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ODE TO THE FIRST OF APRIL.
Towers distinguish'd from the rest,
Within some whispering osier isle,
O'er the broad downs, a novel race,
His free-born vigor yet unbroke
Yet, in these presages rude,
With dalliance rude young Zephyr wooes
Mindful of disaster past,
Scant along the ridgy land
The swallow, for a moment seen,
Fraught with a transient, frozen shower,
Where in venerable rows
Musing through the lawny park,
BOUND for holy Palestine,
“Syrian virgins, wail and weep,
* The Glym is a small river in Oxfordshire, flowing through Warton's parish of Kiddington, or Cuddington, and dividing it into upper and lower town. It is de scribed by bimself in his account of Cuddington, as a deep but narrow stream, winding through willowed meadows and abounding in trouts, pikes, and wild-fowl. It gives
name to the village of Glymton, which adjoins to Kiddington.
The radiant range of shield and lance
We bid the spectre-shapes avaunt, Down Damascus' hills advance:
Ashtaroth, and Termagauni't From Sion's lurrets as afar
With many a demon, pale of hne, Ye ken the march of Europe's war!
Doom'd to drink the biller dew, Saladin, thou paynim king,
That drops from Macon's sooty tree, From Albion's isle revenge we bring !
'Mid the dread grove of ebony. On Acon's spiry citadel,
Nor magic charms, nor fiends of Hell,
The Christian's holy courage quell.
Salem, in ancient majesty England shall end thy glory soon!
Arise, and lift ihee to the sky! In vain, to break our firm array,
Soon on thy battlements divine Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray:
Shall wave the badge of Constantine. Those sounds our rising fury fan :
Ye barons, to the Sun unfold English Richard in the van,
Our cross with crimson wove and gold !"
Blondel led the tuneful band,
PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT.
When now mature in classic knowledge,
The joyful youth is sent lo College,
His father comes, a vicar plain,
Ai Oxford bred-in Anna's reign, Thus the solemn song renew'd.
And thus, in form of humble suitor, " Lo, the toilsome voyage past, Heaven's favor'd hills appear at last!
Bowing accosts a reverend tutor :
“Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine, Object of our holy vow.
And this my eldest son of nine;
My wife's ambition and my own
Was that this child should wear a gown : O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm
I'll warrant that his good behavior Waves the date-empurpled palm:
Will justity your future favor; See Lebanon's aspiring head
And, for his paris, to tell the truth, Wide his immortal umbrage spread!
My son's a very forward youth; Hail, Calvary. Thou mountain hoar,
Has Horace all by heart-you'd wonder
And mouths ont Homer's Greek like thunder Wet with our Redeemer's gore! Ye trainpled tombs, ye fanes forlorn,
If you'd examine--and admit him, Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn;
A scholarship would nicely fit him; Your ravish'd honors to restore,
That he succeeds 'uis ten to one ; Fearless we climb this hostile shore !
Your vote and interest, sir!"-"Tis done. And thou, the sepulchre of God;
Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated, By mocking Pagans rudely trod,
Are with a scholarship completed: Berest of every awsul rite,
A scholarship but hall maintains, And quench'd thy lamps that beam'd so bright;
And college-rules are heavy chains : For thee, from Britain's distant coast,
In garret dark he smokes and puns, Lo, Richard leads his faithful host!
A prey to discipline and duns; Aloft in his heroic hand,
And now, intent on new designs, Blazing like the beacon's brand,
Sighs for a fellowship—and fines.
When nine full tedious winters past,1
That utmost wish is crown'd at last :
But the rich prize no sooner got, The shrines by martyrs built of yore!
Again he quarrels with his lot: From each wild mountain's trackless crown
These fellowships are pretty things,
We live indeed like peily kings :
But who can bear to waste his whole age
Amid the dullness of a college,
Debarr'd the common joys of life, On giant-wheels harsh thunders grate.
And that prime bliss—a loving wife! When eve has hush'd the buzzing camp,
0! what's a table richly spread, Amid the moonlight vapors damp,
Without a woman at its head ?
| Ashtaroth is mentioned by Milton as a general name
of the Syrian deities: Par. Lost, i. 422. And Termagaunt * Kaliburn is the sword of king Arthur; which, as the is the name given in the old romance to the god of the monkish historians say, came into the possession of Rich. Saracens. See Percy's Relics, vol. 1. p. 74. ard I., and was given by that monarch, in the Crusades, 1 The scholars of Trinity are superannuated, if they to Tancred king of Sicily, as a royal present of inestima. do not succeed to fellowships in nine years afer their ble value, about the year 1130.
election to scholarships.
Would some snug benefice but fall,
Why did I sell my college life,” Ye feasts, ye dinners! farewell all !
He cries, " for benefice and wife? To offices I'd bid adieu,
Return, ye days, when endless pleasure of dean, vice prees.—of bursar too ;
I found in reading, or in leisure ! Come joys, that rural quiet yields,
When calm around the common room Come, tythes, and house, and fruitful fields!" I puff'd my daily pipe's perfume ! Too fond of freedom and of ease
Rode for a stomach, and inspected, A patron's tanity to please,
At annual bottlings, corks selected : Long-time he watches, and by stealth,
And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under Each frail incumbent's doubtful health ;
The portrait of our pious founder! At length, and in his fortieth year,
When impositions were supplied A living drops—iwo hundred clear!
To light my pipe-or soothe my prideWith breast elate beyond expression,
No cares were then for forward peas, He hurries down to take possession,
A yearly-longing wife to please ; With rapture views the sweet retreat
My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost, “What a convenient house! how neat!
No children cried for butler'd toast; For fuel here's sufficient wood :
And ev'ry night I went to bed, Pray God the cellars may be good!
Without a modus in my head!" The garden—that must be new-plann'd
Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart! Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand ? Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art; O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise
A dupe to follies yet untried, The flow'ry shrub of thousand dyes :
And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd ! Yon wall, that feels the southern ray,
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases, Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay:
And in pursuit alone it pleases.
INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE,
AT ANSLEY HALL, IN WARWICKSHIRE. An avenue so cool and dim Shall to an arbor at the end,
BENEATH this stony roof reclin'd, In spite of gout, entice a friend.
I soothe to peace my pensive mind; My predecessor lov'd devotion
And while, to shade my lowly cave, But of a garden had no nolion."
Embowering elms their umbrage wave; Continuing this fantastic farce on,
And while the maple dish is mine, He now commences country parson.
The beechen cup, unstain’d with wine ; To make his character entire,
I scorn the gay licentious crowd, He weds—a cousin of the 'squire,
Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. Not over-weighty in the purse ; But many doctors have done worse :
Within my limits lone and still, And though she boasts no charms divine,
The blackbird pipes in artless trill; Yet she can carve and make birch-wine.
Fast by my couch, congenial- guest, Thus fixt, content he taps his barrel,
The wren has wove her mossy nest; Exhorts his neighbors not to quarrel ;
From busy scenes, and brighter skies, Finds his church-wardens have discerning
To lurk with innocence, she flies : Both in good liquor and good learning;
Here hopes in safe repose to dwell,
Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell.
At morn I take my custom'd round,
To mark how buds yon shrubby mound, Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,
And every opening primrose count, To share the monthly club's carousing;
That trimly paints my blooming mount: of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, And—but on Sundays—hears no bells ;
That grace my gloomy solitude, Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
I teach in winding wreaths to stray
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray.
At eve, within yon studious nook,
I ope my brass-embossed book, Keeps Bantam cocks, and feeds his turkeys ;
Portray'd with many a holy deed Builds in his copse a fav’rite bench,
Of martyrs, crown'd with heavenly meed. And stores the pond with carp and tench.- Then as my taper waxes dim, But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast
Chant, ere I sleep, my measur'd hynm; By cares domestic is opprest ;
And at the close, the gleams behold And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,
of parting wings bedropt with gold. Threaten inevitable ruin: For children fresh expenses yet,
While such pure joys my bliss create, And Dicky now for school is fit.
Who but would smile at guilty blate ?
ODE SENT TO A FRIEND,
Who but would wish his holy lot
ON HIS LEAVING A FAVORITE VILLAGE IN
WRITTEN IN WHICHWOOD FOREST.
The hinds how blest, who ne'er beguil'd To quit their hamlet's hawthorn wild ; Nor haunt the crowd, nor tempt the main, For splendid care, and guilty gain!
When morning's twilight-tinctur'd beam Strikes their low thatch with slanting gleam, They rove abroad in ether blue, To dip the scythe in fragrant dew; The sheaf to bind, the beech to fell, That nodding shades a craggy dell.
'Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear, Wild nature's sweetest notes they hear: On green untrodden banks they view The hyacinth's neglected hue : In their lone haunts, and woodland rounds, They spy the squirrel's airy bounds, And starile from her ashen spray, Across the glen, the screaming jay: Each native charm their steps explore Of Solitude's sequester'd store.
For them the Moon with cloudless ray
Their little sons, who spread the bloom
Their humble porch with honied flow'rs
An mourn, thou lov'd retreat! No more
Who now shall indolently stray
For lo! the Bard who rapture found
Behold, a dread repose resumes,
Grey clothing, from the Latin verb amicie, to clothe.
Around the glow-worm's glimmering bank, Beneath yon ruin'd abbey's moss-grown piles No Fairies run in fiery rank ;
Oft let me sit, at twilight hour of eve, Nor brush, half-seen, in airy tread,
Where through some western window the pale Moon The violet's unprinted head.
Pours her long-level'd rule of streaming light; But Fancy, from the thickets brown,
While sullen sacred silence reigns around, The glades that wear a conscious frown, Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bow's The forest oaks, that, pale and lone,
Amid the mould’ring caverns dark and damp, Nod to the blast with hoarser tone,
Or the calm breeze, that rustles in the leaves Rough glens, and sullen water-falls,
of flaunting ivy, that with mantle green Her bright ideal offspring calls.
Invests some wasted tow'r. Or let me tread So by some sage enchanter's spell,
Its neighb'ring walk of pines, where mus'd of old (As old Arabian fablers tell,)
The cloister'd brothers : through the gloomy void Amid the solitary wild,
That far extends beneath their ample arch Luxuriant gardens gaily smil'd:
As on I pace, religious horror wraps From sapphire rocks the fountains stream'd, My soul in dread repose. But when the world With golden fruit the branches beam'd; Is clad in Midnight's raven-color'd robe, Fair forms, in every wondrous wood,
'Mid hollow charnel let me watch the flame Or lightly tripp'd, or solemn stood ;
of ta per dim, shedding a livid glare And oft, retreating from the view,
O'er the wan heaps ; while airy voices talk Betray'd, at distance, beauties new :
Along the glimm'ring walls; or ghostly shape, While gleaming o'er the crisped bowers
At distance seen, in vites with beck'ning hand Rich spires arose, and sparkling towers. My lonesome steps, through the far-winding vaults If bound on service new to go,
Nor undelightful is the solemn noon The master of the magic show
or night, when haply wakeful from my couch His transitory charm withdrew,
I start: lo! all is motionless around ! Away th' illusive landscape flew :
Roars not the rushing wind; the sons of men Dun clouds obscur'd the groves of gold, And every beast, in mute oblivion lie; Blue lightning smote the blooming mould: All nature's hush'd in silence and in sleep. In visionary glory rear'd,
O then how fearful is it to reflect, The gorgeous castle disappeard ;
That through the still globe's awful solitude, And a bare heath's unfruitful plain
No being wakes but me! till stealing sleep
My drooping temples bathes in opiate dews.
To the fell house of Busyrane, he led
Th' unshaken Britomart; or Milton knew,
When in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd
All Heav'n in tumult, and the seraphim
Come tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold.
Let others love soft Summer's evening smiles, Mother of musings, Contemplation sage,
As list’ning to the distant waler-fall,
Then, when the sullen shades of ev’ning close, Thou hear'st with howling winds the beating rain Where through the room a blindly glimm'ring g'eam And drifting hail descend; or if the skies
The dying embers scatter, far remote (roof Unclouded shine, and through the blue serene From Mirth's mad shouts, that through th'illumin'd Pale Cynthia rolls her silver-axled car,
Resound with festive echo, let me sit, Whence gazing stedfast on the spangled vault Blest with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge. Raptur'd thou sitt'st, while murmurs indistinct Then let my thought contemplative explore of distant billows soothe thy pensive ear.
This fleeting state of things, the vain delights, With hoarse and hollow sounds; secure, self-blest, The fruitless toils, that still our search elude, There oft thou listen'st to the wild uproar
As through the wilderness of life we rove. Of Aeets encount'ring, that in whispers low This sober hour of silence will unmask Ascend the rocky summit, where thou dwell'st False Folly's smile, that like the dazzling spells Remote from man conversing with the spheres ! Of wily Comus cheat the unweeling eye O lead me, queen sublime, to solemn glooms With blear illusion, and persuade to drink Congenial with my soul; to cheerless shades, That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair To ruin'd seats, to twilight cells and bow'rs, Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man. Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to muse, Eager we taste, but in the luscious draught Her fav'rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes Forget the poisonous dregs that lurk beneath of purple Spring, where all the wanton train Few know that elegance of soul refin'd, Or Smiles and Graces seem to lead the dance Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy In sportive round, while from their hand they show'r From Melancholy's scenes, than the dull pride Ambrosial blooms and now'rs, no longer charm; Of tasteless splendor and magnificence Tempé, no more I court thy balmy breeze, Can e'er afford. Thus Eloise, whose mind Adieu, green vales ! ye broider'd meads, adieu! Had languish'd to the pangs of melting love,