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Do wondrous feats, but never heard of grace.
The fault is ours; we bear thofe monftrous arts:
Good Heaven! we praise them; we with loudeft
peals

Applaud the fool that highest lifts his heels,
And with infipid fhow of rapture die
Of idiot notes impertinently long.
But he the Mufe's laurel juftly thares,

A poet he, and touch'd with Heaven's own fire,
Who with bold rage, or folemn pomp of founds,
Inflames, exalts, and ravishes the foul;
Now tender, plaintive, fweet almost to pain,
In love diffolves you; now in fprightly strains
Breathes a gay rapture thro' your thrilling breast,
Or melts the heart with airs divinely fad,
Or wakes to horror the tremendous ftrings.
Such was the bard whole heavenly strains of old
Appeas'd the fiend of melancholy Saul.
Such was, if old and heathen fame fay true,
The man who bade the Theban domes afcend,
And tam'd the favage nations with his fong;
And fuch the Thracian, whofe harmonious lyre,
Tun'd to foft woc, made all the mountains weep;
Sooth'd ev'n th' inexorable pow'rs of Hell,
And half redeem'd his loft Eurydice.
Mufic exalts each joy, allays each grief,
Expels difeafes, foftens ev'ry pain,
Subdues the rage of poifon, and the plague;
And hence the wife of ancient days ador'd
One pow'r of phyfic, melody and long.

$68. Ode on the Spring. GRAY.

LO! where the rofy-bofom'd hours,
Fair Venus' train, appear;
Difclofe the long-expected flow'rs,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Refponfive to the cuckoo's note,
The untaught harmony of fpring;
While, whip'ring pleafure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky
Their gather'd fragrance fling.

Where'er the oak's thick branches ftretch
A broader, browner fhade;

Where'er the rude and mofs-grown beech
O'ercanopies the glade;

Befide fome water's rufhy brink
With me the Mufe fhall fit, and think
(At cafe reclin'd in ruftic state)
How vain the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how little are the proud,
How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet, hark, how thro' the peopled air
The bufy murmur glows!
The infect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honey'd spring,
And float amid the liquid noon :
Some lightly o'er the current fkim,
Some fhew their gaily-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the fun.

To Contemplation's fober eye Such is the race of man;

And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the bufy and the gay
But flutter thro' life's little day,
In fortune's varying colours drest:
Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance,
Or chill'd by age, their airy dance
They leave, in duft to rest.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The fportive kind reply;

Poor moralift! and what art thou?
A folitary fly!

Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets,
No hive haft thou of hoarded fweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hafty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy fun is fet, thy fpring is gone-
We frolic while 'tis May.

$69. Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat, drowned in a Tub of Gold Fifbes. GRAY.

'TW

WAS on a lofty vafe's fide,
Where China's gayeft art had dyed
The azure flow'rs that blow;
Demureft of the tabby kind,
The penfive Selima, reclin'd,

Gaz'd on the lake below.
Her confcious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the fnowy beard,
The velvet of her paws!
Her coat that with the tortoife vics,
Her ears of jet, and em'raid eyes,
She faw, and purr'd applause.

Still had the gaz'd; but 'midft the tide
Two angel forms were feen to glide,

The Genii of the ftream: Their fcaly armour's Tyrian hue, Thro' richest purple, to the view Betray'd a golden gleam.

The haplefs nymph with wonder faw: A whisker firft, and then a claw,

With many an ardent with, She ftretch'd in vain to reach the prize : What female heart can gold defpife? What cat's averfe to fish?

Prefumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again the ftretch'd, again fhe bent,

Nor knew the gulph between :
(Malignant Fate fat by and fimil'd);
The flipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god,

Some fpecdy aid to fend.

No dolphin came, no Nereid ftirr'd;
Nor cruel Tom nór Sufan heard
A fav'rite has no friend!

From

From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one falfe ftep is ne'er retriev'd,
And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes,
And heedlefs hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glitters, gold.

Yet fee, how all around 'em wait
The minifters of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train !
Ah, fhew them where in ambush stand,
To feize their prey, the murd'rous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!

Thefe fhall the fury paffions tear,

§ 70. Ode on a diftant Profpect of Eton College. The vultures of the mind,

YE

diftant fpires, ye antique tow'rs, That crown the war'ry glade, Where grateful Science ftill adores Her Henry's holy shade;

And ye, that from the stately brow

Of Windfor's heights th' expanfe below Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey,

GRAY.

Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flow'rs among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His filver-winding way.

Ah happy hills! ah pleafing fhade!
Ah fields belov'd in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A ftranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from you blow
A momentary blifs bestow;

As waving fresh their gladfome wing,
My weary foul they feem to footh,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a fecond fpring.

Say, father Thames, for thou haft feen
Full many a fprightly race,
Difporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace;
Who foremost now delight to cleave,
With pliant arms, thy glassy wave ?
The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny fucceed
To chafe the rolling circle's fpeed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While fome on carnest business bent
Their murmuring labours ply

'Gainft graver hours that bring constraint
To fweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers difdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare defery:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Lefs pleafing when poffeft;
The tear forgot as foon as fhed,
The funfhine of the breaft :
Theirs buxom health of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtlefs day, the eafy night,
The fpirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th'approach of morn.
Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!

No fenfe have they of ills to me,
Nor care beyond to-day:

Difdainful anger, pallid fear,
And shame that fkulks behind;
Or pining love fhall wafte their youth,
Or jealoufy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the fecret heart;
And envy wan, and faded care,
Grim-vifag'd comfortless defpair,
And forrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this fhall tempt to rife;
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter fcorn a facrifice,
And grinning infamy.

The ftings of falfehood thofe fhall try,
And hard unkindnefs' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen remorfe with blood defil'd,
And moody madness laughing wild
Amid fevereft woe.

Lo! in the vale of years, beneath,
A grifly troop are feen,

The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their queen :

This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That ev'ry labouring finew ftrains,
Thofe in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo! poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming age.

To each his fuff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why fhould they know their fate?
Since forrow never comes too late,
And happinefs too fwiftly files.
Thought would destroy their paradife.
No more where ignorance is blifs,
'Tis folly to be wife.

§ 71. Ode to Adverfity. GRAY. DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,

Thou tamer of the human breaft,
Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain;
And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
When first thy Sire to fend on earth
Virtue, his darling child, defign'd,
To thee he gave the heavenly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year the bore;

What

What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know, And from her own fhe learnt to melt at others woe. Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood, Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy, And leave us leifure to be good. Light they difperfe; and with them go The fummer-friend, the flatt'ring foe; By vain profperity receiv'd,

To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.
Wisdom in fable garb array'd,

Immers'd in rapt rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, filent maid,

With leaden eye that loves the ground,
Still on thy folemn fteps attend;
Warm Charity, the general friend,
With Juftice, to herself fevere,

And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.
Ch, gently on thy fuppliant's head,
Dread Goddefs, lay thy chaft'ning hand!
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art feen)
With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,
With fcreaming Horror's fun'ral cry,
Defpair, and fell Difeafe, and ghaftly Poverty.
Thy form benign, O Goddefs, wear,
Thy milder influence impart;
Thy philofophic train be there
To foften, not to wound, my heart.
The gen'rous fpark extinct revive;
Teach me to love, and to forgive;
Exact my own defects to fcan;

What others are, to feel; and know myself a man.

§ 72. The Progress of Poefy. A Pindaric Ode.

I. 1.

AWAKE, Folian lyre, awake,

Quench'd in dark clouds of flumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.
I. 3.

Thee the voice, the dance obey,
Temper'd to thy warbled lay.
O'er Idalia's velvet green

The rofy-crowned loves are feen
On Cytherea's day,

With antic fports, and blue-eyed pleafures,
Frifking light in frolic meafures;
Now purfuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet;
To brisk notes in cadence beating,
Glance their many-twinkling fect.

Slow melting ftrains theirQueen's approach declare:
Where'er the turns, the Graces homage pay.
With arms fublime, that float upon the air,
In gliding ftate the wins her eaty way:
O'er her warm cheek, and rifing botom, move
The bloom of young defire,and purple light of love.
II. 1.

Man's fecble race what ills await!
Labour, and penury, the racks of pain,
Difeafe, and forrow's weeping train ;

And death, fad refuge from the storms of fate!
The fond complaint, my fong, difprove,
And juftify the laws of Jove.

Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Mufe?
Night, and all her fickly dews,

Her fpectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary fky:
Till down the caftern cliffs afar
Hyperion's march they fpy, and glitt'ring fhafts
of war.

II. 2.

In climes beyond the folar road,
Where fhaggy forms o'erice-built mountains roam,
GRAY.The Mufe has broke the twilight gloom,
To cheer the hiv'ring native's dull abode.
And oft, beneath the od'rous fhade
Of Chili's boundlefs forefts laid,
She deigns to hear the favage youth repeat,
In loofe numbers, wildly fweet,

And give to rapture all thy trembling ftrings. From Helicon's harmonious fprings A thoufand rills their mazy progress take:, The laughing flow'rs that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich ftreain of mufic winds along, Deep, majestic, fmooth, and ftrong,

Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Now rolling down the steep amain,

Headlong, impetuous, fee it pour;

Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dufky loves.
Her track, where'er the goddefs roves,
Glory purfucs, and gen'rous fhame,
Th'unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.

II. 3.

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep;
Ifles, that crown th' Egean deep;

The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. Fields, that cool Iliffus laves,

I. 2.

O fovereign of the willing foul,

Parent of sweet and folemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting hell! the fullen cares

And frantic paffions hear thy foft controul.
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his car,

And dropp'd his thirty lance at thy command.
Perching on the fceptred hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled pluies, and flagging wing:

Or where Mæander's amber waves
In ling`ring lab`rinths creep,

How do your tuneful echoes languish,
Mute but to the voice of anguish !
Where each old poetic mountain
Infpiration breath'd around;
Ev'ry fhade and hallow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a folemn found:

Till the fad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,
Left their Parnaffus for the Latian plains,
Alike they fcorn the pomp of tyrant pow'r,
And coward vice, that revels in her chains.

When

When Latium had her lofty spirit loft, [coaft.
They fought, O Albion! next thy fea-encircled
III. I.

Far from the fun and fummer gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon ftray'd,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntless child
Stretch'd forth his little arms, and fimil'd.
This pencil take (fhe faid) whose colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine too thefe golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy;

Of horror that, and thrilling fears,

Or ope the facred fource of fympathetic tears.

III. 2.

Nor fecond he, that rode fublime
Upon the feraph-wings of ecftafy,
The fecrets of th' abyfs to fpy.

He pafs'd the flaming bounds of place and time.
The living throne, the fapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He faw; but, blafted with excess of light,
Clos'd his eyes in endless night.

Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

Two courfers of ethereal race, [founding pace.
With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long re-

III. 3.
Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-eyed fancy, hov'ring o'er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But, ah! tis heard no more-
O lyre divine! what daring fpirit
Wakes thee now? tho' he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with fupreme dominion
Thro' the azure deep of air;

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms as glitter in the Mufe's ray,
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the fun :
Yet fhall he mount, and keep his diftant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, [Great!
Beneath the Good how far-but far above the

§ 73. The Bard. A Pindaric Ode. GRAY. I. I.

RUIN feize thee, ruthlefs king!

Confufion on thy banners wait!
Tho' fann'd by conqueft's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle ftate!
Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail
To fave thy fecret foul from nightly fears,
From Cambria's curfe, from Cambria's tears!'
Such were the founds that o'er the crefted pride
Of the firft Edward scatter'd wild difmay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's fhaggy fide
He wound with toilfome march his long array.
Stout Glo'fter stood aghaft in fpecchlefs trance!

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I. 2.

On a rock whofe haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Corway's foaming flood,
Rob'd in the fable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the poet ftood
(Locfe his beard, and hoary hair
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air);
And with a mafter's hand, and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep forrows of his lyre.

Hark, how each giant-oak and defart-cave
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
'O'er thee, O king! their hundred arms they
'wave,

Revenge on thee in hoarfer murmurs breathe ;
Vocal no more, fince Cambria's fatal day, [lay.
To high-born Hoel's harp, or foft Llewellyn's

I. 3.
Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
That hufh'd the stormy main:
Brave Urien fleeps upon his craggy bed:
'Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whofe magic fong

[head.

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd 'On dreary Arvon's fhore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghaftly pale; Tar, far aloof th' affrighted ravens fail: The famifh'd eagle fercams, and paffes by. 'Dear loft companions of my tuneful art,

Dear, as the light that vifits thefe fad eyes, 'Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cricsNo more I weep. They do not fleep. 'On yonder cliffs, a grifly band,

I fee them fit: they linger yet,

'Avengers of their native land:

With me in dreadful harmony they join, [line.' ' And weave with bloody hands the tiflue of thy

II. I.

"Weave the warp, and weave the woof, "The winding-fheet of Edward's race. "Give ample room, and verge enough "The characters of hell to trace. "Mark the year, and mark the night, "When Severn fhall re-echo with affright

The fhrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that "Shrieks of an agonizing king! [ring "She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, "That tear'it the bowels of thy mangled mate, "From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs "The fcourge of Heaven. What terrors round "him wait!

"Amazement in his van with flight combin'd,
"And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
II. 2.

"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,
"Low on his funeral couch he lies!
"No pitying heart, no eye, afford
"A tear to grace his obfequies.
"Is the fable warrior fled?

"Thy fon is gone. He refts among the dead.
"The fwarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born?

To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his qui-" Gone to falute the rifing morn.

vering lan.c.

"Fair laughs the morn and foft the zephyr blows,

Ee

"While

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Stay, oh ftay! nor thus forlorn,
Leave me ur blef'd, unpitied, here to mourn:
In yon bright track, that fires the western fkies,
They melt, they venith from my eyes.
But, ol. what folemn fcenes on Snowdon's
height

Defcending flow their glitt'ring skirts unroll;
Vifions of glory, fpare my aching fight!
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my foul!
No more our long-loft Arthur we bewail.
All-bail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's iffue,

' hail'

III. 2.

Girt with many a baron bold
Sublime their ftarry fronts they rear;
And gorgeous dames, and ftatefmen old

In bearded majefty, appear.

In the midft a form divine!

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attemper'd fweet to virgin grace.

What ftrings fymphonious tremble in the air!
What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Talieffin, hear;
They breathe a foul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and, foaring as the fings,
Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd
wings.

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III. 3.

'The verfe adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love,

In bufkin'd meafures move 'And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction drefs'd.

• Pale Grief, and picafing Pain,

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With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice, as of the cherub-clear,
Gales from blooring Eden bear;

And diftant warblings leffen on my car,

That loft in lorg futurity expire.

[cloud, • Fond impious mani tink it they yon fanguine Rais'd by thy breath, has quench. d the erb of "To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, [day? And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: with joy I fe The diff rent doom cur fates affign. Be thine Defpair, and fceptr.d Care; To triumph, and to die, are mine.' He spoke; and, headlong from the mountain's Deep in the roaring tide he plung dto endleis night.

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§74. The Fatal Sifters. An Ode. GRAY.
Nou
the ftorm begins to low'r
(Hafte, the loom of hell prepare);
Iron fleet of arrow y flow'r
Hurtles in the darken'd air.
Glitt'ring lances are the loom
Where the dusky warp we ftrain,
Weaving many a foldier's doom,
| Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
See the grisly texture grow!
('Tis of human entrails made)
And the weights that play below,
Each a gafping warrior's head.
Shafts for fhuttles, dipt in gore,
Shoot the trembling cords along:
Sword, that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tiffue clofe and strong.
Mifta, black terrific maid,
Sangrida, and Hilda, feel
Join the wayward work to aid:
Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy fun be fet,
Pikes muft fhiver, jav'lins fing,
Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet,
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.
(Weave the crimson web of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the confli&t share,
Where they triumph, where they die.
As the paths of fate we tread,
Wading thro' th' enfanguin'd field,
O'er the youthful king your fhield.
Gondula, and Geira, fpread
We the reins to flaughter give,
Ours to kill, and ours to fpare:
Spite of danger he fhall live.
(Weave the crimion web of war.)

They,

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