous noise
Hurtle amid the flaming skies,
Redundant o'er the cavern hoar
The fierce volcano's torrents roar,
Confounding in their ruddy flood
The fertile vale and solemn wood;
In vain the city's towery pride,
To stem the tempest of the tide,
Extends a lofty strength of wall—
These shrieks of death confess its fall;
Destruction o'er the scenes of joy
Waves his black wings with sullen cry,
Till thundering o'er the boundless steep,
The fiery streams invade the deep.
The pilot by the ghastly light
Sees boiling waves around him fight,
And wheeling swift the rapid prore,
With horror flies the fatal shore.
The noble deed, the great desire,
Thy glowing modes, O harp, inspire,
Then consecrate to deathless fame
The light of each peculiar name.
At thy command the host again
Appear on glory's ample plain,
The virtue of thy potent strain
Gives vital vigor to the slain.
Again the battle's fervor glows,
Again the flood of slaughter flows,
Again the dogs of Havock mar
The beauteous order of the war,
Till Victory soar on eagle plume,
And chaunt the doubtful conflict's doom.
Oh blest of heaven, sweet shell, whose soul
Thy ardors fire, thy charms control!
Where'er he rolls his ardent eyes
Visions of fairy splendor rise;
Bright forms that only live in rime
Obedient hear thy rapturous chime.
True sire of gods! each deity
The more ancient personification which resting on the superstition then used would certainly have fallen with it had not the want of invention in the immediately succeeding poets preserved it. The perfect absurdity of it in modern poetry is too apparent to need a discussion. The attributes of the several deities here given are chiefly from Homer.
Derives his life and power from thee;
No progeny of chaos fell
But of thy all creating spell.
Imperial Jove in verse alone
Expands the thunders of his throne:
In verse majestic Juno moves,
Blest with the girdle of the Loves:
In verse green Neptune own the waves:
In verse the lord of battle raves:
In verse the smile of Venus glows
The vermil lustre of the rose
To whom the Angel with a smile that glowed Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
MILT.
;
In verse her lovely eyes diffuse
Their kindling beams and melting dews:
In verse the infant of desire
Aims at the heart his shafts of fire:
In verse grim Pluto's laws maintain
The horrors of the infernal reign:
In verse the nectared blossoms shine,
That crown the jovial power of wine:
In verse Pan rules the woodland gloom:
In verse the charms of Hebe bloom:
In verse Minerva's eyes display
The mildness of their azure ray:
In verse stern Dian leads her train
Thro' the wild wood and echoing plain:
In verse the bard still tends the shrine
Of bright Apollo and the Nine.
Begone, ye faded Pageants, fly!
Lo Time resumes his ancient sky!
And drives you to the gloomy void,
With Dulness ever to reside:
There, thro' the brooding mist is seen
The Aonian mount's fantastic green;
And Helicon devolves his flood
Thro' flowery weeds and glittering mud.
But see what numerous tribes advance
To fill the Muse's wide expanse!
The genuine birth of Nature kind
By Fancy nurtur'd in the mind
The modern personification, which being perfectly congenial to the mind, was well known to the ancients, tho' but sparingly admitted by them. Some characters of modern personification in the sublime paths of poetry and in the beautiful.
.
First thro' the visionary region
Grandeur conducts her awful legion.
Beneath her streaming banners glow
The starry wreath of Glory's brow;
Heroic Virtue's myrtled sword,
The prize of Freedom's rights restored;
The pomp of War, the blazing car
That Triumph's snow-white coursers bear;
There Extacy, prophetic maid,
Her eyes on heaven's high splendor stayed:
Oh Terror from the startled gaze
Conceal thy flaming faulchion's blaze!
What shape is he in torn array
That rends his locks of hoary grey,
Whose plaint that mournful virgin hears,
And pays her tributary tears?
Fair Pity's gems you falling spy
To grace the tale of Misery.
Her blooming band next Beauty leads,
Exulting o'er the fragrant meads;
Where'er she bends her genial view,
The sky reveals a purple hue;
Variety precedes, and Mirth,
Spangling with flowers the vernal earth.
Unnumbered Graces tend her path,
Unnumbered Airs of balmy breath:
Delighted Health and warbling Chear,
And Jest and Dalliance are there;
With Modesty, that maiden meek,
The warm blush quivering o'er her cheek;
Youth leads the fair Desires along,
And Rapture pours her swelling song;
There Dance, to the airy lute of Leisure
Distends involves her sportive measure;
There Hope, her brows with rose-buds bound;
And Peace with oaten garland crown'd:
While Laughter down the bordering stream
With Humour steers her gondeley trim
This image is borrowed from Spenser's description of Mirth. B. II. c. 6.
,
At each new wile and antic lore
Her shouts of transport shake the shore:
Science, that youth of pensive mien,
Peruses slow the velvet green;
Allied with Taste, his lovely bride,
And Liberty, their daring guide.
Oh blest of heaven, sweet shell, whose soul
Thy ardors fire, thy charms control!
What joys invade his fervent breast
By gentlest frenzy when possest!
When the celestial transports bold
Of harmony his thoughts enfold,
Emparadise in tuneful slumbers,
Or give to flow in vivid numbers!
Lord of my birth-! Creative lyre!
Timid I wake thy holy fire:
No balmy gales, no vocal springs
Here live to sooth thy languid strings:
Soon fade the wreaths the Pleasures bear
To deck the tresses of the Year;
O'er the young Spring's untimely urn
The Loves and weeping Graces mourn:
Eternal Winter chills the stream
Of life, and clouds the extatic dream.
O who will bear me to some clime
— O qui me gelidis in valiibus Haemi
Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!
VIRG.
That breathes its sweets in ancient rime!
Where softer breezes fan the skies
As suns of brighter beam arise:
Where the glad Hours of Summer build
Their tents in every joyous field;
Then lead their brisk bands to deform
The castle of the tyrant Storm,
And captive to their empire bring
In roseate chains the grizly king.
Lo Fancy hears the hopeless prayer!
The winds her flying car prepare:
And now we sail the wondering air,
And now the blooming shores appear,
The native countries of each art
That elevates the brightened heart.
Here Athens reared her awful fanes;
There Thebes governed the watry plains;
Eurotas still his circuit runs,
But bathes no more stern Sparta's sons:
Behold Arcadia's fabled vale,
The theme of each love dirtied tale;
Now Desolation spreads her rule
O'er each green mead and grotto cool.
O ye the seats that Tempe held
Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, &c.
GRAY.
,
Ye streams that deck each lucid field,
Where Asia's dusky race digest
The health and spirit of the west,
Ye deeps with many a gem embost,
How are your sacred honours lost!
No longer ye to rapture hear
The Nine
The nine lyric poets, fragments of whose works we have, are Pindar, Alcaeus, Sappho, Stesichorus, Ibycus, Anacreon, Bacchylides, Simonides, Aleman.
that wont your realms to chear.
Far other notes your gales bestow!
Far other notes, of want and woe!
The fay with tears resigns the scene,
And backward bends her speedy rein
To where Ausonia's breezes pure
And summer vales her steps allure;
The hills with blushing vines arrayed,
The fragrance of her orange shade;
The golden ensigns that adorn
The tuneful march of radiant Morn;
The beril blaze of noontide heaven
Ablié du Bos observes of Italy
le vague de l'air est d'un bleu verdatr
, et les nuages de l'horizon y font d'un jaune et d'un rouge très enfoncés.
REFL. T. II. Sect. 18.
,
The crimson bowers of modest Even.
'Here,' Fancy cries, 'I reigned of yore
'What time I fled the Grecian shore,
'With joy this fair retreat I found,
'And blessed the consecrated ground.
'The city of my empire here,
'I said, its airy pride shall rear;
'Where Freedom and my child the Muse
'Their amiable court shall chuse.
'To her, my darling care, shall rise
'A lofty dome of Doric guise,
'Whence to her chosen sops she may
'Dispense the treasures of the lay:
'While he from all intruding powers
'Shall vindicate our hallowed towers.
'I spoke. Obedient to my call
'Rose like a flame the crystal wall:
'Celestial shapes on pinions fleet
'Peopled each pearl paven street,
'While symphonies from harps unseen
'Warbled along the blue serene.
'Far in the midst the golden hue
'Of Fame's bright temple smote the view,
'The keys that oped the portal blest
'Impartial Genius possess'd.
'Here long I held my wide command,
'Till came the Father of the Land,
'A guest who oft had graced our scene,
'Of eagle eye and princely mein,
'Now down his beard of silver dye
'The dews of grief were seen to hie.
'Fly hence, he cries, Oh empress fly!
'The rivals of your throne are nigh,
'Of Tyranny the savage train
'And Superstition seek your reign;
'This province of their rule they w
'In vain ye stem the tide of Fate!
'Freedom undaunted heard the strain,
'And soaring sought the British plain,
'By firm decree of ruling Heaven
'To his perpetual scepter given.
'With speed I traced his daring flight,
'Forgetful of our chief delight,
'The Muse, amid dark peril left,
'Of all our parent aids bereft.
'Soon I described my former way
'Intent to find the lonely fay:
'What wonder filled my eager breast
'In weeds when I beheld her drest,
'Hid in a veil her front of snow,
'And muttering o'er the beaded row!
'With sighs I said, alas, my child,
'Give to the wind these garments wild;
'From Superstition's chains arise,
'And mingle with thy native skies.
'Parent, the nun demure replied,
'Repentant of my ancient pride,
'And license, here I mean to stay
'
ll Fate allot a better day.
'
ove in vain to chase the gloom,
'
last resolved to share her doom.
'
haunts our plodding steps decoy,
'
from the busy scenes of joy:
'The convent where the pining maid
'To the cold moon orisons paid,
'Defrauded of each social tie,
'The weeping spouse of Misery.
'The dim cathedral's holy calm,
'Where organs swell the solemn psalm▪
'As on the walls with ruddy gleam
'The sun exalts his setting stream.
'The hermitage embosomed deep
'Amid the pine benighted steep,
'Where falling floods with hideous shock
'To horror wake each listening rock,
'Till far immerst with feeble wail
'They wander thro' the dreary vale.
'Science at length disclosed her spring,
'And pruned anew our drooping wing,
'Again we fanned the buxom air,
'Chaunting our native carols clear.
'Awhile the woods of Provence wild,
'And sunny fields, our paths beguiled,
'To prompt the heroes fire our care,
'Or paint the graces of the fair;
'Awhile the balmy bowers that hide
'The warbled maze of Arno's tide:
'Ere Britain's breezy lawns we trode;
'Britain our last and best abode.
Queen of the lyre! by every grace
That gave to fame thy Attic race,
By all the flowers thy fostering gales
Reared to the sun in Latian vales,
By all the visions that extolled
The fiery minds of Albion old,
Yet deign to hear a British strain!
Yet deign to bless a British swain!
The fount of melody to lead
Now thro' the gay enameled mead,
Where smiling Beauty loves to lave
Her charms amid the orient wave
Impart; now by the lonely cell,
Where Solitude and Science dwell;
Now o'er the heights of Grandeur rude
To pour the long resounding flood;
Now by the city's peopled way
The liquid mirror to convey,
Reflecting in its pure recess
Each scene of Art and Happiness.
Ye few, whose burning soul of song
Exempts you from the modern throng;
Who tune to bliss the warbling lyre,
Receive me to your sacred choir!
Be far ye dissonant profane!
Ye sullen progeny of Gain,
Of Luxury ye offspring vile,
Who scorn the Muse's lovely toil.
Shall every grace the seeing find
Be folly held for ye are blind?
Tho' Ignorance breath her iron cloud
The Muse's blaze from you to shroud,
Yet pours she on the favoured fight
The golden stream of life and light;
To Nature lends her radiant ray,
And opes her worlds of purer day,
To bless the man, swcet shell, whose soul
Thy ardors fire, thy charms control.
ODE II. TO PEACE.
FROM thy celestial bower,
Beyond the starry sphere,
Where Love and Beauty share with thee their sway,
Descend, thou happy Power,
Descend with speed, and steer
To seagirt Albion thy willing way.
Here thy shrine elect
With all the spoils of Art and blooming Nature deck'd,
But far be from thy train
The brood of evil Fate,
That oft around thy holy throne appear.
To deal her golden bane
Let not Corruption wait;
Nor Freedom's ensign raving Riot rear:
Let not Power constrain
The wandering tides of wealth to Luxury's proud fane.
Clad in patriot steel
May Fortitude be seen;
And Honour wide his radiant blazon spread:
May Liberty reveal
His cool undaunted mien;
While Agriculture tends the genial mead:
And thy empire o'er
Commerce and rich Plenty blend their liberal store.
ODE III. THE LANDSCAPE.
SOPHOC.
FROM off his gay embroidered bed.
The Majesty of Day
Rearing aloft his golden head
Ensued his radiant way.
As on he drove his flaming wain,
Young Smiles and Pleasures graced his train,
While, drizzling balmy dew,
The clouds along the sapphire plain
In wandering fleeces flew.
The hoary turret's ivy'd cell
The guest of June
This guest of Summer, The temple haunting m
rtlet—SH. Macbeth.
resigned,
Mazing along the sunny dell
Her fleeting prey to find;
Skimming the lake with jetty wing,
Spangled with many a lucid ring
Amid the watery sky,
As oft its sportive race would spring
To snatch the falling fly.
The love lorn linnet left the spray
To sip the dewey flower,
But feeling soon the fervid ray,
Regain'd her bosky bower.
O'er every mountain, grove, and mead
Summer's luxuriant hand had spread
Her richest, gayest pride;
Each happy stream in cadence led
His music murmuring tide.
When lo! dim shades the west gan rove
With sable march and still;
Dark grows the mead, and dark the grove,
And dark the frowning hill.
Where'er the wanton Breezes bright
On musky pinion fluttered light,
Now steers his grizzly form,
By Ruin traced and wild Affright,
The Anarch of the storm.
In sweepy showers the clouds descend;
Sore sighs the afflicted air,
As thro' the night red thunders rend,
And sheety lightnings glare.
With fires embattled blasts engage;
The kingly tower, whose awful age
Governed the subject plain,
Now vanquished by their ruthless rage,
Deforms his dreary reign.
O why withstand the waste of Time,
Why scorn his sovereign sway?
To sink beneath the ruder clime,
The ruin of a day!
Ye drooping flowers why did ye bloom?
Ye hills, ye groves, O why assume
Your verdant royalty?
Ye meads why breathed ye fragrant fume
Before a blast to fly!
Yet cease, the vain complaint refrain,
See smiling Noon relume
With purple glance the painted plain,
And gild the mountain's gloom.
Such is the day man's line enjoy.
Oft silent Sorrows them decoy
Fair Pleasure's veil below;
And oft a sweetly tranquil Joy
Assumes the guise of Woe.
The sun that sets in gold arrayed
May spring in gloom forlorn;
The sun whose fires in tempest fade
With smiles may wake the morn.
'Tis heaven's to read the fated sky;
'Tis ours the present good to ply,
Nor dread the approaching shower:
Since Pleasures while they frolic fly,
Ah seize the sunshine hour!
ODE IV. THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY.
'TWAS noon. The summer air
A sultry silence held;
The bees incessant care
Alone enjoyed the field:
When Love, then late to mortals given,
(The richer boon of bounteous Heaven)
Faint to endure the fervor of the day,
To a cool wood pursued her lonely way.
Above, beneath, around,
One cooling freshness breathed;
The birds with liquid sound
Their varied notes bequeathed:
The flowers that sparkled thro' the gloom
Exhaled their souls in balmy fume:
Yet oft when Night her sable ensign reared,
Quaint shapes were seen, and shrieks of horror heard.
The tyrant slave for Fear
There chosen had his home:
Fenced with attendance drear
Arose the savage dome;
With Sorrow wan, and coward Shame,
And fell Suspicion's hated name:
So wide his power that Fancy knew him lord,
And Reason stern his feeble will adored.
Beside a crystal wave
That murmured thro' the glade,
Intent her limbs to lave,
Reclined the heedless maid.
The golden errors of her hair
Released she to the sportive air;
And soon confest in all her charms she stood
Amid the wanton eddies of the flood.
Till satiate of the stream
She left the soothing joy,
All on the velvet brim
In naked state to lie.
Her solitary sense around
The gales diffused their sighing sound;
And o'er her lovely eyes soft slumbers threw
The melting solace of their honeyed dew.
As he the spicy shade
Of Ceylon's groves among,
In happy sleep who laid
Some lilied bank along,
Awaked by sudden outcry dire
Beholds a tyger's eyes of fire:
So seemed the goddess when she reared her view,
And in her arms wild Fear the traitor knew.
The fruit of his embrace
The flying days defined
Lord of the faded face,
Mad port, and stormy mind.
The glowing blossoms of desire
'Tis his to taint with fatal ire;
And from his mother's nectared cup of weal
The deadly draught of misery to deal.
Oh far be from my soul
Thou author of despight!
Ne'er may thy poisoned bowl
The feast of rapture blight.
Be mine far from thy frantic strife
To tread the sunny paths of life:
The valued rose of happiness to find,
But leave the bitter thorn of woe behind.
ODE V. TO TIME.
O THOU whose reign
Controls the general frame;
The powers of art, the feats of praise;
Nay, the diviner movements of the mind,
The sigh of hopeless love, and sorrow's sacred tear.
In pity deign
My fiercest pangs to tame;
The phantoms of despair to chace,
And in Oblivion's prison dim to bind;
While joys by reason taught my fainting spirit cheer.
Yet to remain
Permit the pleasing dream,
Vain image of my happier case!
Yet to remain permit the woe refined,
That lost delights appeal and sad remembrance dear.
ODE VI. THE PROPHECY OF TWEED.
WHAT time the speed of terror bore
High Edward from the Scotian shore,
And Bruce's fatal sword;
How fallen from his proud desire!
How taught that power and regal tire
No shield from Fate afford!
Convened in solemn state
Each ancient River met,
Whose hallowed waters grace the victor land,
To gratulate the Tweed
From fear of bondage freed.
He in his cell received the welcome band:
Gems of each ray around his throne,
Rich ores, and painted shells, in rural lustre shone.
His hand a pastoral reed possessed;
His hoary beard adown his breast
In silver mazes flowed:
His brows a spangled fillet bound
Of flowrets from the verdant mound
That holds his fair abode.
There kingly Forth was seen,
His robe of wavy green
With gold embroidered glittered in the gale:
There Tay's majestic pride;
Stern Dee and gentle Clyde;
There the generous lord of Teviot's fertile vale;
The ruler wild of Devon's stream,
And every brother flood of less resounded fame.
When rising from his lofty seat
Their host displayed his front elate,
And thus awaked their joy:
'Attend what our indulgent sire,
'Old Ocean, with prophetic fire,
'Late gave me to desery.
'Short space the crime of War
'No more our realm shall mar,
'No more shall blood our crystal eddies stain:
'No more the ghastly gleam
'Of town or castle's flame:
'No more our echoes shrieks of woe detain.
'The shepherd's happy strain alone
'Or maiden's lovelorn plaint our willing ear shall own.
'Tho' long the night, tho' rough the main,
'The ship a happy port shall gain,
'The golden morn arise.
'The cloud with thunder fraught that seems
'And baleful lightning's wasting beams
'The stores of spring supplies.
'Our bowery shades among
'Shall Peace her hymn prolong,
'As with chearful care she guides the woolly breed:
'Or nurse the genial grain
'That gilds each fruitful plain:
'Or thro' the garden our gay fountains lead;
'Where by their winding mirror clear
'Proud domes of Attic art their solemn state shall rear.
'For on my verdant banks shall stand
'The Guardian of each rival land,
'And former deeds disprove:
'To Liberty a shrine shall rise,
'Where both their ire shall sacrifice,
'And vow perpetual love.
'Hail, Britain! hail. Thy reign
'No limits shall restrain.
'Thro' towers of thine shall wondering Ganges roll:
'His elephant and ore
'Shall heap thy wealthier shore.
'Climes yet unknown thy sovereign arms control.
'Hail, mighty Britain! hail. Thy reign
'While Ocean shall assert, no limits shall restrain.
ODE VII. ON LIFE.
From SADI
Rosarium. Amst. 1688. The passages here imitated are,
Vitae spatium perinde ut deserti ventus transit:
Amarum, dulce, turpe, pulcrumque praeterit.
p. 67.
Astrum felicitatis.
p. 49.
Auspicia si rebus tuis statim non annuerint ne sis solicitus, animumque curis turbato:
Ipse enim vitae fons in densissimis est tenebris.
O tu miseriae frater nequaquam tristator;
Deus enim misericors beneficia plurima recondita habet.
Ne iniquitate temporum incestus sedeas: Patientia enim,
Amara quamvis sit, fructus tamen dulces edit.
ib.
NOT ever thro' the Arabian shade,
Or laughing field, will life's gale fly;
Full oft the desert hears it sigh,
Full oft it roams the raging main.
Not ever in fresh ore arrayed
Will Pleasure's brilliant star appear;
Full oft is lost its fair career
Amid the cloudy hurricane.
Tho' success may not ever crown
Thy wishes, let not sorrow chill
Thy heart, or fret thy sober will.
From Care what ease can we receive?
The spring of life is seen by none,
In fate's surrounding gloom concealed;
If pure or stained is not revealed,
We but descry the passing wave.
Brother of misery be not sad;
Drive far Affliction's vulture brood.
To bear the ill and hope the good
Is all the race of man attain.
In Fortune's scorn dare to be glad:
Time may rich stores of joy bestow.
Tho' bitter be the root of woe,
Yet from it sweetest fruits we gain.
ODE VIII. THE CRADLE OF SHAKESPEAR.
.
HOM. hymn. ad Mercur.
CHILD of wonder! Child of wonder
Abenamar! Abenamar!
Moro de la Moreria!
El dia que tu naciste
Grandes senales avia.
Guer. Civil. de Granada.
!
Monarch of the feeling heart!
Wielder wild of Terror's thunder,
Pleasure's flame, and Pity's dart!
When thou wert born the queen of night
In silence shed her lovely light;
While every minim of the green
To share thy smiles forsook her sheen,
Forsook the grove, forsook the glade
To find the cot where thou wert laid:
There dancing o'er the hallowed hearth,
Each blessed by turns thy sacred birth.
'Lo' Ariel cried, 'a tender tale
Shakespeare's power over the sad or tragic passions.
'Coned from a dying nightingale,
The melting bliss of sadness bearing,
'Save I for thy infant hearing;
'The sigh of love, the plaint of care,
'The piercing accents of despair.
'I will guide thy step ere long
'Where the red-breast lisps her song
'To Pity's ear: and when the blast
'Desolates the howling waste,
'We will seek the rocky cell
'Where giant Horror loves to dwell,
'Listening to the dismal roar
'Of waves that dash the savage shore,
'Or shrieks of death that float afar
'From the sanguine plain of war,
'Where Slaughter spurs in furious mood
'His sable steed, besmeared with blood,
'Thro' files that strive, thro' files that fly
'With wings of dread, or daring die;
'Till from his loud trump Rage supply
'The lofty peal of victory,
'And Fear, astonied at the sound,
'Hurries from the horrid bound,
'Her haggard glance reverting still
'As Danger rears his outcry shrill.
'Then thro' the bleak air will we sally
'To where amid some murky valley,
'White with bones of mortals slain
'By pining grief or racking pain,
'The weird sisters weave the spell
'That thrills the latent powers of hell,
'Who rising from the molten mound,
'With sullen darkness circled round,
'Pervert the iron laws of fate
'To fill the beldams deadly hate.
'Yet tho' fell Envy should call forth
'Her blacker brood that prey on worth,
'And Censure point with leering eye
'The path that leads to infamy,
'Their clouds unblest shall swell in vain
'To check the lustre of thy reign,
'Maintained by every victor art
'That chills the soul, or charms the heart.
'Such powers I give. Successive days
'Shall add new verdure to the bays
'That from malevolent dews shall shade
'The sacred honours of thy head.
'While Nature holds her league with Time,
'Thro' every period, every clime,
'Never shalt thou and Glory sander,
'Child of wonder! Child of wonder!
'Behold,' said Florimel, 'I bring
His comic force.
'Each flower that gratulates the Spring,
'All on the verdant banks that beam
'Of lonely Avon's azure stream,
'With roses from the Pestan thore
Allusion to his comedies, the seene of which lies in Italy, as the Merchant of Venice, &c. As his home comedies are hinted at in the two foregoing lines.
'Wrapt in a veil that Beauty wore.
'Joys that carol, Sports that stray
'O'er laughing Pleasure's primrose way,
'Attend, attend my votive lay,
'Here to your bard due homage pay—
'Avaunt, avaunt!' in sullen tone
Rose the dread voice of Oberon,
'With brighter tints thy morn I varnish
His wonderful invention, which being the most excellent prerogative of a poet, is here mentioned as Shakespeare's chief title to fame.
,
'Prouder spoils thy cradle garnish.
'Let others, borne on leaden plume,
'Sail thro' Oblivion's silent gloom,
'Or haply catching Fortune's gale,
'The golden dawn of Fame assail;
'Tis thine along the desert sky
PIND. OL.I.
'On lightning's wing of fire to fly;
'From Fancy's store give Nature laws
'While raptured nations weep applause:
"Child of wonder! Child of wonder!
"Monarch of the feeling heart!
"Wielder wild of Terror's thunder,
"Pleasure's flame, and Pity's dart!"
ODE IX. TO A LADY.
DAUGHTER of Beauty, can the rose
That animates thy wanton smile,
The rapturous fire thy eyes disclose,
Thy form that mocks the painters toil,
The Graces all that round thee glide,
Restore that fairest grace, a spotless name,
The loveliest rose of virgin shame,
The calm desire, and virtue's decent pride?
ODE X. L'OZIOSO.
BEGONE, away,
Ye serpent brood of gloomy Care,
No longer bar the path to Pleasure's bower.
Begone, away,
To Avarice's castle bare,
Or the more gaudy domes of Pride and Power.
As on this bank diffused I lie,
While Summer deals her stores around,
My tiny harp depending nigh
Chaunts to the gale's amusive sound
Unbidden airs that bathe my breast
O Indolence! in thy sweet dream.
With joy I urge the pleasing theme
In thy enchanting influence blest:
With love thy dearest gifts reveal.
They best can paint who best can feel.
Parent of every virtue hail!
Nor smile that I this title owe,
For from thy silent fountain flow
All streams that deck this desert vale.
The hero's toil, the patriot's care
And all the race of Labour fair,
Where tend they, save beneath thy sway
The evening of a boisterous day
To render to their weary lord?
Blest to thy peaceful port to sail,
And make his former woes a tale,
To pleasure and to thee restored.
And happy did thy wide command
Yet wider territories own;
That every wretch whose restless hand
Spreads ruin thro' a blooming land
To gain a halter or a crown,
From Industry's emotions free,
Had been with Sleep or been with thee!
Still where the blessed Muse is seen
Thy careless step will not be far,
For with thee she delights to play:
With thee she leaves the tainted reign
Of proud Ambition's evil star,
And Wealth's tumultuary fray.
She leaves their sad society,
Where all the flowers Variety
In Pleasure's garden can disclose
Are blasted by Satiety:
And Languor and Anxiety,
Tho' banded guards in vain oppose,
Their melancholy progress steal
To where the potent calls on Rest,
And in his downy couch conceal
Their thorns that rend the feeble breast.
With thee my visionary hours
Now trace the consecrated grove
Of Science; now at random rove
Along the Muse's blissful vale.
With care they crop the Attic flowers,
And in a vase of British frame
Present them to the shrine of Fame.
Even her, the Muse, I second call
To thee, Oh empress! tho' inclined
By her dear aid the mines to find
Of mighty Nature's unsun'd gold,
And stamp with Art's creating mold;
Yet to thy will obedient I
From the delightful labour fly,
The Muse's joy, the Muse's care,
But serve thy slumbers to endear.
When bounteous Summer's golden key
Unlocks the treasures of the year,
Then, queen of pleasures, led by thee,
Me let my musing footsteps bear
Thro' all the scenes of nature free,
The wild, the grand, the soft, the fair.
Now to the verdant champain where
Some ancient mount his royalty
Exalts above the subject lee,
While clad in solar splendor clear
The variegated scenes appear.
To port along the azure sea,
Their swelling pride gay galleys steer,
Where glittering towers their glory rear,
To guard whose hoary majesty
The mazes of a river err.
Low in the sullen heath afar
A silver lake's bright purity
Reflects the sapphire canopy;
And distant music charms the ear,
Sent from the woodland minstrelsy.
Then to the villa's rural mound,
Where Nature reigns by Splendor crowned:
The florid garden's balmy scene,
Amid whose shady alleys green
The tread of Science oft is seen,
When Eve, that lovely nun serene,
Forsakes her western cell to shower
Fresh dews o'er every sleeping flower;
And to her star's resplendent ray
The thrush devotes her farewel lay.
But when arrayed in splendor wan,
Wild Winter holds his savage sway,
Add fuel to the fading fire,
Nor heed the storm's destructive ire,
While Indolence governs the day,
And laughs at Sorrow's evil train.
Bring every sage of useful lore,
Bring every bard of magic power
With living numbers to control
Each movement of the raptured soul.
Bring mighty Ossian, Homer old,
The treasures of the Latian pair,
The awful strain of Milton bold,
And Tasso's wanton carol fair,
Whose crown shall equal Spenser share.
Bring father Shakespeare's native lay,
And sly Fontaine, and Moliere gay,
Nor leave the lord of lyric fame,
Grave Pindar, nor the Teian son,
Nor what the page of Sappho lone
Yet breathes of love's delusive flame.
Be here the bards of latest days,
Like planets who by borrow'd rays
Shine thro' the Muse's present night
With feeble, yet with lovely light.
The classic page of moral Gray,
The portrait of the varied year,
And, Indolence, thy castle dear,
The vein of Akenside display,
And his who decked the parrot's bier
Gresset.
.
The tender scene of Hume be nigh,
To wake the sympathetic sigh;
Of Maffei, and the Roman sire
Metastasio.
,
Heir of the Attic art and sire.
The chosen band let Fielding join,
That minstrel sweet of skill divine,
Each generous feeling to impart,
And ope the fountains of the heart.
And here the rival of his throne
Be Smollet, Humour's genuine son.
But why the countless stores relate
That Science to her votary lends?
Even the vain pageants of her state
With joy keen Ridicule attends.
Philosophers in Folly's tire,
Who study much to be unwise,
And bards who from their opiate lyre
Deal slumbers to the hearers eyes.
O times! when oft the torpid strain
The ghastly shades of Nonsense stain,
While thro' the gloom false beauties tread,
Like glow-worms thro' the midnight mead.
The genuine births of art how rare!
And in their stead what shapes appear!
Gay Tragedies in Grecian pall,
Scenes that sleep, and songs that brawl:
Sad Comedies, that teach to weep,
With wit so thin and plot so deep:
While Elegy, with pulpit nod,
Starts up a sable man of God,
And Ode, his sullen clerk below,
Hums the rueful ditty slow;
With tinsel prankt his tattered suit,
And flowrets innocent of fruit.
What joys are thine, queen of my song!
The voice of Music, Painting's hand—
All arts confess thy soft command;
Their treasures all to thee belong.
O ever let me live with thee,
From care and toil and sorrow free;
And when the Muse partakes the day,
Brief be the magic of her sway.
Ah far remove the hated praise
Of many folio-volumed lays:
Be mine to build the slender RIME,
That haply down the stream of time
With tuneful oar and spangled sail
May move to Fame's indulgent gale.
Yet, yet, dread Power, O, ere confest
Thy influence now invades my breast,
Yet hear me. Ah in vain * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
ODE XI. Written on a blank leaf before the BASIA OF SECUNDUS.
ARMED with his lute thro' Paphian groves,
Whose echoes the sweet airs delay,
By the blyth Graces led and Loves,
Behold the wanton poet stray.
How potent to awake desire!
How worthy of the ancient choir!
How tuneful, how polite his lay!
Beware, beware, whoe'er thou art
That would'st attend his flowery way:
Beware, beware, if e'er thy heart
Confessed the harm of Beauty's sway.
So warm his raptures melt the mind,
New flames in every verse we find,
Neaera in each nymph essay.
ODE XII. TO AN ANTIQUARY.
RYGHT lernit Clerk, styl mought thy reverend lore
To Fame's quaint house conducken thee aright;
Ne fire ne worme invade thy Gothique store,
Ne gleim of genie thy loved darkness light.
Mought sons of future daies in plesaunt storie
Thy high attempts relate and ceaseless glorie.
Styl in the pege of Skelton mought thou find
New charms arising fro the smuttie tale:
Styl in the pege of Sidney wit refined
Of sense's weight and fancy's fair avail:
With transport Drayton's wars and Albion scan,
But scorn his deft epistles lovelie plan.
Mought Jonson's sillie scene thy search invite,
To stamp his beauties with the critic note
See Warburton's Shakespear; where the reader of taste will be surprized to find his most glaring faults marked as beauties.
;
Mought Dryden's sillier scene thy praise incite,
But be the Ode of heavenly flame forgot.
And when thy Muse, grave Nonsense, wakes thy lay,
Mought Dulness round his uncouth capers play.
But never, never let a hapless line
Of holy Shakespeare meet thy rugged fyle;
For far, O far from every thought of thine
The treasures ly of his celestial style.
Thou meteor, can'st thou gild the day's bright flood
Down to the dust! for thou art but of mud.
And to convince thee that not vain my song,
Behold even mitred Dulness try and fall.
How Taste did tremble as he marched along,
By Rashness led, and drest in Folly's pall!
Styl praising faults, and styl to beauties blind,
Because those equal, these surpass his mind.
Ne let sweet Spenser move thy ruthless power:
His feasts of fancy are no feasts for thee.
Ne awful Milton fro his blissful bower
Frown thy detested arrogance to see.
Ah spare them! Spare thyself! I thee entreat:
Soar not like Icarus to find thy fate.
Did not that man of every darksome spell,
Stupendous Bentley, waste his work and oil
Each blemish of his mighty strain to tell,
While proud Derision leered a scornful smile?
But Genius wept, wept every angry Muse,
To see base Learning their chief care abuse.
Then be thou warned; thy little soul confine
Within the narrow bounds that Nature gave.
The frog that weened to match the lofty kine
No other meed than shame and death could have.
To few, how few! the poet's skill is given;
To few, how few! his skill right to conceiven.
ODE XIII. TO A PARROT.
OFFSPRING of the solar clime,
Round whose gaily-painted frame
The golden lustre of the prime,
And vivid purple gleam:
The glossy jet's refulgent night,
Of driven snow the virgin white,
The vernal meadows emerald dye,
The azure of the noonday sky.
When she whose amiable toil
Tends the pleasures of thy day,
And tutors oft thy mimic lay,
Shall greet thee with her smile;
O, by the roses of the spring,
Let Love thy docil throat diffuse,
And teach with equal strain to sing
The dictates of the sportive Muse.
His, the Grace's lute who o'er
Waved erewhile his fair array,
And charmed the Seine's enamel'd shore
With accents sagely gay
The Vert-vert of Grosset.
;
The bird's whom Venus knew of eld
See Apuleius.
,
So may, and his whom Julia held
Ovid.
,
And his whom Arnaud taught to plead
Hist. Lit. des Troubadours, II. 390.
,
The splendor of thy fame exceed.
'Mark, my fair, yon laughing flower
These sentiments are mostly from Tasso, Gier. c. xvi. afterwards imitated by Spenser in his Fairy Queen, as well as the exquisite beauty of the original would admit.
,
'Lady of the fragrant vale,
'That dances to the warbling gale,
'And wooes the summer shower:
'The airs of morn around her play,
'And educate each blooming grace,
'As to the sun's enamoured ray
'She rears aloft her lovely face.
'But when noon with sultry beam
'Dares her sovereign pride invade,
'Deprived of health's enlivening stream,
'She droops the sickly head:
'She droops the sickly head till Eve
'Her last expiring sigh receive,
'And Night with sullen duty cold
'Conceal her transitory mold.
'Gather then the buds of joy
'Ere at life's full noon they fade,
'Ere chilled by Death's destroying shade,
'Their balmy treasures fly.
'At Spring's glad call the flowers arise
'And hold their happy hour anew,
'But we when our brief season dies
'No more the realms of light shall view.'
ODES. BOOK II.
ODES.
BOOK II.
ODE I. TO AUTUMN.
AS by this ample field I stray,
That glitters with thy golden store,
While from his throne the king of day
Exerts his full meridian power,
If ever from thy sacred bower
The Muse thy presence may implore,
Attend, O Autumn, to the strain,
That paints the honours of thy reign.
She comes! She comes! Behold the maid
With wheaten crown and saffron vesture
Adorned, but more with matron gesture,
And charms that need not Art's vain aid.
All hail, thou queen of plenty, hail!
Thine are the treasures of the vale
That life and health to all afford,
Best bounties of the social board:
Thine is the orchards blushing hoard
With balm and various nectar stored.
Thine is the Morn so fresh and gay,
That from her opal tower displays
Her crimson banner's wavy blaze,
While from the west the moon's wan ray
Lends all the dewey landscape bright
A double shade, a double light,
Here gilded with the matin beam,
There with the meek moon's silver gleam.
Thine when o'er every dusky mead,
The grey Mist spreads her silent sway,
That opening to the gold of day
The trees their pearly spangles shed,
And smiling, thro' the twilight scene
Reveal their robes of glittering green.
When Noon in thy full splendor clad,
As now, roams o'er each mountain head,
No fever burns the vital air,
But thro' the sprightly azure clear
Each Gale of vivid vigor strays,
And sports amid the tempered rays.
O hour when Milton, sage of song,
Immerst in bliss of lofty thought,
Would wander thy shorn fields along,
Then turn with sacred treasures fraught.
Say heavenly Muse (for thou wast there)
What seraph forms his soul did chear,
His darkling steps by thee when led,
Pensive amid the noon day glade
He heard celestial music breathe
'Above, about, or underneath,
'Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
'Or the unseen genius of the wood?'
Thine is the Eve so blyth and chill,
When from each wood and bosky hill
The birds their farewell anthems pour,
To greet the day's sepulchral hour.
Like airs each tuneful breast inspire
That meditates the pensive scene,
And cites the ardors of the lyre
That raise the mind on wings of fire;
Or tunes to softer charms serene,
How vain our fleeting state that show,
How vain all Fortune can bestow,
How vain our bliss, how vain our woe.
When thy mild Morn and chearful Noon,
Sweet Season, hold their radiant throne,
Be mine the breezy ocean shore,
Or sunny field, or mountain high
Of widest view, of clearest sky,
Thy varied riches to explore.
When gleaming through a vermil cloud
The twilight star reveals his beam,
Be mine the walk with trees embowed,
The lonely heath, the plaintive stream:
Till shining from her southern bower
Thy mild moon show her yellow light,
Till shades of deepest darkness lour,
And all thy empire yield to night.
ODE II. ON LEAVING THE COUNTRY.
OHILLS! O dales! O chearful fields!
Where Pleasure roams at large,
Now o'er your heights, now thro' your wilds,
Now by your mossy marge.
No longer shall I see her laid
Your banks along;
No longer meet her in the glade;
No longer wooe the willing maid
With rural pipe or song.
Ah might ye as ye cite the lay
An equal vein inspire,
Your varied graces should portray
The offspring of the lyre:
With Nature's genuine wealth o'ergrown,
From gaudy splendor free;
Tho' here and there a flower bestrown;
While Fancy's ray with gold should crown
The stream of harmony.
To recompense the joys recluse,
That in your reign she found,
In Fame's fair shrine the grateful Muse
Should paint your classic ground.
Your rills should thro' the mimic plain
Desporting stray;
Your songsters warble in the strain;
Your groves their vernal pomp maintain
Where Winter bears no sway.
Still echo to my pensive ear
The breezes of the dawn,
That wont new life and bliss to bear
Along your dewy lawn;
Where rosy Health delights to dwell,
And wooe the western Gale,
That scatters o'er her rustic cell,
With liberal wing, each balmy smell
That scents the heathy vale.
Sweet Goddess, thee my languid soul,
On rising pinions borne,
Shall with the warbling lark extol
At early breath of Morn.
When Noon from his meridian tower
Extends his ray,
My steps shall seek thy pleasing power,
Where by some green enwoven bower
The cooling waters play.
Nor when the parting sigh of Eve
Pants o'er the twilight mead,
Shall thy enamoured votary leave
Thy ample paths to tread.
Without thee what is life? A dream
In sloth immerst and pain.
At thy command, Oh queen supreme!
Youth opes her pure ambrosial stream,
And tunes the frame again.
Round thee the laughing Pleasures still
Their purple plumes display,
And from their nectared urns distil
The blooming sweets of May.
Stout Vigour, dimpled Smiles, and Play,
That antic boy,
Still trace thy flowery sprinkled way,
With Beauty, Wit, and Fancy gay,
And Love and Peace and Joy.
Ah happy, did he know his state,
He who of thee possest,
Enjoys the riches safe from Fate,
The riches of the breast.
Him not the costly halls of Pride,
In pageant splendor drest,
Shall win with Languor to reside:
The great while gilded mansions hide,
The cot oft shields the blest.
But where, beside a sunny hill
That stems the Eastern wrath,
The mazes of some nameless rill
Pursue their lonely path,
Concealed amid the winding glade
From vulgar eyes,
Where groves in sable gloom arrayed
Their venerable refuge spread
His lowly shed shall rise.
Far from the plodding arts of Care;
Far from the city's coil,
Where Business plants his mazy snare,
And Strife contends with Guile.
From Superstition's bigot ire;
And Pomp's tyrannic frown;
From Avarice's low desire;
And Luxury's seducing fire;
And Fashion's fickle throne.
There meek Content has reared her fane,
And there the gladsome Hours
O'er life's coutracted span amain
Diffuse their sweetest flowers.
Felicity's celestial light
Illumes the day;
While o'er the quiet of the night
Elysian dreams and slumbers bright
Divide their golden sway.
There erst the blush of Innocence
And young Simplicity
Maintained their happy residence
With Love and Courtesy.
Stern Justice leagued with radiant Truth
Governed the willing throng:
And there the infant Muse to sooth
The plaint of Age, and toil of Youth,
First poured the sprightly song.
The Naiads held in wizard care
The music of each flood;
And silver footed Dryads fair
Paced thro' each haunted wood.
The Graces to the favoured reed
Of some young swain
The mazes of their measures led,
Where fragrant Flora's purfled brede
Still decked the laughing plain.
But, ah, ye pleasing visions where
Do ye enjoy your reign?
Alas, your fairy glories ne'er
Were known save in the strain.
Inherit still the vale of life
All Crimes that soil the great;
Ambition, Fraud, and lawless Strife,
And Avarice and Wrong are rife
As in the domes of state.
Favoured of heaven is he, the man
Who, monarch of his mind,
Each hope and fear in reason's chain
With equal rule can bind.
No change of Fortune's varying clime
Finds his recess;
No dart of Fate, or theft of Time
The tenor of his thought sublime
Can change, or happiness.
The happiness in every part
Of life's revolving scene,
That brightens the benevolent heart
Still constant and serene.
But chief thy shades, O Solitude,
In every distant age
A philosophic shrine have stood
To guard the knowing and the good,
The poet and the sage.
All hail ye fathers of each theme
That chears our evil doom,
That warms the soul with fancy's beam
Or wisdom's vital bloom!
While seeming good and real ill
Divide our day;
The fair enchantments of your skill
The stormy shades with light can fill
And smooth our dreary way.
Still let me hear your sapient lore,
Your sweetest raptures prove,
As I your sacred steps adore
In wonder lost, and love.
And if at times the Power of song
May hail my calm retreat;
No other bliss to me belong!
Let wealth still crown the vulgar throng,
And power the vulgar great.
ODE III. TO MISS *****.
WHEN first thy form attracts the sight
In Grace and Love's sweet armour drest,
What transport moves each feeling breast
That Grace can charm or Love delight!
The eye instinct with placid fire,
The rosy bloom of health,
Each power to animate desire,
Each gift of Nature's wealth.
The richest these applause may claim;
But what this prize exceeds
Is that, O Fair, thy sweetest shame
Provokes the praise it dreads.
The ready blush that warms thy cheek
When on thee darts the raptured eye
With eager gaze.—Thou musest why!
Shunning the fame thy peers so seek.
O Modesty, where art thou flown,
The fair's diviner grace and boast?
To Albion art thou ever lost?
Thy meek attendance ever gone?
Sincerity devoid of guile
And timid Innocence,
The cordial glance, the winning smile,
The comely pride of Sense?
Yet thou, O Rose of May, disdain
(Be heard the Muses prayer)
To join vain Folly's fickle train,
Tho' clad in Fashion's glare.
Partake so may some favoured youth
The blameless pleasures of thy life;
And all your care and all your strife
Be who more love shall shew and truth.
ODE IV. TO THE LARK.
HERALD blyth of Morn, thy strain
Grateful audience invites,
Lo to tend thy matin rites
Break I Sleep's bewitching chain.
Now the park's amel I tread,
Brushing from each waking flower
Spangles of the dewy shower
Eve with genial hands has spread.
And now with heedless steps I stray
Along the woodland glade,
And meditate my musing way
Thro' brake and warbling shade.
Of new mown hay the grateful steam
Now rises on the gale;
And chequed with many a shadowy gleam
Wide waves the grassy dale.
Till the upland heath I gain,
Where in russet amice drest
Twilight walks the odorous waste
Till day leave the eastern main.
O'er the azure wave behold
Where his burning galley sails;
See the laughing sky he scales
Clouds of crimson thro', and gold.
How pure the breath of heaven descends!
What prospects rise around!
From where yon western vale extends
With groves and hamlets crowned,
To yonder city's towery pride,
That glitters in the sun,
And where the Bass's dusky side
Yon erring vessels shun.
Winding slow with easy sweep
See the princely Forth pursue,
By green plains and mountains blue,
His bright progress to the deep.
Wreaths of smoke the hut forsake:
Faintly sounds the distant mill:
Far beside yon northern hill
Dimly shines a silver lake.
Ever, sweet minstrel, may thy song
My due attendance gain,
For to thy hour all charms belong
Of Morn's enchanting reign.
Here on the dawning heath to greet
Thy kindred extacy
O ever may my willing feet
The power of Sloth deny.
ODE V. TO VANITY.
Up, Vanity!
SHAKESP.
WITH roses wreathe the sportive lute,
Let jocund rebecks sound;
Responsive to the warbling flute
Soft carols wake around.
To her who prompts the idle lay
Let every Muse her poeans pay,
Let fays and elves with gamesome glee
Trip o'er the green in measured maze,
And each exalt the song of praise,
O Vanity, to thee!
Thou, Goddess, from thy limbo boon,
Thy old grotesque abode,
Glide thro' the still nights shadowy noon,
And bring thy magic rod,
To charm to life the Ionic lyre,
And sprightly flowing strains inspire;
That, lapt in visionary joy,
Nor Fortune's wave, nor Envy's blast,
Nor present pain, nor pleasure past,
May ever breed annoy.
And lo the minstrel fays advance
In robes of glossy green,
While the elves lead on the mazy dance
Those strike the harp between.
Thy birth, O Vanity, they sing:
How Fancy on the day of Spring
Went forth to hail the rosy morn;
And cull each dewy spangled flower
Around the fragrance of her bower,
Her tresses to adorn.
Till wandering in the vocal vale,
Amid enchanted ground,
Where gamboled every laughing Gale,
With blooming odors crowned;
To Error's cave her steps were led,
Where Self-love, on his downy bed,
Dissolves his cares in soft repose;
And, lulled by Sloth's oblivious strain,
He never shares another's pain,
Nor in his rapture glows.
Soon as the radiance of the maid
Approached the secret bower,
Amazement from his sleepy shade
Arouzed the torpid Power.
He gazed her ruby tinctured cheek,
Her liquid eyes, her bosom sleek,
(Surprize controled her rising scorn)
Compressed her in his warm embrace;
Time smiling urged his rapid race,
And Vanity was born.
Now, all arrayed in rainbow hues,
She strays along the green,
Tracing with speed the roseate dews,
To glad the village scene.
Where the airy swain and buxom maid
Dance in the woodbine woven shade,
Flaunting the coolly fragrant air;
His foppish arts to steal her love,
Her coy disdain, her blushes prove,
That Vanity is there.
Thence to the courtly fair she flies,
(Love sporting in her train,)
Aids the smooth tongue and sparkling eyes
To flatter and to feign.
To every charm gives brighter grace,
Inspires the snowy vermil face
With softer languish, sweeter fire;
And teaches each delusive art
To fan or kindle in the heart
The flame of fond desire.
Nor to the fair alone confined,
Nor to the glittering hour,
Even the benign enlightened mind
Oft feels thy magic power.
But ah all such bless with thy hate!
Suffice the gay, the modern great,
Thy light fantastic rod obey;
The spleeny sage, the vacant clown,
The slaves of Pride, of Pleasure, own
Thy soul deluding sway.
ODE VI. TO A RIVULET.
CHILD of the hill, whose lucid wave
Ensues its solitary way
Thro' sedge, thro' heath, by rocky cave,
Along the meadows green array;
Murmuring now the wild wood thro',
Stayed with many a sloping bough,
Oak or elm, that in the tide
Refreshing oft their leafy pride
Thy nursing tendance wooe.
There brown with shade, here bright with day,
As in this valley's sheltered mound
Unnumbered flowers of fairest ray
Bend o'er thy mossy bound.
Primrose pale, and violet blue,
Slender pinks of snowy hue,
And rosiers of richest steam,
And hyacinths, in the watry gleam
Their mingled radiance view.
While of these flowers a wreath I twine,
To deck thy silver flight, attend:
Attend, while down the stream divine
Of music fancy's flowers I send.
Grateful as I am to thee,
Fair Fount, by whose windings free
Oft I trod when Morn arose,
And oft at dusky even-close,
To meet dear Poesy.
The lordly Flood whose ample sway
Guards empires, oft with angry sweep
Rolls Plenty's liberal stores away
To the remorseless deep.
Other far thy gentle reign,
That with verdure clothes the plain,
Nourishes each drooping flower,
And laves the herds at noontide hour,
And feeds the golden grain.
Like thee, O may my day still flow
Thro' Solitude's sequestred vale,
Where Pleasure's secret flowrets blow
Remote from Fortune's rude assail.
Yonder towers the steep that crown
Fear each storm's destroying frown,
To the hidden hut beneath
That rises o'er thy humble path
Nor fear, nor storm is known.
Might the fond Muse recall the days
When faith, and fancy were allied,
Still should the yellow-skirted fays
Sport on thy level side,
When the moon admires her face
Mid thy silver quivering glass
Lune, qui as ta robbe en rayons estoilee,
Garde ceste fontaine aux jours les plus ardans:
Defen la pour jamais de chaud et de gelee:
Remply la de rosee, et te mire dedans.
RONSARD.
:
Never should thy bright career
Or Summer's sultry beam severe
Or Winter's rage deface.
ODE VII.
From the Italian of Vincenzo Gravina
Di Vincenzo Gravina Giurisconsulto Egloghe VI. MS. pen. Aut. dated 1691. The verses which are here thrown into the form of a short ode, or what the Italians would call a madrigal, are,
Debole e frale è di beltate it nodo
Se non 'l raddoppia amore e gentilezza.
Belta dal tempo e scossa, e çon lei cade
L'impero alzato en l'ardente voglie.
Ma 'l forte laccio mai non si discioglie,
Se con eterno chiodo
Fissa gl'affetti grazia e cortesia.
Urania, overo del giro celeste, Eg. II.
FEEBLE the bond that Beauty twines
If sweet Good-nature her mild aid denies;
For swift as Time the power of Beauty flies,
While Gentleness more brightly shines
As Time its latent force refines,
And friendship with desire combines.
ODE VIII.
From the provenzal of Richard I
To be found in the Histoire Literaire des Troubadours. As are all the provenzal pieces that follow.
.
HOW full of woe the captive's lot!
By foes despised, by friends forgot:
To chear his breast the song remains;
The song, sole refuge from his pains!
Have ye no shame, ye dastard bands,
Two years to leave in foreign hands
Your lord to fell despair?
Know ye, O chiefs of feeble mind!
Of my realm the meanest hind
Should not endure captivity,
Could all my wealth his freedom buy.
Afflicts me more my subjects scorn
Than all the evils I have borne
In this degrading snare.
The faithless monarch
The king of France.
wastes my land
Despite of Honour's high command,
Of Amity, and sacred Faith:
My tuneful friends O stem his wrath;
Ah teach him that no pride can spring
From ruin of a captive king:
His own fame teach to spare.
ODE IX. TO THE DAUPHIN D'AUVERGNE, AND COUNT GUY HIS COUSIN.
From the provenzal of the same.
YE faithless allies where is fled
The martial flame your breasts that fed?
The venal faith ye gave your friend
In vain to other lords ye lend
In hopes of hire. For I, ye ween,
Am poor your feats to pay!
Soon as my sovereign flag I show
Ye sure shall find a lion-foe.
I know ye well. In vain ye rear
Enormous forts to hide your fear.
Go where the dames may praise your mien:
Go grace the festal day.
Yet thou, O herald of my heart,
My song, on wings of wind depart:
Instruct the Chiefs, if peace their aim,
They yet my former love may claim.
Let slaves with fraud their purpose screen:
Far from that shame be they!
ODE X. TO A NIGHTINGALE.
From the provenzal of Pierre d'Auvergne.
SWEETEST voice of night, go find
Her who rules my lovelorn mind:
To her blest abode repair;
All my hopes and fears declare:
Then return with speedy wing,
Tidings of her heart to bring.
Now the warbling messenger
Flies to greet my matchless fair:
Her the even-star he guesses,
(Eyes so bright and golden tresses)
And with equal worship pays
The due tribute of his lays.
Wondrous words then meet her ear:
'Hear, O star of beauty! hear.
'From thy lover I appear,
'Tidings of thy heart to bear:
'Mercy to thy breast be dear!
'Let thy words his sorrow chear.
'Love and grace like flowers decay:
'Snatch them ere they pass away.'
Now I hear her soft reply:
'Fly, enchanting warbler, fly.
'Tell your mourning lord that I
'Bear him equal sympathy.
'None of men so dear to me:
'Sole king of my wishes he.
'Had Fate his long absence shown
'My best boon he ne'er had known.
'Joys no more my spirit cherish;
'By the wounds of Grief I perish:
'O that with him passed my day
'In sweet wiles and laughing play!
'Fly, enchanting warbler, fly!
'Let thy speed the gale defy.
'Tell him this with sweetest strain—
'When wilt thou return again!'
ODE XI.
From the provenzal of Guillaume de St. Gregori.
FAIR the purple paths of Spring
When the woodland warblers sing,
When the meads with flowrets glow,
When the breezes music blow.
Fairer to my raptured sight
Are the purple paths of Fight:
When the meads with armour glow,
When dire sounds the breezes blow,
When keen shafts with eager wing
In their deadly progress sing.
ODE XII.
From the provenzal of Donna Castelloza.
OH author of my chief desire,
What joy shall fill my ardent breast
If, when I sing thy fame,
Thou but to humble faith aspire,
In me, and me alone, still blest,
And dead to other flame.
I fain this loyal heart would change,
This heart that pants for thee alone,
For one more fierce and free.
No, no. Should I my thoughts estrange,
Their lawful king should I dethrone,
Like treason teach I thee.
O how I love thee, chosen youth!
The race of pride and scorn in vain
My open theme disprove.
They know not thy desire and truth;
They know not my delightful pain;
They know not how to love.
Ah fools! the secret soul who spies?
Their ignorance they only blame
Who blame my bliss divine.
They never saw thee with my eyes
What hour thy wishes met my aim,
And bent thee to be mine.
My dreams still paint thee in my arms;
But soon, and leave me lost in woe,
The rapturous visions fly.
Oh come, and bless me with thy charms!
Or if thy heart no pity know,
Oh come and see me die!
ODE XIII.
From the provenzal of Guy de Cavaillon.
Dialogue between the POET and his CLOAK.
THOU cursed cloak, I view with shame
Thy ghastly shape, so bare and torn:
I would thee had the ruthless flame,
Thou father of the damsels scorn!
Hush, hush, my friend. Thou now may
But many a time and oft, God knows,
I saved thee from the storm's assail,
From drenching rain, and chilling snows.
How soon are favours past forgot!
Tho' I the ladies taunts endure,
With patience wait a better lot.
What evils cannot Fortune cure?
Now by my soul (if soul I have,
As body sure I have but spare,)
I hope and wish I yet may save
From prying eyes, thee and thy fair.
Thou blessed cloak, the scarlet dye
Shall recompence thy faithful aim.
Ay, ay. Thou can'st speak fairly. Fy!
I am too old by words to tame.
ODE XIV. THE DEATH-SONG OF PRUDA.
From the Norse
In Bartholinus de causis.
.
SUANHITA tell, my Mother old,
No more she shall her son behold:
My swift return her hope still fed,
But soon the sword my life shall shed.
O heavy change, since warm with meath
We jocund sped our watry path!
Now reft of each companion dear,
Alone my torturing chance I bear.
O heavy change, since thro' the field
Stern Orme advanced his dauntless shield!
Since victors on the bank we stood
Of Ifa's stream, that foamed with blood!
O might my friends my fate but hear,
Attendant foes my ghost should chear:
No female drops should stain my doom;
Blood, blood alone should deck my tomb.
ODE XV. THE VALE OF WOE.
After the Gaelic manner.
HEARD ye not the raven scream?
Saw ye not the sable stream?
Heard ye not the bleak wind blow
Adown the vale of woe?
Low in the glade, beneath yon oak
That trembles o'er the gloomy rock,
Where he who held her heart is laid,
Behold the mourning maid.
The lovely star of dewy eve
Is brilliant on the western wave;
And thro' her wild locks as they stray
Reveals his golden ray.
Rouzed by the solemn breathing sound,
The meek roe starts and gazes round,
As slowly wafts the lonely gale
Her lamentable wail.
'Oh why, oh why can death destroy
'The balmy blooms of opening joy!
'Oh why the wished rest delay
'Of those who hate the day!
'With morn awakes my sole desire,
'No more to view her dreary fire,
'But parting with that dying light,
'To sleep in endless night.
'Where now our scenes of fleeting bliss?
'The winning smile, the rapturous kiss?
'The sighs from heart to heart that roll
'The sympathetic soul?
'Oft on a moonbeam to my rest
'Thy form arrives in beauty drest:
'Would that the truth my visions bore!
'Or I might wake no more!
'Nor aught avails I hither bear
'The lovelorn plaint, the hopeless tear.
'Why cannot Grief the living slay,
'Or move the silent clay?
Hark! deeper sighs the distant wood:
Hark! deeper sighs the rueful flood:
A blue beam glimmers o'er the heath,
And liquid accents breathe!
'Sweet is the quiet of the grave!
'No fears confound, no hopes deceive;
'But pleasures pure without desire
'The sunny mind inspire.
'Cease, cease thy fruitless sorrow. Still
'New joys our kindred souls shall fill:
'For love the mortal frame survives
'And with the happy lives.'
ODE XVI. THE GHOST OF AZO.
In the style of the Provenzal Heroic Romanze.
'STRIKE the shell,' said the hero hoar,
Sudden ceased the banquet's roar;
The merry minstrels fire the string,
Azo's hapless doom they sing,
By their lord in conslict slain;
Faded flower of Aquitain,
Faded in life's rosy spring!
On his arm of might reclined,
Winding in his pensive mind
His deeds of grace and deeds of hate,
The awful power of Rodolph sate.
His knights and minions all around
Fondly quaffed the extatic sound,
Nor heard the approaching peal of fate.
The lamps burn blue,' pale Oric cried,
And threw his glittering harp aside;
The glittering harp with dismal breath
It was an old superstition, that on the eve of any calamity, the musical instruments gave a melancholy sound.
Wailed to the leaden hand of Death!
'Ha! No bidden guest art thou!'
The potent screamed with frantic brow,
Mien of fear, and eyes of wrath.
O'er each knight and tinseled minion
Horror spread her sable pinion,
As the visionary shade
The terrors of his spell displayed.
'Hark, hark! The echoing vallies groan
'Beneath the powers that shield my son
'In horrent pomp and steel arrayed.
'On my dim ear from afar
'Yells the thunder of the war.
'Evil scath thee, lord of blood!
'Vengeance in her purple flood
'Thee and thy many soon shall sweep,
'Like me to dwell with Night and Sleep
'And Misery's funereal brood!'
Draws the peer his flaming brand,
His trembling train around him stand,
As all appalled with ghastly glare
He idly dares the fleeting air.
'To horse! To horse!' a menial cries,
'Rollo's hundred banners rise
'Blazing o'er the mountain bare.
'Glory calls. Away!' In vain!
The morrow o'er thy desert reign
Saw Ruin stretch his dreary shade.
Slaughter mailed, and meagre Dread,
Penury and Sorrow there,
Famine gaunt, and grim Despair,
To Death, their lord, dire homage paid.
SONNETS.
SONNETS.
SONNET I. ON THE PROGRESS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
WHEN first the infant left the Saxon shore
Rude was her voice and homely her array,
Till Chaucer to the wanton court her bore,
Where jests and wiles she learned and amorous play.
Then Spenser's cell the damsel did explore,
Who decked her locks with Latian flowrets gay;
And taught to chaunt the visionary lay,
With Fancy's treasures fraught and Wisdom's lore.
What dreams of transport soothed her youthful breast
When Shakespear led her to the impassioned scene!
She hoped no more: till in her Milton blest,
Who strength and beauty gave her to convene,
In heavenly arms and heavenly splendor drest,
She rose a cherub thro' the blue serene.
SONNET II.
TRUE: she was fair as Fancy's fairest child.
True: much her thought excelled her early years,
True: nameless grace in every gesture smiled.
True: she was good above her gentlest peers.
Yet cease my soul: O be no more beguiled!
Yet cease to dream her bright form still appears.
Yet cease to dream her voice still charms my ears.
Yet cease to paint her sweet demeanor mild.
For why? The sod is green that clothes her grave!
(Oh would to heaven that grave me rather knew!)
From sighs or tears no ease can sorrow have:—
From sighs or tears can no relief accrue?
And is she gone beyond all power to save?
Then, Death, thou only can'st give respite due!
SONNET III. TO HOPE.
AS in the winding road of life we stray,
With scenes of joy beset and scenes of care,
Wisdom may guide, but cannot deck our way,
Her chosen mandate ever was 'Beware.'
Her beams but tend our dangers to display,
And warn our lingering step from Pleasure's snare;
Like the sepulchral Lamp whose dismal glare
But serves with sights of sorrow to affray.
Yet, Hope, dear Goddess! thy enchanting sway
Awakes the soul to other objects fair:
O ever let thy favourable ray
Exile the fatal shadows of Despair;
To thy bright paradise my mind convey,
And prospects large of future bliss declare.
SONNET IV. TO SLEEP.
From the Italian of Bernardo Tasso
The father of Torquato. As the originals of this and the sollowing sonnet are not common, they are subjoined
QUEST ombra the giammai non vide it sole,
Qual or a mezzo il
iel miro ogni cosa,
Da it
o
i rami d'un mirteto ascosa,
Colletto pien di calta e di viole,
Dov' un garrulo rio si lagna e dole
Con l'onda chiara, che non tien ascos
L'arena piu ch'una purpurea rosa
Lucido vetro e trasparente suole,
Un povero pastor ch' altro non ave
Ti sacra, O bello dio della quiete,
Dolce riposo dell' inferme menti.
Se col tuo sonno e tranquille e soave
Gli chiuderai quest' ochi egri e dolenti,
Che non veggon mai case allegre o liete.
SACRI superbi avventurosi e cari
Marmi, che il piu bel Tosco in voi chiudete,
E le sacre osse e'l cener santo avete,
Cui non fu dopo, chio sappio, pari.
Poiche m'e tolto preziosi e chiari
Arabi odor, di che voi degni sete,
Quanto altri mai, con man pietofi e liete
Versarmi intorno, e cingovi d' altari:
Deh non schivate almen, ch'umile e pio
A voi, quanto piu so, divoto inchini
Lo cor, che, come puo, v'onora e cole.
Cosi spargendo al ciel gigli e viole
Prego Damone, e i bei colli vicini
Sonar: povero e'l don, ricco il desio.
THIS shade that never saw the sun's bright beam,
Tho' sent from his meridian mansion high,
Where verdant myrtles rear their state supreme
O'er flowers of richest smell and richest dye,
Thro' violet banks devolves a warbling stream,
That shows each lucid pebble to the eye,
As thro' the crystal we the rose descry,
Not hid, but shining with more radiant gleam,
A pensive swain (nought else he can bestow)
With reverend honour consecrates to thee,
O Sleep, from whom sole ease the wretched find.
Here then let all thy blessed influence flow,
From Sorrow's chain his captive fancy free,
And sooth with lenient dreams his weary mind.
SONNET V. THE TOMB OF PETRARCH.
From the Italian of Benedetto Varchi.
YE venerable marbles that inclose
The reliques of the lord of Tuscan song,
To whom in ages past no equal rose,
Nor shall, I deem, all future bards among;
For that to me the blessed powers expose
No gift that to his worth might well belong,
No part of rich Arabia's fragrant throng
Of herbs or gums, my worship to disclose;
Despise not ye, that, modest tho' of skill,
To you my reverential vows I scan.
So spoke the swain, as with the Spring's best bloom
Of odorous flowers he strewed the honoured tomb;
While thro' the circling hills soft voices ran,
'Tho' poor thy gift, O shepherd, rich thy will!'
THE END.