ECLOGUE II.

7ECLOGUE II.HASSAN; OR, THE CAMEL DRIVER.

Scene, The desert.Time, Midday.

In silent horror o’er the desert wasteIn silent horror o’er the boundless wasteThe driver Hassan with his camels past:One cruise of water on his back he bore,And his light scrip contain’d a scanty store;A fan of painted feathers in his hand,5To guard his shaded face from scorching sand.The sultry sun had gain’d the middle sky,And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh;The beasts with pain their dusty way pursue;Shrill roar’d the winds, and dreary was the view!10With desperate sorrow wild, the affrighted manThrice sigh’d, thrice struck his breast, and thus began:‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’8‘Ah! little thought I of the blasting wind,15The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find!Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage,When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage?Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign;Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine?20‘Ye mute companions of my toils, that bearIn all my griefs a more than equal share!Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,Or moss-crown’d fountains mitigate the day,In vain ye hope the green delights to know,25Which plains more blest, or verdant vales bestow:Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands, are found,And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around.‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’30‘Curst be the gold and silver which persuadeWeak men to follow far fatiguing trade!The lily peace outshines the silver store,And life is dearer than the golden ore:Yet money tempts us o’er the desert brown,35To every distant mart and wealthy town.Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea;And are we only yet repaid by thee?Ah! why was ruin so attractive made?Or why fond man so easily betray’d?40Why heed we not, whilst mad we haste along,The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure’s song?9Or wherefore think the flowery mountain’s side,The fountain’s murmurs, and the valley’s pride,Why think we these less pleasing to behold45Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold?‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’‘O cease, my fears!––all frantic as I go,When thought creates unnumber’d scenes of woe,50What if the lion in his rage I meet!––Oft in the dust I view his printed feet:And, fearful! oft, when day’s declining lightYields her pale empire to the mourner night,By hunger roused, he scours the groaning plain,55Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train:Before them Death with shrieks directs their way,Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey.‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’60‘At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep,If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep:Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around,And wake to anguish with a burning wound.Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor,65From lust of wealth, and dread of death secure!They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find;Peace rules the day, where reason rules the mind.‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’7010‘O hapless youth!––for she thy love hath won,The tender Zara will be most undone!Big swell’d my heart, and own’d the powerful maid,When fast she dropt her tears, as thus she said:“Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain;75Whom Zara’s breaking heart implored in vain!Yet, as thou go’st, may every blast ariseWeak and unfelt, as these rejected sighs!Safe o’er the wild, no perils mayst thou see,No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me.”80O let me safely to the fair return,Say, with a kiss, she must not, shall not mourn;Go teach my heart to lose its painful fears.O! let me teach my heart to lose its fears,Recall’d by Wisdom’s voice, and Zara’s tears.’He said, and call’d on heaven to bless the day,85When back to Schiraz’ walls he bent his way.

In silent horror o’er the desert waste

In silent horror o’er the boundless waste

The driver Hassan with his camels past:

One cruise of water on his back he bore,

And his light scrip contain’d a scanty store;

A fan of painted feathers in his hand,5

To guard his shaded face from scorching sand.

The sultry sun had gain’d the middle sky,

And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh;

The beasts with pain their dusty way pursue;

Shrill roar’d the winds, and dreary was the view!10

With desperate sorrow wild, the affrighted man

Thrice sigh’d, thrice struck his breast, and thus began:

‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,

‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’

8‘Ah! little thought I of the blasting wind,15The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find!Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage,When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage?Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign;Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine?20

‘Ah! little thought I of the blasting wind,15

The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find!

Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage,

When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage?

Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign;

Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine?20

‘Ye mute companions of my toils, that bearIn all my griefs a more than equal share!Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,Or moss-crown’d fountains mitigate the day,In vain ye hope the green delights to know,25Which plains more blest, or verdant vales bestow:Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands, are found,And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around.‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’30

‘Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear

In all my griefs a more than equal share!

Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,

Or moss-crown’d fountains mitigate the day,

In vain ye hope the green delights to know,25

Which plains more blest, or verdant vales bestow:

Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands, are found,

And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around.

‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,

‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’30

‘Curst be the gold and silver which persuadeWeak men to follow far fatiguing trade!The lily peace outshines the silver store,And life is dearer than the golden ore:Yet money tempts us o’er the desert brown,35To every distant mart and wealthy town.Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea;And are we only yet repaid by thee?Ah! why was ruin so attractive made?Or why fond man so easily betray’d?40Why heed we not, whilst mad we haste along,The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure’s song?9Or wherefore think the flowery mountain’s side,The fountain’s murmurs, and the valley’s pride,Why think we these less pleasing to behold45Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold?‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’

‘Curst be the gold and silver which persuade

Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade!

The lily peace outshines the silver store,

And life is dearer than the golden ore:

Yet money tempts us o’er the desert brown,35

To every distant mart and wealthy town.

Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea;

And are we only yet repaid by thee?

Ah! why was ruin so attractive made?

Or why fond man so easily betray’d?40

Why heed we not, whilst mad we haste along,

The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure’s song?

Or wherefore think the flowery mountain’s side,

The fountain’s murmurs, and the valley’s pride,

Why think we these less pleasing to behold45

Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold?

‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,

‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’

‘O cease, my fears!––all frantic as I go,When thought creates unnumber’d scenes of woe,50What if the lion in his rage I meet!––Oft in the dust I view his printed feet:And, fearful! oft, when day’s declining lightYields her pale empire to the mourner night,By hunger roused, he scours the groaning plain,55Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train:Before them Death with shrieks directs their way,Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey.‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’60

‘O cease, my fears!––all frantic as I go,

When thought creates unnumber’d scenes of woe,50

What if the lion in his rage I meet!––

Oft in the dust I view his printed feet:

And, fearful! oft, when day’s declining light

Yields her pale empire to the mourner night,

By hunger roused, he scours the groaning plain,55

Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train:

Before them Death with shrieks directs their way,

Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey.

‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,

‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’60

‘At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep,If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep:Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around,And wake to anguish with a burning wound.Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor,65From lust of wealth, and dread of death secure!They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find;Peace rules the day, where reason rules the mind.‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’70

‘At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep,

If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep:

Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around,

And wake to anguish with a burning wound.

Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor,65

From lust of wealth, and dread of death secure!

They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find;

Peace rules the day, where reason rules the mind.

‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,

‘When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’70

10‘O hapless youth!––for she thy love hath won,The tender Zara will be most undone!Big swell’d my heart, and own’d the powerful maid,When fast she dropt her tears, as thus she said:“Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain;75Whom Zara’s breaking heart implored in vain!Yet, as thou go’st, may every blast ariseWeak and unfelt, as these rejected sighs!Safe o’er the wild, no perils mayst thou see,No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me.”80O let me safely to the fair return,Say, with a kiss, she must not, shall not mourn;Go teach my heart to lose its painful fears.O! let me teach my heart to lose its fears,Recall’d by Wisdom’s voice, and Zara’s tears.’

‘O hapless youth!––for she thy love hath won,

The tender Zara will be most undone!

Big swell’d my heart, and own’d the powerful maid,

When fast she dropt her tears, as thus she said:

“Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain;75

Whom Zara’s breaking heart implored in vain!

Yet, as thou go’st, may every blast arise

Weak and unfelt, as these rejected sighs!

Safe o’er the wild, no perils mayst thou see,

No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me.”80

O let me safely to the fair return,

Say, with a kiss, she must not, shall not mourn;

Go teach my heart to lose its painful fears.

O! let me teach my heart to lose its fears,

Recall’d by Wisdom’s voice, and Zara’s tears.’

He said, and call’d on heaven to bless the day,85When back to Schiraz’ walls he bent his way.

He said, and call’d on heaven to bless the day,85

When back to Schiraz’ walls he bent his way.

11ECLOGUE III.ABRA; OR, THE GEORGIAN SULTANA.

Scene, A forest.Time, The evening.

In Georgia’s land, where Tefflis’ towers are seen,In distant view, along the level green,While evening dews enrich the glittering glade,And the tall forests cast a longer shade,What time ’tis sweet o’er fields of rice to stray,5Or scent the breathing maize at setting day;Amidst the maids of Zagen’s peaceful grove,Emyra sung the pleasing cares of love.Of Abra first began the tender strain,Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain.10At morn she came those willing flocks to lead,Where lilies rear them in the watery mead;From early dawn the livelong hours she told,Till late at silent eve she penn’d the fold.Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade,15A various wreath of odorous flowers she made:12Gay-motley’d[12]pinks and sweet jonquils she chose,The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows;All sweet to sense, the flaunting rose was there;The finish’d chaplet well adorn’d her hair.20Great Abbas chanced that fated morn to stray,By love conducted from the chase away;Among the vocal vales he heard her song,And sought, the vales and echoing groves among;At length he found, and woo’d the rural maid;25She knew the monarch, and with fear obey’d.‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’The royal lover bore her from the plain;Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain:30Oft, as she went, she backward turn’d her view,And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu.Fair, happy maid! to other scenes remove,To richer scenes of golden power and love!Go leave the simple pipe and shepherd’s strain;35With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign!‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’13Yet, ’midst the blaze of courts, she fix’d her loveOn the cool fountain, or the shady grove;40Still, with the shepherd’s innocence, her mindTo the sweet vale, and flowery mead, inclined;And oft as spring renew’d the plains with flowers,Breathed his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours,With sure return she sought the sylvan scene,45The breezy mountains, and the forests green.Her maids around her moved, a duteous band!Each bore a crook, all rural, in her hand:Some simple lay, of flocks and herds, they sung;With joy the mountain and the forest rung.50‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’And oft the royal lover left the careAnd thorns of state, attendant on the fair;Oft to the shades and low-roof’d cots retired,55Or sought the vale where first his heart was fired:A russet mantle, like a swain, he wore,And thought of crowns, and busy courts, no more.‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’60Blest was the life that royal Abbas led:Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed.What if in wealth the noble maid excel?The simple shepherd girl can love as well.Let those who rule on Persia’s jewel’d throne65Be famed for love, and gentlest love alone;14Or wreathe, like Abbas, full of fair renown,The lover’s myrtle with the warrior’s crown.O happy days! the maids around her say;O haste, profuse of blessings, haste away!70‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

In Georgia’s land, where Tefflis’ towers are seen,

In distant view, along the level green,

While evening dews enrich the glittering glade,

And the tall forests cast a longer shade,

What time ’tis sweet o’er fields of rice to stray,5

Or scent the breathing maize at setting day;

Amidst the maids of Zagen’s peaceful grove,

Emyra sung the pleasing cares of love.

Of Abra first began the tender strain,Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain.10At morn she came those willing flocks to lead,Where lilies rear them in the watery mead;From early dawn the livelong hours she told,Till late at silent eve she penn’d the fold.Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade,15A various wreath of odorous flowers she made:12Gay-motley’d[12]pinks and sweet jonquils she chose,The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows;All sweet to sense, the flaunting rose was there;The finish’d chaplet well adorn’d her hair.20

Of Abra first began the tender strain,

Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain.10

At morn she came those willing flocks to lead,

Where lilies rear them in the watery mead;

From early dawn the livelong hours she told,

Till late at silent eve she penn’d the fold.

Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade,15

A various wreath of odorous flowers she made:

Gay-motley’d[12]pinks and sweet jonquils she chose,

The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows;

All sweet to sense, the flaunting rose was there;

The finish’d chaplet well adorn’d her hair.20

Great Abbas chanced that fated morn to stray,By love conducted from the chase away;Among the vocal vales he heard her song,And sought, the vales and echoing groves among;At length he found, and woo’d the rural maid;25She knew the monarch, and with fear obey’d.‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

Great Abbas chanced that fated morn to stray,

By love conducted from the chase away;

Among the vocal vales he heard her song,

And sought, the vales and echoing groves among;

At length he found, and woo’d the rural maid;25

She knew the monarch, and with fear obey’d.

‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,

‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

The royal lover bore her from the plain;Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain:30Oft, as she went, she backward turn’d her view,And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu.Fair, happy maid! to other scenes remove,To richer scenes of golden power and love!Go leave the simple pipe and shepherd’s strain;35With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign!‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

The royal lover bore her from the plain;

Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain:30

Oft, as she went, she backward turn’d her view,

And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu.

Fair, happy maid! to other scenes remove,

To richer scenes of golden power and love!

Go leave the simple pipe and shepherd’s strain;35

With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign!

‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,

‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

13Yet, ’midst the blaze of courts, she fix’d her loveOn the cool fountain, or the shady grove;40Still, with the shepherd’s innocence, her mindTo the sweet vale, and flowery mead, inclined;And oft as spring renew’d the plains with flowers,Breathed his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours,With sure return she sought the sylvan scene,45The breezy mountains, and the forests green.Her maids around her moved, a duteous band!Each bore a crook, all rural, in her hand:Some simple lay, of flocks and herds, they sung;With joy the mountain and the forest rung.50‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

Yet, ’midst the blaze of courts, she fix’d her love

On the cool fountain, or the shady grove;40

Still, with the shepherd’s innocence, her mind

To the sweet vale, and flowery mead, inclined;

And oft as spring renew’d the plains with flowers,

Breathed his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours,

With sure return she sought the sylvan scene,45

The breezy mountains, and the forests green.

Her maids around her moved, a duteous band!

Each bore a crook, all rural, in her hand:

Some simple lay, of flocks and herds, they sung;

With joy the mountain and the forest rung.50

‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,

‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

And oft the royal lover left the careAnd thorns of state, attendant on the fair;Oft to the shades and low-roof’d cots retired,55Or sought the vale where first his heart was fired:A russet mantle, like a swain, he wore,And thought of crowns, and busy courts, no more.‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’60

And oft the royal lover left the care

And thorns of state, attendant on the fair;

Oft to the shades and low-roof’d cots retired,55

Or sought the vale where first his heart was fired:

A russet mantle, like a swain, he wore,

And thought of crowns, and busy courts, no more.

‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,

‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’60

Blest was the life that royal Abbas led:Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed.What if in wealth the noble maid excel?The simple shepherd girl can love as well.Let those who rule on Persia’s jewel’d throne65Be famed for love, and gentlest love alone;14Or wreathe, like Abbas, full of fair renown,The lover’s myrtle with the warrior’s crown.O happy days! the maids around her say;O haste, profuse of blessings, haste away!70‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

Blest was the life that royal Abbas led:

Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed.

What if in wealth the noble maid excel?

The simple shepherd girl can love as well.

Let those who rule on Persia’s jewel’d throne65

Be famed for love, and gentlest love alone;

Or wreathe, like Abbas, full of fair renown,

The lover’s myrtle with the warrior’s crown.

O happy days! the maids around her say;

O haste, profuse of blessings, haste away!70

‘Be every youth like royal Abbas moved,

‘And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!’

15ECLOGUE IV.AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES.

Scene, A mountain in Circassia.Time, Midnight.

In fair Circassia, where, to love inclined,Each swain was blest, for every maid was kind;At that still hour, when awful midnight reigns,And none, but wretches, haunt the twilight plains;What time the moon had hung her lamp on high,5And past in radiance through the cloudless sky;Sad, o’er the dews, two brother shepherds fled,Where wildering fear and desperate sorrow led:Fast as they press’d their flight, behind them layWide ravaged plains, and valleys stole away:10Along the mountain’s bending sides they ran,Till, faint and weak, Secander thus began.SECANDER.O stay thee, Agib, for my feet deny,No longer friendly to my life, to fly.Friend of my heart, O turn thee and survey!15Trace our sad flight through all its length of way16And first review that long extended plain,And yon wide groves, already past with pain!Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we tried!And, last, this lofty mountain’s weary side!20AGIB.Weak as thou art, yet, hapless, must thou knowThe toils of flight, or some severer woe!Still, as I haste, the Tartar shouts behind,And shrieks and sorrows load the saddening wind:In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand,25He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land.Yon citron grove, whence first in fear we came,Droops its fair honors to the conquering flame:Far fly the swains, like us, in deep despair,And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care.30SECANDER.Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword,In vain, unheard, thou call’st thy Persian lord!In vain thou court’st him, helpless, to thine aid,To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid!Far off, in thoughtless indolence resign’d,35Soft dreams of love and pleasure soothe his mind:’Midst fair sultanas lost in idle joy,No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.AGIB.Yet these green hills, in summer’s sultry heat,Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat.4017Sweet to the sight is Zabran’s flowery plain,And once by maids and shepherds loved in vain!No more the virgins shall delight to roveBy Sargis’ banks, or Irwan’s shady grove;On Tarkie’s mountain catch the cooling gale,45Or breathe the sweets of Aly’s flowery vale:Fair scenes! but, ah! no more with peace possest,With ease alluring, and with plenty blest!No more the shepherds’ whitening seats appear,No more the shepherds’ whitening tents appear,Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;50No more the dale, with snowy blossoms crown’d!No more the date, with snowy blossoms crown’d!But ruin spreads her baleful fires around.SECANDER.In vain Circassia boasts her spicy groves,For ever famed for pure and happy loves:In vain she boasts her fairest of the fair,55Their eyes’ blue languish, and their golden hair!Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send;Those hairs the Tartar’s cruel hand shall rend.AGIB.Ye Georgian swains, that piteous learn from farCircassia’s ruin, and the waste of war;60Some weightier arms than crooks and staves prepare,To shield your harvests, and defend your fair:18The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue,Fix’d to destroy, and steadfast to undo.Wild as his land, in native deserts bred,65By lust incited, or by malice led,The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way;Yet none so cruel as the Tartar foe,To death inured, and nurst in scenes of woe.70He said; when loud along the vale was heardA shriller shriek, and nearer fires appear’d:The affrighted shepherds, through the dews of night,Wide o’er the moonlight hills renew’d their flight.

In fair Circassia, where, to love inclined,

Each swain was blest, for every maid was kind;

At that still hour, when awful midnight reigns,

And none, but wretches, haunt the twilight plains;

What time the moon had hung her lamp on high,5

And past in radiance through the cloudless sky;

Sad, o’er the dews, two brother shepherds fled,

Where wildering fear and desperate sorrow led:

Fast as they press’d their flight, behind them lay

Wide ravaged plains, and valleys stole away:10

Along the mountain’s bending sides they ran,

Till, faint and weak, Secander thus began.

SECANDER.

O stay thee, Agib, for my feet deny,No longer friendly to my life, to fly.Friend of my heart, O turn thee and survey!15Trace our sad flight through all its length of way16And first review that long extended plain,And yon wide groves, already past with pain!Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we tried!And, last, this lofty mountain’s weary side!20

O stay thee, Agib, for my feet deny,

No longer friendly to my life, to fly.

Friend of my heart, O turn thee and survey!15

Trace our sad flight through all its length of way

And first review that long extended plain,

And yon wide groves, already past with pain!

Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we tried!

And, last, this lofty mountain’s weary side!20

AGIB.

Weak as thou art, yet, hapless, must thou knowThe toils of flight, or some severer woe!Still, as I haste, the Tartar shouts behind,And shrieks and sorrows load the saddening wind:In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand,25He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land.Yon citron grove, whence first in fear we came,Droops its fair honors to the conquering flame:Far fly the swains, like us, in deep despair,And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care.30

Weak as thou art, yet, hapless, must thou know

The toils of flight, or some severer woe!

Still, as I haste, the Tartar shouts behind,

And shrieks and sorrows load the saddening wind:

In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand,25

He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land.

Yon citron grove, whence first in fear we came,

Droops its fair honors to the conquering flame:

Far fly the swains, like us, in deep despair,

And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care.30

SECANDER.

Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword,In vain, unheard, thou call’st thy Persian lord!In vain thou court’st him, helpless, to thine aid,To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid!Far off, in thoughtless indolence resign’d,35Soft dreams of love and pleasure soothe his mind:’Midst fair sultanas lost in idle joy,No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword,

In vain, unheard, thou call’st thy Persian lord!

In vain thou court’st him, helpless, to thine aid,

To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid!

Far off, in thoughtless indolence resign’d,35

Soft dreams of love and pleasure soothe his mind:

’Midst fair sultanas lost in idle joy,

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

AGIB.

Yet these green hills, in summer’s sultry heat,Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat.4017Sweet to the sight is Zabran’s flowery plain,And once by maids and shepherds loved in vain!No more the virgins shall delight to roveBy Sargis’ banks, or Irwan’s shady grove;On Tarkie’s mountain catch the cooling gale,45Or breathe the sweets of Aly’s flowery vale:Fair scenes! but, ah! no more with peace possest,With ease alluring, and with plenty blest!No more the shepherds’ whitening seats appear,No more the shepherds’ whitening tents appear,Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;50No more the dale, with snowy blossoms crown’d!No more the date, with snowy blossoms crown’d!But ruin spreads her baleful fires around.

Yet these green hills, in summer’s sultry heat,

Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat.40

Sweet to the sight is Zabran’s flowery plain,

And once by maids and shepherds loved in vain!

No more the virgins shall delight to rove

By Sargis’ banks, or Irwan’s shady grove;

On Tarkie’s mountain catch the cooling gale,45

Or breathe the sweets of Aly’s flowery vale:

Fair scenes! but, ah! no more with peace possest,

With ease alluring, and with plenty blest!

No more the shepherds’ whitening seats appear,

No more the shepherds’ whitening tents appear,

Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;50

No more the dale, with snowy blossoms crown’d!

No more the date, with snowy blossoms crown’d!

But ruin spreads her baleful fires around.

SECANDER.

In vain Circassia boasts her spicy groves,For ever famed for pure and happy loves:In vain she boasts her fairest of the fair,55Their eyes’ blue languish, and their golden hair!Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send;Those hairs the Tartar’s cruel hand shall rend.

In vain Circassia boasts her spicy groves,

For ever famed for pure and happy loves:

In vain she boasts her fairest of the fair,55

Their eyes’ blue languish, and their golden hair!

Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send;

Those hairs the Tartar’s cruel hand shall rend.

AGIB.

Ye Georgian swains, that piteous learn from farCircassia’s ruin, and the waste of war;60Some weightier arms than crooks and staves prepare,To shield your harvests, and defend your fair:18The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue,Fix’d to destroy, and steadfast to undo.Wild as his land, in native deserts bred,65By lust incited, or by malice led,The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way;Yet none so cruel as the Tartar foe,To death inured, and nurst in scenes of woe.70

Ye Georgian swains, that piteous learn from far

Circassia’s ruin, and the waste of war;60

Some weightier arms than crooks and staves prepare,

To shield your harvests, and defend your fair:

The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue,

Fix’d to destroy, and steadfast to undo.

Wild as his land, in native deserts bred,65

By lust incited, or by malice led,

The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,

Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way;

Yet none so cruel as the Tartar foe,

To death inured, and nurst in scenes of woe.70

He said; when loud along the vale was heardA shriller shriek, and nearer fires appear’d:The affrighted shepherds, through the dews of night,Wide o’er the moonlight hills renew’d their flight.

He said; when loud along the vale was heard

A shriller shriek, and nearer fires appear’d:

The affrighted shepherds, through the dews of night,

Wide o’er the moonlight hills renew’d their flight.

END OF THE ECLOGUES.

19ODESON SEVERAL DESCRIPTIVE AND ALLEGORICAL SUBJECTS.

Ειην εὑρυσιεπης αναγεισθαιΠροσφορος εν Μοισαν διφρω:Τολμα δε και αμφιλαφης δυναμιςΕσποιτο.Πινδαρ. Ολυμπ. Θ.

Ειην εὑρυσιεπης αναγεισθαι

Προσφορος εν Μοισαν διφρω:

Τολμα δε και αμφιλαφης δυναμις

Εσποιτο.

Πινδαρ. Ολυμπ. Θ.

21ODES.

ODE TO PITY.

O thou, the friend of man, assign’dWith balmy hands his wounds to bind,And charm his frantic woe:When first Distress, with dagger keen,Broke forth to waste his destined scene,5His wild unsated foe!By Pella’s[13]bard, a magic name,By all the griefs his thought could frame,Receive my humble rite:Long, Pity, let the nations view10The sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,And eyes of dewy light!22But wherefore need I wander wideTo old Ilissus’ distant side,Deserted stream, and mute?15Wild Arun[14]too has heard thy strains,And Echo, ’midst my native plains,Been soothed by Pity’s lute.There first the wren thy myrtles shedOn gentlest Otway’s infant head,20To him thy cell was shown;And while he sung the female heart,With youth’s soft notes unspoil’d by art,Thy turtles mix’d their own.Come, Pity, come, by Fancy’s aid,25E’en now my thoughts, relenting maid,Thy temple’s pride design:Its southern site, its truth complete,Shall raise a wild enthusiast heatIn all who view the shrine.30There Picture’s toils shall well relateHow chance, or hard involving fate,O’er mortal bliss prevail:The buskin’d Muse shall near her stand,And sighing prompt her tender hand,35With each disastrous tale.23There let me oft, retired by day,In dreams of passion melt away,Allow’d with thee to dwell:There waste the mournful lamp of night,40Till, Virgin, thou again delightTo hear a British shell!

O thou, the friend of man, assign’dWith balmy hands his wounds to bind,And charm his frantic woe:When first Distress, with dagger keen,Broke forth to waste his destined scene,5His wild unsated foe!

O thou, the friend of man, assign’d

With balmy hands his wounds to bind,

And charm his frantic woe:

When first Distress, with dagger keen,

Broke forth to waste his destined scene,5

His wild unsated foe!

By Pella’s[13]bard, a magic name,By all the griefs his thought could frame,Receive my humble rite:Long, Pity, let the nations view10The sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,And eyes of dewy light!

By Pella’s[13]bard, a magic name,

By all the griefs his thought could frame,

Receive my humble rite:

Long, Pity, let the nations view10

The sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,

And eyes of dewy light!

22But wherefore need I wander wideTo old Ilissus’ distant side,Deserted stream, and mute?15Wild Arun[14]too has heard thy strains,And Echo, ’midst my native plains,Been soothed by Pity’s lute.

But wherefore need I wander wide

To old Ilissus’ distant side,

Deserted stream, and mute?15

Wild Arun[14]too has heard thy strains,

And Echo, ’midst my native plains,

Been soothed by Pity’s lute.

There first the wren thy myrtles shedOn gentlest Otway’s infant head,20To him thy cell was shown;And while he sung the female heart,With youth’s soft notes unspoil’d by art,Thy turtles mix’d their own.

There first the wren thy myrtles shed

On gentlest Otway’s infant head,20

To him thy cell was shown;

And while he sung the female heart,

With youth’s soft notes unspoil’d by art,

Thy turtles mix’d their own.

Come, Pity, come, by Fancy’s aid,25E’en now my thoughts, relenting maid,Thy temple’s pride design:Its southern site, its truth complete,Shall raise a wild enthusiast heatIn all who view the shrine.30

Come, Pity, come, by Fancy’s aid,25

E’en now my thoughts, relenting maid,

Thy temple’s pride design:

Its southern site, its truth complete,

Shall raise a wild enthusiast heat

In all who view the shrine.30

There Picture’s toils shall well relateHow chance, or hard involving fate,O’er mortal bliss prevail:The buskin’d Muse shall near her stand,And sighing prompt her tender hand,35With each disastrous tale.

There Picture’s toils shall well relate

How chance, or hard involving fate,

O’er mortal bliss prevail:

The buskin’d Muse shall near her stand,

And sighing prompt her tender hand,35

With each disastrous tale.

23There let me oft, retired by day,In dreams of passion melt away,Allow’d with thee to dwell:There waste the mournful lamp of night,40Till, Virgin, thou again delightTo hear a British shell!

There let me oft, retired by day,

In dreams of passion melt away,

Allow’d with thee to dwell:

There waste the mournful lamp of night,40

Till, Virgin, thou again delight

To hear a British shell!

24ODE TO FEAR.

Thou, to whom the world unknown,With all its shadowy shapes, is shown;Who seest, appall’d, the unreal scene,While Fancy lifts the veil between:Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear!5I see, I see thee near.I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!Like thee I start; like thee disorder’d fly.For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear!Danger, whose limbs of giant mould10What mortal eye can fix’d behold?Who stalks his round, an hideous form,Howling amidst the midnight storm;Or throws him on the ridgy steepOf some loose hanging rock to sleep:15And with him thousand phantoms join’d,Who prompt to deeds accursed the mind:And those, the fiends, who, near allied,O’er Nature’s wounds, and wrecks, preside;Whilst Vengeance, in the lurid air,20Lifts her red arm, exposed and bare:On whom that ravening[15]brood of Fate,Who lap the blood of sorrow, wait:25Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,And look not madly wild, like thee!25EPODE.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 bard[16]who first invoked thy name,30Disdain’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 a while o’er Hybla’s dews to rove,35With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,Where thou and furies shared the baleful grove?Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, the incestuous[17]queenSigh’d the sad call[18]her son and husband heard,When once alone it broke the silent scene,40And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear’d.26O 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!45ANTISTROPHE.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 oldWhich thy awakening bards have told:55And, 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,60Their pebbled beds permitted leave;And goblins haunt, from fire, or fen,Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!O thou, whose spirit most possestThe sacred seat of Shakespeare’s breast!6527By 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,70And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee!

Thou, to whom the world unknown,

With all its shadowy shapes, is shown;

Who seest, appall’d, the unreal scene,

While Fancy lifts the veil between:

Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear!5

I see, I see thee near.

I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!

Like thee I start; like thee disorder’d fly.

For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear!

Danger, whose limbs of giant mould10

What mortal eye can fix’d behold?

Who stalks his round, an hideous form,

Howling amidst the midnight storm;

Or throws him on the ridgy steep

Of some loose hanging rock to sleep:15

And with him thousand phantoms join’d,

Who prompt to deeds accursed the mind:

And those, the fiends, who, near allied,

O’er Nature’s wounds, and wrecks, preside;

Whilst Vengeance, in the lurid air,20

Lifts her red arm, exposed and bare:

On whom that ravening[15]brood of Fate,

Who lap the blood of sorrow, wait:

Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,

And look not madly wild, like thee!25

EPODE.

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.

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 bard[16]who first invoked thy name,30Disdain’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.

Yet he, the bard[16]who first invoked thy name,30

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 a while o’er Hybla’s dews to rove,35With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,Where thou and furies shared the baleful grove?

But who is he whom later garlands grace,

Who left a while o’er Hybla’s dews to rove,35

With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,

Where thou and furies shared the baleful grove?

Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, the incestuous[17]queenSigh’d the sad call[18]her son and husband heard,When once alone it broke the silent scene,40And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear’d.

Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, the incestuous[17]queen

Sigh’d the sad call[18]her son and husband heard,

When once alone it broke the silent scene,40

And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear’d.

26O 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!45

O 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!45

ANTISTROPHE.

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 oldWhich thy awakening bards have told:55And, 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,60Their pebbled beds permitted leave;And goblins haunt, from fire, or fen,Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!

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 possestThe sacred seat of Shakespeare’s breast!6527By 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,70And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee!

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!

28ODE TO SIMPLICITY.

O thou, by Nature taughtTo breathe her genuine thought,In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong;Who first, on mountains wild,In Fancy, loveliest child,5Thy 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,10In attic robe array’d,O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call!By all the honey’d storeOn Hybla’s thymy shore;By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear;15By her[19]whose lovelorn woe,In evening musings slow,Soothed sweetly sad Electra’s poet’s ear:29By old Cephisus deep,Who spread his wavy sweep,20In 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,25To 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.30While Rome could none esteemBut virtue’s patriot theme,You lov’d her hills, and led her laureat band:But staid to sing aloneTo one distinguish’d throne;35And 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;40Nor olive more, nor vine,Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.Though taste, though genius, blessTo some divine excess,30Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole;45What 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,50I only seek to find thy temperate vale;Where oft my reed might soundTo maids and shepherds round,And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my tale.

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,10In attic robe array’d,O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call!

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

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:

29By old Cephisus deep,Who spread his wavy sweep,20In warbled wanderings, round thy green retreat;On whose enamel’d side,When holy Freedom died,No equal haunt allured thy future feet.

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,25To 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

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 esteemBut virtue’s patriot theme,You lov’d her hills, and led her laureat band:But staid to sing aloneTo one distinguish’d throne;35And turn’d thy face, and fled her alter’d land.

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;40Nor olive more, nor vine,Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.

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, blessTo some divine excess,30Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole;45What each, what all supply,May court, may charm, our eye;Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul!

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,50I only seek to find thy temperate vale;Where oft my reed might soundTo maids and shepherds round,And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my tale.

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.

31ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER.

As once,––if, not with light regard,I read aright that gifted bard,––Him whose school above the restHis loveliest elfin queen has blest;––She then shall dress a sweeter sodOne, only one, unrival’d[20]fair,5Might hope the magic girdle wear,By hands unseen the knell is rung;At solemn turney hung on high,By fairy forms their dirge is sung;The wish of each love-darting eye;––Lo! to each other nymph, in turn, applied,As if, in air unseen, some hovering hand,10Some 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 neverHer baffled hand, with vain endeavour,15Had 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,20To gird their blest prophetic loins,And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix’d her flame!32The band, as fairy legends say,Was wove on that creating day,When He, who call’d with thought to birth25Yon 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,30Retiring, 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,35Now 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!40The 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,45By 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 powersWho feed on heaven’s ambrosial flowers.50––Where is the bard whose soul can nowIts high presuming hopes avow?33Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,This hallow’d work for him design’d?High on some cliff, to heaven up-piled,55Of 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,60While 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,65Nigh 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,70My 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;75Or curtain’d close such scene from every future view.

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;––

She then shall dress a sweeter sod

One, only one, unrival’d[20]fair,5

Might hope the magic girdle wear,

By hands unseen the knell is rung;

At solemn turney hung on high,

By fairy forms their dirge is sung;

The wish of each love-darting eye;

––Lo! to each other nymph, in turn, applied,As if, in air unseen, some hovering hand,10Some 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 neverHer baffled hand, with vain endeavour,15Had 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,20To gird their blest prophetic loins,And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix’d her flame!

––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!

32The band, as fairy legends say,Was wove on that creating day,When He, who call’d with thought to birth25Yon 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,30Retiring, 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,35Now 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!40The 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,45By 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 powersWho feed on heaven’s ambrosial flowers.50––Where is the bard whose soul can nowIts high presuming hopes avow?33Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,This hallow’d work for him design’d?

The band, as fairy legends say,

Was wove on that creating day,

When He, who call’d with thought to birth25

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,55Of 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,60While 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,65Nigh 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,70My 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;75Or curtain’d close such scene from every future view.

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.

34ODE,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 then shall dress a sweeter sodShe there shall dress a sweeter sod5Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod.By hands unseen the knell is rung;By fairy hands their knell is rung;By fairy forms their dirge is sung;By forms unseen their dirge is sung;There Honour comes, a pilgrim-gray,To bless the turf that wraps their clay;10And Freedom shall awhile repair,To dwell a weeping hermit there!

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 then shall dress a sweeter sod

She there shall dress a sweeter sod5

Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod.

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

By hands unseen the knell is rung;

By fairy hands their knell is rung;

By fairy forms their dirge is sung;

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!

35ODE TO MERCY.

STROPHE.O Thou, who sitt’st a smiling brideBy 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,5And 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:10See, 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,15And 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.36I see recoil his sable steeds,20That 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;25Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our monarch’s throne!

STROPHE.

O Thou, who sitt’st a smiling brideBy 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,5And 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:10See, 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.

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,15And 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.36I see recoil his sable steeds,20That 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;25Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our monarch’s throne!

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!

37ODE 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,5Applauding Freedom loved of old to view?What new Alcæus,[21]fancy-blest,Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,38At Wisdom’s shrine awhile its flame concealing,(What place so fit to seal a deed renown’d?)10Till 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]15E’er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.No, Freedom, no, I will not tellHow Rome, before thy weeping face,With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,Push’d by a wild and artless race20From 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.25EPODE.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,30How wondrous rose her perfect form;39How 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,35Till they,[23]whom Science loved to name,(O who could fear it?) quench’d her flame.And lo, an humbler relic laidIn jealous Pisa’s olive shade!See small Marino[24]joins the theme,40Though least, not last in thy esteem:Strike, louder strike the ennobling stringsTo those,[25]whose merchant sons were kings;To him,[26]who, deck’d with pearly pride,In Adria weds his green-hair’d bride;45Hail, 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,50On 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:)5540Or 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,60One 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!65The 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,70The wild waves found another way,41Where 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.75This 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,80The 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,85A fair attendant on her sovereign pride:To thee this blest divorce she owed,For thou hast made her vales thy loved, thy last abode!42SECOND EPODE.Then too, ’tis said, an hoary pile,’Midst the green navel of our isle,90Thy shrine in some religious wood,O soul-enforcing goddess, stood!There oft the painted native’s feetWere wont thy form celestial meet:Though now with hopeless toil we trace95Time’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.100Yet 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,105The 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,110Hear their consorted Druids singTheir triumphs to the immortal string.How may the poet now unfoldWhat never tongue or numbers told?How learn delighted, and amazed,115What hands unknown that fabric raised?43Even 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:120The secret builder knew to chooseEach 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 sight125May 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!130Now soothe her to her blissful trainBlithe Concord’s social form to gain;Concord, whose myrtle wand can steepEven Anger’s bloodshot eyes in sleep;Before whose breathing bosom’s balm135Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm:Her let our sires and matrons hoarWelcome to Briton’s ravaged shore;Our youths, enamour’d of the fair,Play with the tangles of her hair,140Till, in one loud applauding sound,The nations shout to her around,O how supremely art thou blest,Thou, lady––thou shalt rule the west!

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,5Applauding Freedom loved of old to view?What new Alcæus,[21]fancy-blest,Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,38At Wisdom’s shrine awhile its flame concealing,(What place so fit to seal a deed renown’d?)10Till 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]15E’er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.No, Freedom, no, I will not tellHow Rome, before thy weeping face,With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,Push’d by a wild and artless race20From 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

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 race20

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,30How wondrous rose her perfect form;39How 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,35Till they,[23]whom Science loved to name,(O who could fear it?) quench’d her flame.And lo, an humbler relic laidIn jealous Pisa’s olive shade!See small Marino[24]joins the theme,40Though least, not last in thy esteem:Strike, louder strike the ennobling stringsTo those,[25]whose merchant sons were kings;To him,[26]who, deck’d with pearly pride,In Adria weds his green-hair’d bride;45Hail, 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,50On 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:)5540Or 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,60One holier name alone remains;The perfect spell shall then avail,Hail, nymph, adored by Britain, hail!

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!65The 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,70The wild waves found another way,41Where 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.75This 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,80The 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,85A fair attendant on her sovereign pride:To thee this blest divorce she owed,For thou hast made her vales thy loved, thy last abode!

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!

42SECOND EPODE.

SECOND EPODE.

Then too, ’tis said, an hoary pile,’Midst the green navel of our isle,90Thy shrine in some religious wood,O soul-enforcing goddess, stood!There oft the painted native’s feetWere wont thy form celestial meet:Though now with hopeless toil we trace95Time’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.100Yet 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,105The 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,110Hear their consorted Druids singTheir triumphs to the immortal string.How may the poet now unfoldWhat never tongue or numbers told?How learn delighted, and amazed,115What hands unknown that fabric raised?43Even 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:120The secret builder knew to chooseEach 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 sight125May 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!130Now soothe her to her blissful trainBlithe Concord’s social form to gain;Concord, whose myrtle wand can steepEven Anger’s bloodshot eyes in sleep;Before whose breathing bosom’s balm135Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm:Her let our sires and matrons hoarWelcome to Briton’s ravaged shore;Our youths, enamour’d of the fair,Play with the tangles of her hair,140Till, in one loud applauding sound,The nations shout to her around,O how supremely art thou blest,Thou, lady––thou shalt rule the west!

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 trace95

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 sight125

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 balm135

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!

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