Chapter 6

Thou who such weary lengths hast past, Where wilt thou rest, mad Nymph, at last? Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell, Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell? Or, in some hollow'd seat, 50 'Gainst which the big waves beat, Hear drowning seamen's cries, in tempests brought? Dark power, with shuddering meek submitted thought, Be mine to read the visions old Which thy awakening bards have told: 55 And, lest thou meet my blasted view, Hold each strange tale devoutly true; Ne'er be I found, by thee o'erawed, In that thrice hallow'd eve, abroad, When ghosts, as cottage maids believe, 60 Their pebbled beds permitted leave; And goblins haunt, from fire, or fen, Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!

O thou, whose spirit most possest The sacred seat of Shakespeare's breast! 65 By all that from thy prophet broke, In thy divine emotions spoke; Hither again thy fury deal, Teach me but once like him to feel: His cypress wreath my meed decree, 70 And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee!

FOOTNOTES:

[15] Alluding to the ~Kynas aphyktous~ of Sophocles. See the Electra. C.

[16] Æschylus. C.

[17] Jocasta. C.

[18] ~----oud' et' ôrôrei boê, Ên men siôpê; phthegma d' exaiphnês tinos Thôuxen auton, hôste pantas orthias Stêsai phobô deisantas exaiphnês trichas.~

See the OEdip. Colon. of Sophocles. C.

ODE TO SIMPLICITY.

O thou, by Nature taught To breathe her genuine thought, In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong; Who first, on mountains wild, In Fancy, loveliest child, 5 Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song!

Thou, who, with hermit heart, Disdain'st the wealth of art, And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall; But com'st a decent maid, 10 In attic robe array'd, O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call!

By all the honey'd store On Hybla's thymy shore; By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear; 15 By her[19] whose lovelorn woe, In evening musings slow, Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear:

By old Cephisus deep, Who spread his wavy sweep, 20 In warbled wanderings, round thy green retreat; On whose enamel'd side, When holy Freedom died, No equal haunt allured thy future feet.

O sister meek of Truth, 25 To my admiring youth, Thy sober aid and native charms infuse! The flowers that sweetest breathe, Though Beauty cull'd the wreath, Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues. 30

While Rome could none esteem But virtue's patriot theme, You lov'd her hills, and led her laureat band: But staid to sing alone To one distinguish'd throne; 35 And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land.

No more, in hall or bower, The Passions own thy power, Love, only Love her forceless numbers mean: For thou hast left her shrine; 40 Nor olive more, nor vine, Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.

Though taste, though genius, bless To some divine excess, Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole; 45 What each, what all supply, May court, may charm, our eye; Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul!

Of these let others ask, To aid some mighty task, 50 I only seek to find thy temperate vale; Where oft my reed might sound To maids and shepherds round, And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my tale.

FOOTNOTES:

[19] The ~aêdôn~, or nightingale, for which Sophocles seems to have entertained a peculiar fondness. C.

ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER.

As once,--if, not with light regard, I read aright that gifted bard, --Him whose school above the rest His loveliest elfin queen has blest;-- One, only one, unrival'd[20] fair, 5 Might hope the magic girdle wear, At solemn turney hung on high, The wish of each love-darting eye;

--Lo! to each other nymph, in turn, applied, As if, in air unseen, some hovering hand, 10 Some chaste and angel friend to virgin fame, With whisper'd spell had burst the starting band, It left unblest her loathed dishonour'd side; Happier, hopeless Fair, if never Her baffled hand, with vain endeavour, 15 Had touch'd that fatal zone to her denied! Young Fancy thus, to me divinest name, To whom, prepared and bathed in heaven, The cest of amplest power is given: To few the godlike gift assigns, 20 To gird their blest prophetic loins, And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix'd her flame!

The band, as fairy legends say, Was wove on that creating day, When He, who call'd with thought to birth 25 Yon tented sky, this laughing earth, And dress'd with springs and forests tall, And pour'd the main engirting all, Long by the loved enthusiast woo'd, Himself in some diviner mood, 30 Retiring, sat with her alone, And placed her on his sapphire throne; The whiles, the vaulted shrine around, Seraphic wires were heard to sound, Now sublimest triumph swelling, 35 Now on love and mercy dwelling; And she, from out the veiling cloud, Breathed her magic notes aloud: And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn, And all thy subject life was born! 40 The dangerous passions kept aloof, Far from the sainted growing woof: But near it sat ecstatic Wonder, Listening the deep applauding thunder; And Truth, in sunny vest array'd, 45 By whose the tarsel's eyes were made; All the shadowy tribes of mind, In braided dance, their murmurs join'd, And all the bright uncounted powers Who feed on heaven's ambrosial flowers. 50 --Where is the bard whose soul can now Its high presuming hopes avow? Where he who thinks, with rapture blind, This hallow'd work for him design'd?

High on some cliff, to heaven up-piled, 55 Of rude access, of prospect wild, Where, tangled round the jealous steep, Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep, And holy Genii guard the rock, Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, 60 While on its rich ambitious head, An Eden, like his own, lies spread: I view that oak, the fancied glades among, By which, as Milton lay, his evening ear, From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew, 65 Nigh sphered in heaven, its native strains could hear; On which that ancient trump he reach'd was hung: Thither oft, his glory greeting, From Waller's myrtle shades retreating, With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue, 70 My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue; In vain--Such bliss to one alone, Of all the sons of soul, was known; And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers, Have now o'erturn'd the inspiring bowers; 75 Or curtain'd close such scene from every future view.

FOOTNOTES:

[20] Florimel. See Spenser, Leg. 4th. C.

ODE,

WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR 1746.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes bless'd! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod 5 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim-gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 10 And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 5. She then shall dress a sweeter sod

7. By hands unseen the knell is rung;

8. By fairy forms their dirge is sung;

ODE TO MERCY.

STROPHE.

O Thou, who sitt'st a smiling bride By Valour's arm'd and awful side, Gentlest of sky-born forms, and best adored; Who oft with songs, divine to hear, Winn'st from his fatal grasp the spear, 5 And hidest in wreaths of flowers his bloodless sword! Thou who, amidst the deathful field, By godlike chiefs alone beheld, Oft with thy bosom bare art found, Pleading for him the youth who sinks to ground: 10 See, Mercy, see, with pure and loaded hands, Before thy shrine my country's genius stands, And decks thy altar still, though pierced with many a wound.

ANTISTROPHE.

When he whom even our joys provoke, The fiend of nature join'd his yoke, 15 And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey; Thy form, from out thy sweet abode, O'ertook him on his blasted road, And stopp'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away. I see recoil his sable steeds, 20 That bore him swift to salvage deeds, Thy tender melting eyes they own; O maid, for all thy love to Britain shown, Where Justice bars her iron tower, To thee we build a roseate bower; 25 Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our monarch's throne!

ODE TO LIBERTY.

STROPHE.

Who shall awake the Spartan fife, And call in solemn sounds to life, The youths, whose locks divinely spreading, Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue, At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding, 5 Applauding Freedom loved of old to view? What new Alcæus,[21] fancy-blest, Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest, At Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame concealing, (What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?) 10 Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing, It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound! O goddess, in that feeling hour, When most its sounds would court thy ears, Let not my shell's misguided power[22] 15 E'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears. No, Freedom, no, I will not tell How Rome, before thy weeping face, With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell, Push'd by a wild and artless race 20 From off its wide ambitious base, When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke, And all the blended work of strength and grace, With many a rude repeated stroke, And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments broke. 25

EPODE.

Yet, even where'er the least appear'd, The admiring world thy hand revered; Still, 'midst the scatter'd states around, Some remnants of her strength were found; They saw, by what escaped the storm, 30 How wondrous rose her perfect form; How in the great, the labour'd whole, Each mighty master pour'd his soul! For sunny Florence, seat of art, Beneath her vines preserved a part, 35 Till they,[23] whom Science loved to name, (O who could fear it?) quench'd her flame. And lo, an humbler relic laid In jealous Pisa's olive shade! See small Marino[24] joins the theme, 40 Though least, not last in thy esteem: Strike, louder strike the ennobling strings To those,[25] whose merchant sons were kings; To him,[26] who, deck'd with pearly pride, In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride; 45 Hail, port of glory, wealth, and pleasure, Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure: Nor e'er her former pride relate, To sad Liguria's[27] bleeding state. Ah no! more pleased thy haunts I seek, 50 On wild Helvetia's[28] mountains bleak: (Where, when the favour'd of thy choice, The daring archer heard thy voice; Forth from his eyrie roused in dread, The ravening eagle northward fled:) 55 Or dwell in willow'd meads more near, With those to whom thy stork[29] is dear: Those whom the rod of Alva bruised, Whose crown a British queen[30] refused! The magic works, thou feel'st the strains, 60 One holier name alone remains; The perfect spell shall then avail, Hail, nymph, adored by Britain, hail!

ANTISTROPHE.

Beyond the measure vast of thought, The works the wizard time has wrought! 65 The Gaul, 'tis held of antique story, Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand,[31] No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary, He pass'd with unwet feet through all our land. To the blown Baltic then, they say, 70 The wild waves found another way, Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding; Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise, A wide wild storm even nature's self confounding, Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth surprise. 75 This pillar'd earth so firm and wide, By winds and inward labours torn, In thunders dread was push'd aside, And down the shouldering billows borne. And see, like gems, her laughing train, 80 The little isles on every side, Mona,[32] once hid from those who search the main, Where thousand elfin shapes abide, And Wight who checks the westering tide, For thee consenting heaven has each bestow'd, 85 A fair attendant on her sovereign pride: To thee this blest divorce she owed, For thou hast made her vales thy loved, thy last abode!

SECOND EPODE.

Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile, 'Midst the green navel of our isle, 90 Thy shrine in some religious wood, O soul-enforcing goddess, stood! There oft the painted native's feet Were wont thy form celestial meet: Though now with hopeless toil we trace 95 Time's backward rolls, to find its place; Whether the fiery-tresséd Dane, Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane, Or in what heaven-left age it fell, 'Twere hard for modern song to tell. 100 Yet still, if Truth those beams infuse, Which guide at once, and charm the Muse, Beyond yon braided clouds that lie, Paving the light embroider'd sky, Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains, 105 The beauteous model still remains. There, happier than in islands blest, Or bowers by spring or Hebe drest, The chiefs who fill our Albion's story, In warlike weeds, retired in glory, 110 Hear their consorted Druids sing Their triumphs to the immortal string. How may the poet now unfold What never tongue or numbers told? How learn delighted, and amazed, 115 What hands unknown that fabric raised? Even now before his favour'd eyes, In gothic pride, it seems to rise! Yet Græcia's graceful orders join, Majestic through the mix'd design: 120 The secret builder knew to choose Each sphere-found gem of richest hues; Whate'er heaven's purer mould contains, When nearer suns emblaze its veins; There on the walls the patriot's sight 125 May ever hang with fresh delight, And, graved with some prophetic rage, Read Albion's fame through every age. Ye forms divine, ye laureat band, That near her inmost altar stand! 130 Now soothe her to her blissful train Blithe Concord's social form to gain; Concord, whose myrtle wand can steep Even Anger's bloodshot eyes in sleep; Before whose breathing bosom's balm 135 Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm: Her let our sires and matrons hoar Welcome to Briton's ravaged shore; Our youths, enamour'd of the fair, Play with the tangles of her hair, 140 Till, in one loud applauding sound, The nations shout to her around, O how supremely art thou blest, Thou, lady--thou shalt rule the west!

FOOTNOTES:

[21] Alluding to that beautiful fragment of Alcæus:

~En myrtou kladi to xiphos phorêsô, Hôsper Harmodios k' Aristogeitôn, Hote ton tyrannon ktanetên. Isonomous t' Athênas epoiêsatên. Philtath' Harmodi' ou ti pou tethnêkas, Nêsois d' en makarôn se phasin einai, Hina per podôkês Achileus, Tydeidên te phasin Diomêdea. En myrtou kladi to xiphos phorêsô, Ôsper Harmodios k' Aristogeitôn, Hot' Athênaiês en Thysiais Andra tyrannon Hipparchon ekainetên. Aei sphôn kleos essetai kat' aian, Philtath' Harmodie, k' Aristogeitôn, Hoti ton tyrannon ktaneton, Isonomous t' Athênas epoiêsaton.~

[22] ~Mê mê tauta legômes, ha dakryon êgage Dêoi.~ Callimach. ~Hymnos eis Dêmêtra~. C.

[23] The family of the Medici. C.

[24] The little republic of San Marino. C.

[25] The Venetians. C.

[26] The Doge of Venice. C.

[27] Genoa. C.

[28] Switzerland. C.

[29] The Dutch, amongst whom there are very severe penalties for those who are convicted of killing this bird. They are kept tame in almost all their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the arms of which they make a part. The common people of Holland are said to entertain a superstitious sentiment, that if the whole species of them should become extinct, they should lose their liberties. C.

[30] Queen Elizabeth. C.

[31] This tradition is mentioned by several of our old historians. Some naturalists too have endeavoured to support the probability of the fact by arguments drawn from the correspondent disposition of the two opposite coasts. I do not remember that any poetical use has been hitherto made of it. C.

[32] There is a tradition in the Isle of Man, that a mermaid becoming enamoured of a young man of extraordinary beauty took an opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked on the shore, and opened her passion to him, but was received with a coldness, occasioned by his horror and surprise at her appearance. This, however, was so misconstrued by the sea lady, that, in revenge for his treatment of her, she punished the whole island by covering it with a mist: so that all who attempted to carry on any commerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up and down the sea, or were on a sudden wrecked upon its cliffs. C.

ODE TO A LADY,

ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL ROSS, IN THE ACTION OF FONTENOY.

Written in May, 1745.

While, lost to all his former mirth, 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 5 The wreaths of cheerful May:

The thoughts which musing Pity pays, And fond Remembrance loves to raise, Your faithful hours attend; Still Fancy, to herself unkind, 10 Awakes to grief the soften'd mind, And points the bleeding friend.

By rapid Scheld's descending wave His country's vows shall bless the grave, Where'er the youth is laid: 15 That sacred spot the village hind With every sweetest turf shall bind, And Peace protect the shade.

Blest youth, regardful of thy doom, Aërial hands shall build thy tomb, 20 With shadowy trophies crown'd; Whilst Honour bathed in tears shall rove To sigh thy name through every grove, And call his heroes round.

The warlike dead of every age, 25 Who fill the fair recording page, Shall leave their sainted rest; And, half reclining on his spear, Each wondering chief by turns appear, To hail the blooming guest: 30

Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield, Shall crowd from Cressy's laurel'd field, And gaze with fix'd delight; Again for Britain's wrongs they feel, Again they snatch the gleamy steel, 35 And wish the avenging fight.

But lo, where, sunk in deep despair, Her garments torn, her bosom bare, Impatient Freedom lies! Her matted tresses madly spread, 40 To every sod, which wraps the dead, She turns her joyless eyes.

Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground Till notes of triumph bursting round Proclaim her reign restored: 45 Till William seek the sad retreat, And, bleeding at her sacred feet, Present the sated sword.

If, weak to soothe so soft a heart, These pictured glories nought impart, 50 To dry thy constant tear: If, yet, in Sorrow's distant eye, Exposed and pale thou see'st him lie, Wild War insulting near:

Where'er from time thou court'st relief, 55 The Muse shall still, with social grief, Her gentlest promise keep; Even humbled Harting's cottaged vale[33] Shall learn the sad repeated tale, And bid her shepherds weep. 60

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 4. While sunk in grief he strives to tear

19. E'en now regardful of his doom Applauding Honour haunts his tomb, With shadowy trophies crown'd: Whilst Freedom's form beside her roves, Majestic through the twilight groves, And calls her heroes round.

19. O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve, Aërial forms shall sit at eve, And bend the pensive head; And, fallen to save his injured land, Imperial Honour's awful hand Shall point his lonely bed.

31. Old Edward's sons, untaught to yield,

49. If, drawn by all a lover's art,

58. Even humble Harting's cottaged vale

FOOTNOTES:

[33] Harting, a village adjoining the parish of Trotton, and about two miles distant from it.

ODE TO EVENING.

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own brawling springs, Thy springs, and dying gales;

O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun 5 Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, With brede ethereal wove, O'erhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing; 10 Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum: Now teach me, maid composed, 15 To breathe some soften'd strain,

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit; As, musing slow, I hail Thy genial loved return! 20

For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day,

And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, 25 And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, The pensive Pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car.

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; Or find some ruin, 'midst its dreary dells, 30 Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams.