These shall the fury paffions tear, Or pining Love fhall waste their youth, Ambition this fhall tempt to rife, The ftings of falfehood thofe fhall Lo! in the vale of years, beneath A grifly troop, are feen This racks the joints, this fires the veins; That ev'ry lab'ring finew strains, To each his fuff'rings; all are men, Yet, ah! why fhould they know their fate! §76. Ode to Adverfity. GRAY. DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to tafte of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone. When first thy Sire to fend on earth Virtue, his darling child, defign'd, To thee he gave the heav'nly birth, And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurfe! thy rigid lore With patience many a year the bore; What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know: And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly To her they vow their truth, and are again be- Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound, With leaden eye, that loves the ground, And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear. Oh, gently on thy fuppliant's head, With thund'ring voice, and threat ning mien, Defpair, and fell Difeafe, and ghaftly Poverty. [man. What others are to feel; and know myself a $77. The Progress of Poefy. A Pindaric Ode. I. 1. AWAKE, Eolian lyre, awake, GRAY. And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. Frem Helicon's harmonious fprings A thoufand rills their mazy progrefs take: The laughing flow'rs that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of mufic winds along, Deep, majestic, fmooth, and strong, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Now rolling down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous, fee it pour: The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the I. 2. Oh! Sovereign of the willing foul, And frantic pallions hear thy fort control. [roar. And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king Dd 3 Quench'd in dark clouds of flumber lie Till the fad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. Left their Parnaffus for the Latian plains; Man's feeble race what ills await! Say, as he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Mufe? Her fpectres wan, and birds of boding cry, 11. 2. In climes beyond the folar road, Their feather-cinftur'd chiefs and dufky loves. II. 3. Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's ftcep; How do your tuneful echoes languish ! Alike they fcorn the pomp of tyrant pow'r, [flame. holy III. 1. Far from the fun and fummer-gale, Thine too thefe golden keys, immortal boy! Or ope the facred fource of fympathetic tears. III. 2. Nor fecond he, that rode fublime He pafs'd the flaming bounds of place and time, Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car Two courfers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long re founding pace. III. 3. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn Oh, lyre divine, what daring fpirit Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the ftormy 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 'Avengers of their native land: With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tifue of 'thy line.' "She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, "That tear'ft the towels of thy mangled mate, "From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs "The fcourge of Heav'n. 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 fun'ral couch he lies; "No pitying heart, no eye, afford "A tear to grace his obfequies. "Is the fable warrior fled? 66 Thy fon is gone: He refts among the dead. "The fwarm that in thy noon-tide beam were "Gone to falute the rifing morn. [born, "Fair laughs the morn, and foft the zephyr "blows, "While proudly riding o'er the azure realm "In gallant trim the gilded veffel goes; "Youth on the prow, and pleafitre at the helm; Regardlefs of the fweeping whirlwind's fway, "That, hufh'd in grim repole, expects his even. "ing prey. II. 3. "Fill high the parkling bowl, "The rich repaft prepare, "Reft of a crown, he yet may fhare the feaft; "Clofe by the regal chair "Fell thirft and famine fcowl "A baleful finile upon their baffled guest. "Heard ye the din of battle bray, "Lance to lance, and horfe to horfe? "Long years of havoc urge their deftin'd course, "And through the kindred fquadrons mow their way. Ye tow'rs of Julius, London's lafting fhame, "With many a foul and midnight murder fed, "Revere his confort's faith, his father's faine, "And fpare the meck ufurper's holy head. "Above, below, the role of fnow, "Twin'd with her blufhing foe, we fpread! "The briftled boar in infant gore "Wallows beneath the thorny fhade. "Now, Brothers, bending o'er th'accurfed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his "doom. III. 1. "Edward, lo! to fudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) "Half of thy heart we confecrate. 66 (The web is wove. The work is done.)" 1 Stay, oh ftay nor thus forlorn, Leave me unblefs'd, unpity'd, here to mourn: 'In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, They melt, they vanith from my eyes. But oh what folemn fcenes on Snowden's height 'Defcending flow their glitt'ring fkirts unroll! Vifions of glory! fpare my aching light, Ye unborn ages crowd not on my foul ! No Girt with many a baron bold, • Sublime their ítarry fronts they rear; Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; What strings fymphonious tremble in the air! III. 3. The verfe adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction drest. With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. And diftant warblings leffen on my ear, • Fond, impious man, think'st thou yon fanguine § 79. The Fatal Sifters. An Ode. GRAY. NOW the form begins to lowr (Hafte, the loom of hell prepare) Iron fleet of arrowy show'r Mifta, black terrific maid, Ere the ruddy fun be set, They, whom once the defart beach Low the dauntlefs carl is laid, Horror covers all the heath, Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, $80, The Defcent of Odin. An Ode. GRAY. And faddled ftrait his coal-black fteed: Hoarfe Hoarse he bays with hideous din, Right against the eastern gate, PROPHETESS. What call unknown, what charms prefume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long on thefe mould'ring bones have beat The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me fleep again. Who is he, with voice unbleft, That calls me from the bed of rest? ODIN. A traveller, to thee unknown, For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, PROPHETESS. Mantling in the goblet, fee The pure bev'rage of the bee; O'er it hangs the fhield of gold: 'Tis the drink of Balder bold. Balder's head to death is given. Pain can reach the Sons of Heav'n! Unwilling I my lips unclofe: Leave me, leave me to repofe. ODIN. Once again my call obey : Prophetefs, arife, and fay, What dangers Odin's child await, Who the author of his fate? PROPHETESS. In Hoder's hand the hero's doom; His brother fends him to the tomb. Now my weary lips I clofe: Leave me, leave me to repofe. ODIN. Prophetefs, my fpell obey; Once again arife, and fay, Who th'avenger of his guilt, By whom shall Hoder's blood be fpilt? PROPHETESS. In the caverns of the Weft, By Odin's fierce embrace compreft, A wond'rous boy fhall Rinda bear, Who ne'er fhall comb his raven hair, Nor wash his visage in the stream, Nor fee the fun's departing beam, Till he on Hoder's corfe fhall fmile Flaming on the funeral pile. Now my weary lips I clofe : Leave me, leave ine to repose. ODIN. Yet a while my call obey; Prophetefs, awake, and say, What Virgins thefe, in fpeechlefs woe, That bend to earth their folemn brow, That their flaxen treffes tear, And fnowy veils, that float in air? Tell me whence their forrows rofe? Then I leave thee to repofe. PROPHETESS. Ha! no Traveller art thou, King of Men, I know thee now ! Mightieft of a mighty line ODIN. No boding Maid of skill divine Art thou, nor Prophetefs of good, But mother of the giant-brood! PROPHETESS. Hie thee hence, and boast at home That never fhall enquirer come To break my iron-fleep again, Till Lok has burft his tenfold chain: Never, till fubftantial Night Has re-affum'd her ancient right; Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd, Sinks the fabric of the world. $81. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment. GRAY OWEN's praife demands my fong, Owen fwift, and Owen ftrong; Big with hofts of mighty name, Dauntiefs on his native fands The dragon-fon of Mona ftands; In |