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STROPHE.

O

Long by the lov'd enthusiast woo'd,

By Fairy hands their knell is rung, Himfelt in some diviner mood,

By forms unseen their dirge is fung ; Retiring, fate with her alone,

. There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, And plac'd her on his fapphire throne,

To bless the turf that wraps their clay, The whiles, the vaulted ihrine around,

And Freedom thall a while repair,
Seraphic wires were heard to sound,

To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Now sublimest triumph (welling i
Now on love and mercy dwelling ;
And the, from out the veiling cloud,
Breath'd her magic notes aloud :
And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn,
And all thy subject life was born ?

O DE TO MERCY.
The dangerous passions kept aloof,
Far from the fainted growing woof:
But near it fate ecstatic Wonder,
Listening the deep applauding thunder :
And Truth, in funny vest array'd,

By Valour's arm'd and aweful fide, By whose the Tarsol's eyes were made ;

Gentlest of sky-born forms, and best ador'd: All the shadowy tribes of Mind,

Who oft with fongs, divine to hear, In braided dance their murmurs joind,

Win'ft from his fatal grasp the spear, And all the bright uncounted powers,

And hid't in wreaths of flowers his bloodlers {word! Who feed on heaven's ambrofial flowers.

Thou who, amidst the deathful field, Where is the Bard, whose foul can now

By godlike chiefs alone beheld, Its bigh presuming hopes avow?

Oft with thy bosom bare art found, Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,

Pleading for him the youth who finks to ground : This hallow'd work for him defign'd?

See Mercy, see, with pure and loaded hands, High on some cliff, to lieaven up-pil'd,

Before thy shrine my country's genius ftands, Of rude access, of prospect wild,

And decks thy altar ftill, though pierc'd with many Where, tangled round the jealous steep,

a wound ! Strange shades o'erbrow the vallies deep,

ANTISTXOPHE. And holy Genii guard the rock,

When he whom ev'n our joys provoke, Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock,

The fiend of Nature join'd his yoke, While on its rich ambitious head,

And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey ; An Eden, like his own), lies spread.

Thy form, from out thy sweet abode, I view that oak, the fancied glades among.

O'er took him on his blasted road, By which a Milton lay, his evening ear,

And stopp'd his wheels, and look d his rage away. From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew, I see reccil his fable steeds, Nigh spher'd in heaven its native strains could

That bore him swift to favage deeds, hear :

Thy tender melting eyes they own; On which that ancient trump he reach'd was

O Maid, for all tlay love to Britain fhowa, hungi

Where Justice bars her iron tower, Thither oft his glory greeting,

To thee we build a roseate bower. From Waller's myrtle shades retreating,

Thou, thou fhalt rule our queen, and Thare so With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue,

monarch's throne ! My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue ;

In vain-Such bliss to one alone,
Of all the sons of foul was known,
And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers,
Have now o'erturn'd th' inspiring bowers,

ODE TO LIBERTY.
Or curtain'd close such scene from every future

view.

STROPHE.

W

O D E.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746.

HO shall awake the Spartan fife,

And call in folemn sounds to life,
The youths, whose locks divinely spreading,

Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,
At once the breath of fear and virtue thedding,

Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view ?
What new Alceus, fancy blest,
Shall sing the sword in myrtles dreft,

At Wisdom's fhrine a while its fame concealing, (What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?)

Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing: It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted

wound!

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茶 *

2.

Goddess, in that feeling hour,

The Gaul, 'tis held of antique story, When most its sounds would count thy ears, Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand, Let not my shell's misguided power,

No sea between, nor cliff fublime and hoary, E’er draw thy fad, thy mindful tears.

He pass'd with unwet feet through all our land. No, Freedom, no, I will not tell,

To the blown Baltic then, they say, How Roms, before thy face,

The wild waves found arocher way, With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,

Where Orcas liowls, his wolfish mountains roundPuh'd by a wild and artless race,

ing i From off its wide ambitious base,

Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise, When Time his northern Sons of spoil awoke, A wild wide storin ev'n Nature's self confounding, And all the blended work of strength and grace, Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth With many a rude repeated stroke,

furprize. And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments This pillar'd earth so firm and wide, broke.

By winds and inward labours torn,

In thunders dread was puth'd aside,
EPODE.

And down the shouldering hillows torne.

And see, like gems, her laughing train, Yet, evin where'er the least appear'd,

The little ines on every side, Th' admiring world thy hand rever'd;

Mona t, once hid from those who search the main, Still, 'midst the scatter'd rates around,

Where thousand elfin shapes abide,
Some remnants of her strength were found ; And Wight who checks the westering tide,
They saw by what escap'd the storm,

For thee consenting heav'n has each bestow'd, How wondrous rose her perfect form ;

A fair attendant on her sovereign pride : How in the great, the labour'd' whole,

To thee this blest divorce The ow'd, Each mighty master pour’d his soul ;

For thou hast made her vales thy lor'd, thy lart For sunny Florence, seat of art,

abode! Beneath her vines preserv'd a part,

SECOND ÉPODE. Till they, whom science lov’d to name,

Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile, (0, who could fear it?) quench'd her fame.

'Midst the green navel of our isle, And, lo, an humbler relic laid

Thy Mrine in some religious wood, In jealous Pisa's olive shade!

O foul-eníərcing Gooddess, stood ! See small Marino joins the theme,

There of the painted natives' feet Though leaft, not last in thy esteem ;

Were wonit thy form celestial meet : Strike, louder strike th' ennobling strings

Though now with hopeless toil we trace To those, whose merchants sons were kings : 'Time's backward rolls, to find its place ; To him, who, deck'd with pearly pride,

Whether the fiery-treffed Dane, In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride:

Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane, Hail port of glory, wealth, and pleasure,

Or in what leav'n-left age it fell, Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure :

"Twere hard for modern song to tell. Nor e'er her former pride relate,

Yet still, if truth those beams infuse, To fad Liguria's bleeding state.

Which guide at once, and charm the Muse, Ah, no! more pleas'd thy haunts I feek,

Beyond yon braided clouds that lie, On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak :

Paving the light embroider'd sky: (Where, when the favour'd of thy choice,

Amidit the bright pavilion'd plains, The daring archer heard thy voice ;

The beauteous model still remains. Forth from his eyrie rouz'd in dread,

There happier than in islands blest,
The ravening eagle northward Aed.)

Or bowers by Spring or Hebe dreit,
Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
With those * to whom thy stork is dear :

* This tradition is mention'd by several of cur Those whom the rod of Alva bruis's,

old historians. Soine naturalists too lave endeaWhose crown a British queen refus'd!

vour'd to support the probability of the fact, by arThe magick works, thou feel'st the strains,

guments drawn from the correspondent difpofition of One holier name alone remains ;

the two opposite coafts. I do not remember that The perfect spell fall then avail,

any poetical use has been hitherto made of it. Hail, Nymph, ador'd by Britain, hail!

+ There is a tradition in the Ine of Man, that a

mermaid becoming enamour'd of a young man of Beyond the measure vast of thought,

extraordinary beauty, took an opportunity of meetThe works, the wizard Time has wrought!

ing him one day as he walk'd on the inore, and

opened her passion to him, but was receiv'd with a The Dutch, amongit whom there are very sea coldness, occasioned by his horror and surprize at her vere penaltics for those who are convicted of killing appearance: This however was so misconstrued by this bird. They are kept taine in all their towiis,

the sca-lady, that, in revenge for his treatment of and particularly at the Hague, of the arms of which her, the punifh'd the whole isand, by covering it they make a part. The common people of Holland with a mist, so that all who attempted to carry on are said to entertain a superstitious femiment, that if any commerce with it, either never arriv'd at it, but the whole species of them Mould becoinje extinct, wandered up and down the sea, or were on a sudden they Inould lore their liberties.

wrecked upon its clifis. VOL. VII.

L

ANTISTROPHE.

The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,
In warlike weeds, retir'd in glory,
Hear that conforted Druids sing
Their triumphs to th’immortal string.

How may the poet now unfold,
What never tongue or numbers told ?
How lcarn delighted, and amaz’d,
What hands unknown that fabric rais'd ?
Ev'n now, before his favour'd eyes,
In Gothic pride it feems to rise !
Yet Grecia's graceful orders join,
Majestic, through the mix'd design ;
The secret builder knew' to chuse,
Each sphere-found gem of richeit hues :
Whate'er heaven's purer mold contains,
When néarer funs emblaze its veins;
There on the walls the Patriot's fight
May ever hang with fresh delight,
And, grav'd with some prophetic rage,
Read Albion's fame through every age.

Ye forms divine, ye laureate band,
That near her inmort altar stand!
Now soothe lier, to her blissful train
Slithe Concord's focial form to gain :
Concord, whose myrtle wand can steep
Ev'n Anger's blood-shot eyes in sleep :
Lefore whose breathing tosom's balm,
Rage drops his steel, and forms grow calm ;
Her let our fires and matrons hoar
Welcome to Britain's ravag'd More,
Our youths, enamour'd of the fair,
Play with the tangles of her hair,
Till, in one loud applauding sound,
The nations Tout to her around,
O, kow supremely art thou blest,
Thou, Lady, thou thalt rule the west !

O’er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve,
Aērial forms shall sit at eve,

And bend the pensive head;
And, fallin'to save hi$ injur'd land,
Imperial Honour's awful hand

Shall point his lonely bed !
The warlike dead of every age,
Who fill the fair recording page,

Shall leave their sainted reft:
And, half-reclining on his spear,
Each wondering chief by turns appear,

To hail the blooming guest.
Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Cressy's laureld field,

And gaze with fix'd delight: Again for Britain's wrongs they feel, Again they snatch the gleamy steel,

And wish th' avenging fight.

But, lo! where, sunk in deep despair,
Her garments torn, her bosom bare,

Impatient Freedom lies !
Her matted tresses inadly spread,
To every fod which wraps the dead,

She turns her joyless eyes.

Ne'er shall The leave that lowly ground, Till notes of triumph bursting round

Proclaim her reign restor’d : Till William seek the sad retreat, And, bleeding at her sacred feet,

Present the fated sword.

O D. E To a Lady, on the Death of Colonel CHARLES

Ross, in the Action at Fontenoy. Written May, 1745

If, weak to soothe so soft an heart,
These pictur'd glories nought impart,

To dry thy constant tear :
If yet, in Sorrow's distant eye,
Expos’d and pale thou see ft him lie,

Wild war insulting near
Wheree'er from time thou court'st relief,
The Muse Mall still, with social grief,

Her gentlest promise keep :
Even humble Harting's cottag'd vale
Shall learn the sad repeated tale,

And bid her shepherds weep.

W ,

Britannia's genius bends to earth,
And mourns the fatal day :
While stain'd with blood he strives to tear
Unseemly from his sea-green hair

The wreaths of chearful May :
The thoughts which musing pity pays,
And fond remembrance loves to raise,

Your faithful hours attend :
Still Fancy, to herself unkind,
Awakes to grief the foften'd mind,

And points the bleeding friend.
By rapid Scheld's descending wave
His coumrry's vows shall bless the grave;

Where'er the youth is laid :
That facred spot the village hind
With every sweetest turf shall binil,

And Peace protect the shade.

O DE TO E V ENING. I ; ear,

aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, Like thy own solemn fprings,

Thy springs, and dying gales ;
O nymph reservåd, while now the bright-hair'd sun
Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,

With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed :

Now air is hul'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat, With short Thrill Thriek Aits by on leathern wing,

F

Or where the beetle winds

Tir'd of his rude tyrannic sway, His small but sullen horn,

Our youth thall fix some festive day,

His fullen Ihrines to burn : As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,

But thou, who hear'ít the turning spheres, Againit the pilgrim born in heedless hum:

What sounds may charm thy partial ears, Now teach me, maid composid,

And gain thy blest return ! To breathe fome soften'd stran,

O Peace, thy injur'd robes up-bind! Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening Orife, and leave not one behind vale,

Of all thy bcamy train : May not unseemly with its stillness fuit,

The British lio!), Goddess sweet, As, muling now, I hail

Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet, Thy genial lov'd return !

And own thy holier reign. For when thy folding-star arising Mows

Let others court thy transient smile, His paly circlet, at his warning lamp

But come to grace thy western ise, The fragrant hours, and elves

By warlike Honour led! Who slept in buds the day,

And, while around her ports rejoice,

While all her tons adore thy choice, And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with

With him for ever wed! fedge, And Teds the freshening dew, and lovelier still,

The pensive pleasures Tweet

Prepare thy shadowy oar.
Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,

THE MANNERS. ANODE. Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells,

AREWELL, for clearer ken design'd; Whose walls more aweful nod

The dim-discover'd tracts of mind : By thy religious gleams.

Truths which, from action's paths retir'd,

My filent search in vain requir’d!
Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, No more my fail that deep explores,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut,

No more I search those magic shores,
That from the mountain's fide,

What regions part the world of soul, Views wilds, and swelling floods,

Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll :

If e'er I round such fairy field,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spirés,

Some power impart the spear and shield,
And hears their fimple bell, and marks o'er all At which the wizard passions fly,
Thy dewy fingers draw

By which the giant follies die!
The gradual dulky veil.

Farewell the porch, whose roof is seen,

Arch'd with th' enlivening olive’s green ; While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he Where Science, prank'd in tissued vest, wont,

By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest, And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekest Eve ! Comes like a bride, so trim array'd, While Summer loves to sport

To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade! Beneath thy lingering light:

Youth of the quick uncheated sight,

Thy.walks, Observance, more invite ! While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, O thou, who lov'st that ampler range, Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Where life's wide prospects round thee change, Affrights thy shrinking train,

And, with her mingled fons ally'd, And rudely rends thy robes :

Throw'st the prattling page aside:

To me in converse sweet impart,
So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,

To read in man the native heart,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, To learn, where Science sure is found,
Thy gentlest influence own,

From Nature as the lives around :
And love thy favourite name !

And gazing oft her mirror true,
By turns each ihifting image view!
Till meddling Art's officious lore
Reverse the lessons taught before,

Alluring trom a safer rule,
O DE TO PEACE.

To dream in her enchanted school ;
Thou, Heaven, whate'er of great we boast,

Haft bleft this social science molt.
Thou, who bad'st thy turtles bear

Retiring hence to thoughtful cell,

As Fancy breathes her potent spell, And fought'st thy native skies:

Not vain she finds the charmful talk, When war, by vultures drawn from far,

In pageant quaint, in motley mark, To Britain bent his iron car,

Behold, before her musing eyes, And bade his storms arise !

The countless Manners round her rise ;

O ,

By all

While, cver varying as they pass,

First Fear his hard, its skill to tryx 'To rome Contempt applies her glass :

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, With these the white-rob'd maid combine,

And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
And those the laughing satyrs join!

Ev'n at the found himself had made.
But who is he whom row fhe views,
In robe of wild contending hues ?

Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,
Thou by the passions nurs’d; I greet

In lightnings own’d his secret itings, 'The cornic sock that binds thy fect!

In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
O Humour, thou whose name is known

And swept with hurried hand the strings.
To Britain's favour'd ifle alone :
Me too amidst thy band admit,

With woeful measures wan Despair
There where the young-ey'd healthful Wit,

Low sullen founds his grief beguild, (Wl:ofe jeweis in his crisped hair

A solemn, Itrange, and mingled air, Are plac'd each other's beams to share,

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. Whom ro delights from thee divide) In laughter loos’d attends thy side !

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, By old Miletus, * who fo long

What was they delighted measure ? Has ceas'd his love-inwoven song,

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, you taught the Tuscan maids,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hạil ! In chang'd Italia's modern lhades :

Still would her touch the krajn prolong, By him t, wiose knight's distinguish'd name

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, Refind a nation's luit of fame;

She call'd on Echo still through all the song i Whose tales ev'n now, with echoes sweet,

And where her sweetest theme the chose, Caftilia's Moorih hills repeat:

A soft refponsive voice was heard at every clofe, Cr him I, whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore, And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden In watchet weeds on Gallia's 1hore,

hair. Who drez' the sad Sicilian maid,

And longer had she sung-but, with a frown, By virtues in her fire betray'd :

Revenge impatient role, O Nature boon, from wliom proceed

He threw his hlood-itain'd sword in thunder down, Each forceful thought, each prompted deed;

And, with a withering look, Ji but from thee I hope to feel,

The war-denouncing trumpet tnok, On all my heart imprint thy real!

And blew a blait lo loud and dread, Let tome retreating Cynic find

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe. Those oft-turn’d scrolls I leave behind,

And ever and anon he beat The Sports and I this hour agree

The doubling drum with furious heat; To rove thy fcene-full world with thee!

And though sometimes, each dreary paule between,

Dejected Pity at his fide

Her foul-fubduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,
While each strain’d ball of sight feem'd buriting from

his head. THE PASSION S.

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

Sad proof of thy distressful ftate,
AN ODE FOR MUSIC.

Of differing themes the veering fong was mix'd,

And now it courted Love, now raving called on
HEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,

Hate.
While yet in early Greece ihe sung, With eyes up-raised, as one inspir'd,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,

Pale Melancholy fat retir'd,
Throng'd around her magic cell,

And from her wild fequetter'd seat, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,

In notes by distance made more tweet, Poteft beyond the Muse's painting ;

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul; By turns they felt the glowing mind

And daihing soft from rocks around, Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.

Bubbling runnels join'd the found; Tiil once, 'tis laid, when all were fir'd,

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir’d,

stole, From the supporting myrtles round

Or o'er fome haunted streams with fond delay, They snatch'd her instruments of sound,

Round a holy calm diffusing, And as they oft had heard apart

Love of peace, and tonely musing, Sweet letrons of her forceful art,

In hollow murmurs died away. Each, for madness rul'd the hour,

But, O, how ahter'd was its fprightlier tone ! Would prove his own expresive power.

When Chearfulness, a nymph of healthiert hue,

Her Low across her thoulder flung, Alluding to the Milelian Tales, some of the

Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew, earliest romances.

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, † Cervantes.

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; | Monfieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable

The oak-crown'd filters, and their charte-ey'd adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in

queen, l'aris in the year 1745.

W

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