« AnteriorContinuar »
ODES, DESCRIPTIVE AND ALLEGORICAL.
O THOU! the friend of man, assign'd
And charm his frantic woe,
His wild unsated foe 1
By Pella's* bard, a magic name,
By all the griefs his thought could frame,
Receive my humbl*? mite
And eyes of dewy light!
But wherelore need I wander wide
Deserted stream, and mute?
Been soothed by Pity's lute.
There first the wren thy myrtles shed
To him thy cell was shewn;
Thy turtles mix'd their own.
• Euripides. t A river In Sussex.
Come, Pity! come; by Fancy's aid,
Thy temple's pride design:
In all who view the shrine.
O'er mortal bliss prevail:
With each disastrous tale.
Allow'd with thee to dwell:
To hear a British shell'
THOU, to whom the world unknown,
Ah Fear! ah, frantic Fear 1
I see, I see thee near.
For, lo! what monsters in thy train appear!
Or throws him on the ridgy steep
In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice,
The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue; The maids and matrons, on her awful voice,
Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung. Yet he, the bardt who first invoked thy name,
Disdain'd in Marathon its power to feel: For not alone he nursed the poet's flame,
But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's steel. But who is he, whom later garlands grace,
Who left awhile o'er Hybla's dews to rove, With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,
Where thou and furies shared the baleful grove? Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' incestuous queenj
Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband heard, When once alone it broke the silent scene,
And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd. 0 Fear! I know thee by my throbbing heart,
Thy withering power inspired each mournful line, Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part,
Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine! * Sophocles' Electra. + jEschylus. J J
Thou who such weary lengths hast paat,
Or in some hallow'd seat,
'Gainst which the big waves beat, Hear drowning seamen's cries in tempests brought • Dark Power! with shuddering, meek, submitted
And, lest thou meet my blasted view,
O thou, whose spirit most possest
O THOU, by Nature taught
To breathe her genuine thought,
Who first on mountains wild,
In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe, and Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song!
Thou, who with hermit heart
Disdain'st the wealth of art,
But com'st a decent maid,
In Attic robe array'd,
By all the honey'd store
On Hybla's thymy shore,
By her whose love lorn woe,
In evening musings slow,
By old Cephisus' deep,
Who spread his wavy sweep
On whose enamell'd side,
When holy Freedom died,
O sister meek of Truth,
To my admiring youth
The flowers that sweetest breathe,
Though beauty cull'd the wreath,