While Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft he

wont,

And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve;
While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy ling'ring light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 45

Or Winter, yelling thro' the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipp'd

Health,

Thy gentlest influence own, And hymn thy fav'rite name!

THE PASSIONS

AN ODE TO MUSIC

When Music, heav'nly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possest beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each, for madness rul'd the hour,
Would prove his own expressive pow'r.

First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Ev'n at the sound himself had made.

Next Anger rush'd; his eyes, on fire,
In lightnings own'd his secret stings;
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
With woful measures wan Despair

50

5

ΙΟ

15

20

25

Reflect its last cool gleam.

Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

40

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

Whom, long-endear'd, thou leav'st by Lavant's side;

Together let us wish him lasting truth,

And joy untainted, with his destined bride. Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast My short-liv'd bliss, forget my social name; 10 But think, far off, how on the Southern coast I met thy friendship with an equal flame! Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, whose ev'ry vale Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand: To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail; 15 Thou need'st but take the pencil to thy hand, And paint what all believe who own thy genial land.

II

20

There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill;
'Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet,
Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people meet
Beneath each birken shade on mead or hill.
There each trim lass that skims the milky store
To the swart tribes their creamy bowl allots;
By night they sip it round the cottage door,
While airy minstrels warble jocund notes. 25
There ev'ry herd, by sad experience, knows
How, wing'd with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly;
When the sick ewe her summer food foregoes,

Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie. Such airy beings awe th' untutor'd swain: 30 Nor thou, though learn'd, his homelier thoughts neglect;

Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain: These are the themes of simple, sure effect, That add new conquests to her boundless reign, And fill, with double force, her heart-commanding strain.

III

35

76

In the first year of the first George's reign, And battles rag'd in welkin of the North, They mourn'd in air, fell, fell Rebellion slain ! And as, of late, they joy'd in Preston's fight,

Saw at sad Falkirk all their hopes near crown'd, They rav'd, divining, thro' their second sight, 80 Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were drown'd!

Illustrious William! Britain's guardian name! One William sav'd us from a tyrant's stroke; He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame;

But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast broke,

85 To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's yoke!

1 This Ode was first published after the death of Collins. The bracketed passages are missing in the original and are here supplied from an unauthorized edition, London, 1788.

Let not dank Will mislead you to the heath:
Dancing in mirky night, o'er fen and lake,
He glows, to draw you downward to your death,
In his bewitch'd, low, marshy willow brake!]
What tho' far off, from some dark dell espied, 95
His glimm'ring mazes cheer th' excursive sight,
Yet turn, ye wand'rers, turn your steps aside,

Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light; For, watchful, lurking 'mid th' unrustling reed,

At those mirk hours the wily monster lies, 100 And listens oft to hear the passing steed,

And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes, If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch surprise.

165

Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain, Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, 161 And all their prospect but the wintry main. With sparing temp'rance, at the needful time, They drain the sainted spring, or, hunger-prest, Along th' Atlantic rock undreading climb, And of its eggs despoil the solan's nest. Thus blest in primal innocence they live, Suffic'd and happy with that frugal fare Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give. 169 Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare; Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!

ΧΙ

Nor need'st thou blush, that such false themes engage

Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest;

190

In scenes like these, which, daring to depart
From sober truth, are still to nature true,
And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view,
Th' heroic muse employ'd her Tasso's art!
How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke,
Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd;
When each live plant with mortal accents spoke,
And the wild blast upheav'd the vanish'd
sword!

How have I sat, when pip'd the pensive wind,
To hear his harp, by British Fairfax strung,
Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind

Believ'd the magic wonders which he sung! 200 Hence at each sound imagination glows;

[The MS. lacks a line here.]

Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows; Melting it flows, pure, num'rous, strong, and clear,

And fills th' impassion'd heart, and wins th' harmonious ear.

XIII

205

To-night retired, the queen of heaven

With young Endymion stays;

And now to Hesper it is given
Awhile to rule the vacant sky,
Till she shall to her lamp supply
A stream of brighter rays.

Propitious send thy golden ray,

Thou purest light above!

Let no false flame seduce to stray
Where gulf or steep lie hid for harm;
But lead where music's healing charm
May soothe afflicted love.

To them, by many a grateful song
In happier seasons vow'd,
These lawns, Olympia's haunts, belong:
Oft by yon silver stream we walk'd,
Or fix'd, while Philomela talk'd,
Beneath yon copses stood.

Nor seldom, where the beechen boughs
That roofless tower invade,
We came, while her enchanting Muse
The radiant moon above us held:
Till, by a clamorous owl compell'd
She fled the solemn shade.

But hark! I hear her liquid tone!
Now Hesper guide my feet!
Down the red marl with moss o'ergrown,
Through yon wild thicket next the plain,
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane
Which leads to her retreat.

See the green space: on either hand
Enlarged it spreads around:

See, in the midst she takes her stand,
Where one old oak his awful shade
Extends o'er half the level mead,
Enclosed in woods profound.

Hark! how through many a melting note

She now prolongs her lays:

How sweetly down the void they float!

10

20

30