Page images
PDF
EPUB

By her, whose love-lom woe,

The band, as fairy legends say, In evening musings slow,

Was wove on that creating day, Sooth'd sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear:

When he, who call’d with thought to birth By old Cephisus deep,

Yon tented sky, this laughing Earth, Who spread his wavy sweep

And dress'd with springs, and forests tall, lo warbled wanderings round thy green retreat,

And pour'd the main, engirting all, On whose enamel'd side,

Long by the lov'd enthusiast wou'd, When holy Freedom died,

Himself in some diviner mood, No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet.

Retiring, sate with her alone,

And plac'd her on his sapphire throne, O sister meek of Truth,

The whiles, the vaulted shrine around, To my admiring youth

Seraphic wires were heard to sound, Thy sober aid and native charms infuse !

Now sublimest triumph swelling; The flowers that sweetest breathe,

Now on love and mercy dwelling; Though Beauty cull'd the wreath,

And she, from out the veiling cloud, Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues. Breath'd her magic notes aloud : While Rome could none esteem,

And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of mom, But virtue's patriot theme,

And all thy subject life was born. You lov'd her hills, and led her laureate band; The dangerous passions kept aloof, But staid to sing alone

Far from the sainted growing woof:
To one distinguish'd throne,

But near it sate ecstatic Wonder,
And turn'd thy face, and Aed her alter'd land. Listening the deep applauding thunder :
No more, in hall or bower,

And Truth, in sunny vest array'd,
The passions own thy power,

By whose the Tarsol's eyes were made ; Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean:

All the shadowy tribes of mind For thou hast left her shrine,

In braided dance their murmurs join'd,

And all the bright uncounted powers,
Nor olive more, nor vine,
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.

Who feed on Heaven's ambrosial flowers,

Where is the bard, whose soul can now Though Taste, though Genius bless

Its high presuming hopes avow ? To some divine excess,

Where he, who thinks, with rapture blind, Paint 's the cold work till thou inspire the whole; This hallow'd work for him design'd ? What each, what all supply,

High on some cliff, to Heaven up-pil'd,
May court, may charm our eye,

Of rude access, of prospect wild,
Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul ! Where, tangled round the jealous steep,
Of these let others ask,

Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep,
To aid some mighty task,

And holy genii guard the rock, I only seek to find thy temperate rale:

Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, Where oft my reed might sound

While on its rich ambitious head, To maids and shepherds round,

An Eden, like his own, lies spread.
And all thy sons, o Nature, learn my tale.

I view that oak, the fancied glades among,
By which as Milton lay, bis evening ear,
From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew,

Nigh spherd in Heaven its native strains could ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER.

hear!

On which that antient trump he reach'd was As once, if not with light regard,

hung; I read aright that gifted bard,

Thither oft his glory greeting, (Hina whose school above the rest

From Waller's myrtle shades retreating, His loveliest Elfin queen has blest)

With many a vow frorn Hope's aspiring tongue, One, only one unrival'd fair',

My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue; Might hope the magic girdle wear,

In vain-Such bliss to one alone, At solemn tournay hung on high,

Of all the sons of soul was known, The wish of each love-darting eye;

And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers, Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied,

Have now o'erturn'd th' inspiring bowers, As if, in air unseen, soine hovering hand, Or curtain'd close such scene from every future view. Some chaste and angel-friend to virgin-fame,

With whisper'd spell had burst the starting band, It left upblest her loath'd dishonqur'd side; Happier hopeless fair, if never

ODE.
Her baffled hand with vain endeavour

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746.
Had touch'd that fatal zone to her denied!
Young Fancy thus, to me divinest name,

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
To whom, prepar'd and bath'd in Heaven, By all their country's wishes blest!
The cest of amplest power is given,

When Spring, with dewy iingers cold, To few the god-like gift assigns,

Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, To gird their blest prophetic loins,

She there shall dress a sweeter sod,
And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix'd her flame. Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By Fairy hands their knell is rung,
Florimel. See Spenser, Leg. 4. By forms unseen their dirge is sung;

There Honoar comies, à pilgrim gray,

EPODL. To bless the turf that wraps their clay,

Yet, e'en where'er the least appear'd And Freedom shall a while repair,

Th’ admiring world thy hand rever'd;
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

Still, 'midst the scatter'd states around,
Some remnants of her strength were found
They saw, by what escap'd the storm,

How wondrous rose her perfect form ;
ODE TO MERCY.

How in the great, the labour'd whole,
STROPHE.

Each mighty master pour'd bis soul;
O THOU, who sitt'st a smiling bride

For sunny Florence, seat of Art, By Valour's arm'd and aweful side,

Beneath her vines preserv'd a part, Gentlest of sky-born forms, and best ador'd:

Till they, whom Science lov'd to name, Who oft with songs, divine to hear,

(0, who could fear it !) quench'd her fame. Winn'st from his fatal grasp the spear,

And, lo, an humbler relic laid And hid'st in wreaths of flowers his bloodless sword!

In jealous Pisa's olive shade! Thou who, amidst the deathful field,

See small Marino joins the theme, By godlike chiefs alone beheld,

Though least, not last in thy esteem; Oft with thy bosom bare art found,

Strike, louder strike th' ennobling strings Pleading for him the youth who sinks to ground:

To those, whose merchants sons were kings; See, Mercy, see, with pure and loaded hands,

To him, who, deck'd with pearly pride, Before thy shrine my country's genius stands,

In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride : And decks thy altar still, though pierc'd with many

Hail, port of glory, wealth, and pleasure, a wound!

Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure :

Nor e'er her former pride relate
ANTISTROPHE.

To sad Liguria's bleeding state.
When he, whom een our joys provoke,

Ah, no! more pleas'd thy haunts I seek, The fiend of Nature, join'd his yoke,

On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak: And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey;

(Where, when the favour'd of thy choice, Thy form, from out thy sweet abode,

The daring archer heard thy voice;
O'ertook him on his blasted road,

Forth from his eyrie rous'd in dread,
And stopp'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away, The ravening eagle northward fled.)
I see recoil his sable steeds,

Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
That bore him swift to savage deeds,

With those to whom thy stork is dear; Thy tender melting eyes they own;

Those whom the rod of Alva bruis'd, O maid, for all thy love to Britain shown,

Whose crown a British queen refus'd! Where Justice bars her iron tower,

The magic works, thou feel'st the strains, To thee we build a roseate bower,

One holier name alone remains; Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our

The perfect spell shall then avail, monarch's throne !

Hail, nymph, ador'd by Britain, bail !

ANTISTROPHE.

Beyond the measure vast of thought,
ODE TO LIBERTY.

The works, the wizard Time has wrought!
STROPHE.

The Gaul, 't is held of antique story,

Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand, Who shall awake the Spartan fife,

No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary, And call in solemn sounds to life,

He pass'd with unwet feet through all our land. The youths, whose locks divinely spreading,

To the blown Baltic then, they say, Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,

The wild waves found another way, At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding,

Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding; Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view ?

Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise, What new Alceus, fancy-blest,

A wide wild storm e'en Nature's self confounding, Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,

Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth At Wisdom's shrine a while its fame concealing,

surprise. (What place so fit to scal a deed renown'd?)

Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing, It Teap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted 1 The Dutch, amongst whom there are rery wound!

severe penalties for those who are convicted of killO goddess, in that feeling hour,

ing this bird. They are kept tame in almost all When most its sounds would court thy ears, their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the Let not my shell's misguided power

arms of wbich they make a part. The common E'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.

people of Holland are said to entertain a superstiNo, Freedom, no, I will not tell,

tious sentiment, that if the whole species of them How Roine, before thy face,

should become extinct, they should lose their With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,

liberties. Push'd by a wild and artless race,

? This tradition is mentioned by several of our From off its wide ambitious base,

old historians. Some naturalists tou have endea. When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke, voured to support the probability of the fact, by

And all the blended work of strength and grace arguments drawn from the correspondent disposi

With many a rude repeated stroke, [broke. tion of the two opposite coasts. I do not remember And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments that any poetical use has been hitherto made of it,

[graphic]

IN THE ACTION AT PONTENOY.

This pillard earth so firm and wide,

Now soothe her, to her blissful train By winds and inward labours torn,

Blithe Concord's social form to gain : In thunders dread was push'd aside,

Concord, whose myrtle wand can steep And down the shouldering billows borne. E'en Anger's blood-shot eyes in sleep : And see, like gems, ber laughing train,

Before whose breathing bosom's balm, The little isles on every side,

Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calms Mona 3, once hid from those who search the main, Her let our sires and matrons hoar Where thousand elfin shapes abide,

Welcome to Britain's ravag'd shore, And Wight, who checks the westering tide, Our youths, enamour'd of the

fair, For thee consenting Heaven has each bestow'd, Play with the tangles of her hair, A fair attendant on her sovereign pride :

Till, in one loud applauding sound,
To thee this blest divorce she ow'd, [abode! The nations shout to her around,
For thou hast made her vales thy lov'd, thy last “O, how supremely art thou blest,
SECOND EPODE

Thou, lady, thou shalt rule the West !"
Then too, 't is said, an hoary pile,
'Midst the green navel of our isle,
Thy shrine in some religious wood,
o soul enforcing goddess, stood !

ODE, TO A LADY, There oft the painted native's feet

ON THE DEATH OF COL. CHARLES ROSS Were wont thy form celestial meet: Though now with hopeless toil we trace Time's backward rolls, to find its place;

Written May, 1745. Whether the fiery-tressed Dane,

While, lost to all his former mirth, Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane,

Britannia's genius bends to earth, Or in what heaven-left age it fell,

And mourns the fatal day: 'T were hard for modern song to tell.

While stain'd with blood he strives to tear Yet still, if truth those beams infuse,

Unseemly from his sea-green hair Which guide at once, and charm the Muse, The wreaths of cheerful May: Beyond yon braided clouds that lie,

The thoughts which musing Pity pays, Paving the light embroider'd sky:

And fond Remembrance loves to raise, Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains,

Your faithful hours attend : The beauteous model still remains,

Still Fancy, to herself unkind, There happier than in islands blest,

Awakes to grief the soften'd mind, Or bowers by Spring or Hebe drest,

And points the bleeding friend. The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,

By rapid Scheld's descending wave In warlike weeds, retird in glory,

His country's vows shall bless the grave, Hear their consorted Druids sing

Where'er the youth is laid :
Their triumphs to th' immortal string,

That sacred spot the village hind
How may the poet now unfold,
What never tongue or numbers told ?

With every sweetest turf shall bind,
How learn delighted, and amaz'd,

And Peace protect the shade. What bands unknown that fabric rais'd ?

O'er bim, whose doom thy virtues grieve, E'en now, before his favour'd eyes,

Aërial forms shall sit at eve, In Gothic pride it seems to rise !

And bend the pensive head; Yet Grecia's graceful orders join,

And, fall'n to save his injur'd land, Majestic, through the mix'd design;

Imperial Honour's awful hand The secret builder knew to chuse,

Shall point his lonely bed! Each sphere found gem of richest hues :

The warlike dead of every age, Whate'er Heaven's parer mould contains,

Who fill the fair recording page, When nearer suns emblaze its veins;

Shall leave their sainted rest : There on the walls the patriot's sight

And, half-reclining on his spear, May ever hang with fresh delight,

Each wondering chief by turns appear And, 'grav'd with some prophetic rage,

To hail the blooming guest. Read Albion's fame through every age.

Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield, Ye forms divine, ye laureate band,

Shall crowd from Cressy's laurel'd field, That near her inmost altar stand!

And gaze with fix'd delight:

Again for Britain's wrongs they feel, 3 There is a tradition in the Isle of Man, that a mermaid, becoming enamoured of a young man of Again they snatch the gleamy steel,

And wish th' avenging fight. extraordinary beauty, took an opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked on the shore, and But, lo! where,' sunk in deep despair, opened her passion to him, but was received with a Her garments torn, her bosom bare, coldness, occasioned by his horrour and surprise at

Impatient Freedom lies! her appearance. This however was so misconstrued Her matted tresses madly spread, by the sea-lady, that, in revenge for his treatment To every sod which wraps the dead,

She turns her juyless eyes. of her, she punished the whole island, by covering it with a mist, so that all who attempted to carry Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground, on any commerce with it, either never arrived at | Till notes of triumph bursting round it, but wandered up and down the sea, or were on

Proclajm her reign restor'd : a suddeq wrecked upon its cliffs,

Till William seek the sad retreat,

And, bleeding at her sacred feet,

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Present the sated sword.

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, If, weak to soothe so soft an heart,

Thy gentlest influence own,
These pictur'd glories nought impart,

And love thy favourite name!
To dry thy constant tear:
If yet, in Sorrow's distant eye,
Expos'd and pale thou see'st him lie,
Wild war insulting near :

ODE TO PEACE.
Where'er from time thou court'st relief,

Othou, who bad'st thy turtles bear The Muse shall still, with social grief,

Swift from his grasp thy golden hair, Her gentlest promise keep:

And sought'st thy native skies : E'en humble Harting's cottag'd vale

When War, by vultures drawn from far, Shall learn the sad repeated tale,

To Britain bent his iron car,
And bid her shepherds weep.

And bade his storms arise!
Tir'd of his rude tyrannic sway,

Our youth shall fix some festive day,
ODE TO EVENING.

His sullen shrines to burn :
Je aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, But thou, who hear'st the turning spheres,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, What sounds may charm thy partial ears,
Like thy own solemn springs,

And gain thy blest return!
Thy springs, and dying gales;

O Peace, thy injur'd robes up-bind!
O nymph reserv'd, while now the bright-hair'd Sun O rise, and leave not one behind
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, Of all thy beamy train :
With brede ethereal wove,

The British lion, goddess sweet,
O’erhang his wavy bed :

Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet,
Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat, And own thy holier reign.
With short shrill shriek fits by on leathern wing, Let others court thy transient smile,
Or where the beetle winds

But come to grace thy western isle,
His small but sullen horn,

By warlike Honour led! As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,

And, while around her ports rejoice,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum: While all her sons adore thy choice,
Now teach me, maid compos'd,

With him for ever wed!
To breathe some soften'd strain,
Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale,
May not unseemly with its stillness suit,
As, musing slow, 1 hail

THE MANNERS.
Thy genial lov'd return!

AN ODE. For when thy folding-star arising shows

Farewell, for clearer ken design'd; His paly circlet, at his warning lamp

The dim-discover'd tracts of mind : The fragrant hours, and elves

Truths which, from action's paths retir'd, Who slept in buds the day,

My silent search in vain requir'd! And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with No more my sail that deep explores, sedge,

No more I search those magic shores, And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still,

What regions part the world of soul, The pensive pleasures sweet

Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll:
Prepare thy shadowy car.

If e'er I round such fairy field,
Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene, Some power impart the spear and shield,
Or find some ruin ’midst its dreary dells,

At which the wizard passions fly,
Whose walls more awful nod

By which the giant follies die ! By thy religious gleams.

Farewell the porch, whose roof is seen, Or if chill blastering winds, or driving rain,

Arch'd with th' enlivening olive's green; Prevent my willing feet, be mine the but,

Where Science, prank'd in tissued rest, That from the mountain's side

By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest, Views wilds and swelling floods,

Comes like a bride, so trim array'd,

To wed with doubt in Plato's shade! And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,

Youth of the quick uncheated sight, And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy walks, Observance, more invite ! Thy dewy fingers draw

O thou, wbu lov’st that ampler range, The gradual dusky veil.

Where life's wide prospects round thee change, While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And, with ber mingled sons ally'd, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! Throw'st the prattling page aside : While Summer loves to sport

To me in converse sweet impart, Beneath thy lingering light:

To read in man the native heart, While salļow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, To learn, where Science sure is found, Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, From Nature as she lives around : Affrights thy shrinking train,

And gazing oft her mirror true, And rudely rends thy robes.

By turns each shifting image view!

[graphic]

Till meddling Art's officious lore

Till once, 't is said, when all were fir'd, Reverse the lessons taught before,

Fillid with fury, rapt, inspir'd, Alluring from a safer rule,

From the supporting myrtles round
To dream in her enchanted school;

They snatch'd her instruments of sound,
Thou, Heaven, whate'er of great we boast, And, as they oft had heard apart
Hast blest this social science most.

Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Retiring hence to thoughtful cell,

Each, for madness rul'd the hour, As Fancy breathes her potent spell,

Would prove his own expressive power. Not vain she finds the charmful task,

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, In pageant quaint, in motley mask,

Amid the chords bewilderd laid, Behold, before her musing eyes,

And back recoil'd, he knew not why, The countless Manners round her rise;

E'en at the sound himself had made. While, erer varying as they pass,

Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, To some Contempt applies her glass :

In lightnings own'd bis secret stings,
With these the white rob'd maids combine,

In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And those the laughing satyrs join!
But who is he whom now she views,

And swept with hurried hand the strings.
In robe of wild contending hues ?

With woful measures wan DespairThou by the passions nursd; I greet

Low sullen sounds his grief beguild, The comic sock that binds thy feet!

A solemn, strange, and mingled air, O Humour, thou whose name is known

'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild. To Britain's favour'd isle alone :

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, Me too amidst thy band admit,

What was thy delighted measure ? There where the young-ey'd healthful Wit,

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, (Whose jewels in his crisped hair

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! Are plac'd each other's beams to share,

Still would her touch the strain prolong, Whom no delights from thee divide)

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, In laughter loos'd attends thy side!

She call’d on Echo still through all the song ; By old Miletus' who so long

And where her sweetest theme she chose, Has ceas'd bis love-inwoven song :

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, By all you taught the Tuscan maids,

And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden In chang'd Italia's modern shades :

hair. By him, whose knight's distinguish'd name

And longer had she sung-but, with a frown, Refind a nation's lust of fame;

Revenge impatient rose, Whose tales e'en now, with echoes sweet,

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down, Castilia's Moorish hills repeat:

And, with a withering look,
Or bim3, whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore, The war-denouncing trumpet took,
In watchet weeds on Gallia's shore,

Aud blew a blast so loud and dread,
Who drew the sad Sicilian maid,

Were ne'er prophetic sound so full of woe. By virtues in her sire betray'd ;

And ever and anon he beat O Nature boon, from whom proceed

The doubling drum with furious beat; [tween, Each forceful thought, each prompted deed; And though sometimes, each dreary pause beIf but from thee I hope to feel,

Dejected Pity at his side On all my heart imprint thy seal !

Her soul-subduing voice applied, Let some retreating Cynic find

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd inien, Those oft-turu'd scrolls I leave behind,

While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting The Sports and I this hour agree

from his head. To rove thy scene-full world with thee!

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd,

Sad proof of thy distressful state,
Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d,

And now it courted Love, now raving call’d on
THE PASSIONS.

Hate.

With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspird,
When Music, heavenly maid. was young, Pale Melancholy sat retir'd,
While yet in early Greece she sung,

And from her wild sequester'd seat,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,

In notes by distance made more sweet, Throng'd around ber magic cell,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,

And dasbing soft from rocks around, Possest beyond the Muse's painting;

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; (stole, By turns they felt the glowing mind

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure Disturb'd, delighted, rais’d, refin'd.

Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,

Round an boly calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing, Alluding to the Milesian Tales, some of the In hollow murmurs died away. earliest romances.

But, 0, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! Cervantes.

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest huo, 3 Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable Her bow across her shoulder flung, Adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Paris in the year 1745.

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

[graphic]

AN ODE FOR MUSIC.

« PreviousContinue »