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hefe fhall the fury paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Difdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that fkulks behind;

Ir pining Love fhall waste their youth,
Or Jealoufy with rankling tooth,
hat inly gnaws the fecret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
rim-vifag'd comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow'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 falsehood those shall try,
And hard unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen remorfe with blood defil'd,
And moody madnefs, 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 lab'ring finew strains,
Thofe in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo! poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-consuming 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 should they know their fate!
Since forrow never comes too late,
And happiness too fwiftly flies.
Thought would deftroy their paradife.
No more where ignorance is blifs,
'Tis folly to be wife.

$76. Ode to Adverfity. GRAY.
DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,

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 fly learn'd to melt at others


Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,
Wild laughter, noise, and though lefs joz,
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 be-
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 steps attend:
Warm Charity, the genʼral friend,
With Juftice, to herself severe,

And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.

Oh, gently on thy fuppliant's head,
Dread Goddef's, lay thy chaft'ning hand!
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art seen)

With thund'ring voice, and threat ning mien,
With fereaming Horror's fun'ral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghaftly Poverty.
Thy form benign, oh 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 scan,
What others are to feel; and know myself a


$77. The Progress of Poefy. A Pindaric Ode.

I. 1.

AWAKE, Eolian lyre, awake,


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, fimooth, 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,
Parent of fweet and folemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting fhell! the fullen cares

And frantic pallions hear thy fort control.
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his car,


And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the scepter'd hand

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

Dd 3


1. 3.



III. 2.

Quench'd in dark clouds of Nuinber lie

Till the fad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, The terror of his beak, and lightings of his eye. Left their Parnasus for the Latian plains ; .

Alike they scorn the posip of tyrant pow'r,

And coward vice, that reicis in her chains. Thee the voice, the dance obey,

When Latium had her lofty spirit loft, Tenper'd to thy warbled lay.

They fought, oh Albion ! next thy sea-ena O'er Italia’s velvet-green

circled coast. Tlie rosy-crowned loves are seen

On Cytherea's day
With antic sports, and blue-ey'd pleasures,

Far from the sun and summer-gale,
Frisking light in frolic measures;

Ia tv green lap was Nature's darling laid, Now pursuing, now retreaung,

What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, Now in circling troops they mect:

To him the mighty mother did unieil To brikk notes in cadence beating,

Hur anful face : the dauntless child Glance their many-twinkling fott. [declare: Stretch'd forth its little arins, and smild. Slow melting ítrains their Queen's approach This pencil take (the faid) whose colours clear Where'er ihe turns, the Graces homage pay.

Richly paint the vernal year: With arms fublime, that float upon the air,

Tisine too thoug viden kevs, immortal boy! In gliding state the wins her ealy way:

This can unlock the


of jov; O'er her warm check and rising bofom, move Of horror that, and thrilling fears, The bloom of young delire, and purple light of Or ope the sacred source of fympatictic tears. love, II. 1.

Nor second he, that rode sublime Man's feeble race what ills await!

Upon the serapk-wings of extaly, Labour, and pentry, the racks of pain,

The secrets of th'abvis to ipv. Dricate, and forton's "eeping train,

He pass’d the flaming bounds of place and time, And death, fad refuge from the forms of Fate ! The living throne, the fapphire blaze, The fond complaint my fong difprove,

Where angels tremble while they gaze,
And justify the laws of Jove.

He faw; but, blafted with excess of light,
Sav, lys he giv’n in vain the heav'nly Muse? Clos'd his eyes in endless night.
Night, and all her fickly dews,

Behold, where Dryden's leis presumptuous car
Her species wan, and birds of boding cry, Wide o'er the fields of gl ry bear
He gives to range the dreary fky:

Trocourfers of the cal race,
Till down the caftern curs alar

With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long re. Hyperion's maich they tpy, and glitt'ring founding pace. thafts of war.

Hark, his hands the lyrc explore!
In climes beyond the folar road,

Priglie-evid Fancy, hov'ring o’er,-
Where 11:45 y forns o'er ice-built mountains Scatters from her pictur’d urn
The Mule lias broke the twilightgloom, įroa:n, Thoughts that breathc, and words that burn
To cheer the fhiv’ring native's dull avode,

But an! 'tis heard no more
And oft, bencath the od'rous thade

Oh, lyrc Jivine, what daring spirit Of Chili's boundleis forests laid,

'akes thee now? Tho he inherit She deigns to hear the favage youth repeat

Nor the pride por ample pinion In loofc numters wildly fiece

That the Thean eagle bear,
Their scather-cinfiur'd chiets and dusky loves. Sailing with fupreme dominion
Her track, where'er the Goddlets roves,

Thro the azuie deep of air;
Glory puilue, and gen'rous fhuine, [flame. Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Th'unconquerabic mind, and freedom's holy Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray,

With orient hues unborrow'd of the fun :

Yet th:ll he mount, and keep his distant way Woods, that wave o'er Delphi’s ficep;

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate ; [Great! Iles, that crown th’Egian deep;

Doncath the Good bow far!--but far above the Fields, that cool lliilus iaves; Or where Mzander's amber waves In ling’ring lab'rinths creep,

§ 78. The Bard. A Pinduric Ode. GRAY,
How do your tuneful echoes languilh !
Mutc, but to the voice of ajguih!

I. 1.
Where each old poctic mountain
Infpiration breath'd around;

RUIN feire thee, ruthless king,

Confusion on thy banners wait; Ev'ry shade and hollow'd fountain

• Tho'fanni'd by conquest's crimion wing, Murmur'd dcep a folemn found:

They mock the air with idle ftate !

• Helm,

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Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hufh'd the ftormy main:

Brave Urien fleeps upon his craggy bed: Mountains, ye mourn in vain

Modred, whofe magic fong


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

Dear, as the light that vifits these fad eyes,
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
Ye dy'd amidft your dying country's cries-
No more I weep. They do not flecp.
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,
And weave with bloody hands the tifue


thy line.'

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 thall re-echo with affright

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"The fhricks of death, through Berkley's roofs

"that ring,

"The fhricks of an agonizing king!

III. 1.

"Edward, lo! to fudden fate

(Weave we the woof. The thread is fpun.) "Half of thy heart we confècrate.

"(The web is wove. The work is done.)"

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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

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'No more our long-loft Arthur we bewail. All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's iffue, hail!

IIL. 2.

Girt with many a baron bold,

• Sublime their itarry fronts they rear;
And gorgeous dames, and statesmen 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 sweet to virgin grace!
What ftrings fymphonious tremble in the air!
What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Talieflin, hear;
They breathe a foul to anima'e thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and, foaring as the fings,
Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd

III. 3.
The verfe adorn again

Fierce War, and faithful Love,

And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction drest.
In bufkin'd measures move

Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,

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

And diftant warblings leffen on my ear,
That loft in long futurity expire.
Fond, impious man, think'st thou yon fanguine


cloud, Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: with jov I fee The diff'rent doom our fates allign. Be thine Despair and fcepter'd Care; To triumph and to die are mine.' He fpoke, and headlong, from the mountain's height, [night. Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless

§ 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
Hurtles in the darken'd air.
Glitt'ring lances are the loom,
Where the dusky warp we strain,
Weaving many a foldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane,
See the grifly texture grow!
('Tis of human entrails made)
And the weights that play below,
Each a gasping warrior's head.
Shafts for fhuttles dipt in gore,
Shoot the trembling chords along :
Sword that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tiffue close and ftrong.

Mista, black terrific maid,
Sangrida and Hilda, fee!
Join the wayward work to aid:
Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy fun be set,
Pikes must thiver, jav'lins fing,
Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet,
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.
(Weave the crimson wch of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,

Where our friends the conflict share,
Where they triumph, where they die.
Wading thro' th'enfanguin'd field,
As the paths of fate we tread,
Gondula and Geira fpread
O'er the youthful king your shield.
We the reins to flaughter give,
Ours to kill, and ours to fpare:
Spite of danger he shall live.
(Weave the crimson web of war.)
They, whom once the defart beach
Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample fway fhall ftretch
O'er the plenty of the plain.

Low the dauntless earl is laid,
Gor'd with many a gaping wound:
Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a king shall bite the ground.
Ne'er again his likeness fee;
Long his lofs fhall Eirin weep,
Strains of immortality!
Long her strains in sorrow steep,

Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the fun.
Sifters, weave the web of death.
Sifters, ceafe: The work is done.
Songs of joy and triumph fing;
Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger king.
Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,
Learn the tenour of our fong:
Scotland, thro' each winding vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sifters, hence with spurs of speed!
Each her thund'ring faulchion wield;
Each beftride her fable fteed.
Hurry, hurry, to the field!

$89, The Defcent of Odin. An Ode. GRAY. UPROSE the king of men with speed,

And faddled ftrait his coal-black fteed: Down the yawning fteep he rode, That leads to Hela's drear abode. Him the dog of darkness spy'd: His fhaggy throat he open'd wide. While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, Foam and human gore diítill'd.


Hoarfe he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow and fangs that grin;
And long purfues, with fruitlefs yell,
The father of the pow'rful fpell.
Onward ftill his way he takes
(The groaning earch beneath him shakes)
Till full before his fearless
The portals nine of hell arife.

Right against the eastern gate,
By the mos-grown pile he fat,
Where long of yore to fleep was laid
The duft of the Prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,
The thrilling verfe that wakes the dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a sullen sound.


What call unknown, what charms presume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled fprite, 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?


A traveller, to thee unknown,
Is he that calls; a warrior's fon.
Thou the deeds of light fhall know;
Tell me what is done below:

For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread,
Dreft for whom yon golden bed?


Mantling in the goblet, fee The pure bev'rage of the bee; O'er it hangs the shield 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 unclose: 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?


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.


Prophetefs, my fpell obey; Once again arife, and say, Who th'avenger of his guilt,

By whom fhall Hoder's blood be fpilt?


In the caverns of the Weft, By Odin's fierce embrace compreft, A wond'rous boy shall Rinda bear, Who ne'er fhall comb his raven hair, Nor wash his vifage 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 repofe.


Yet a while my call obey; Prophetefs, awake, and say, What Virgins thefe, in fpeechlefs woc, 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.


Ha! no Traveller art thou, King of Men, I know thee now! Mightieft of a mighty line————


No boding Maid of skill divine Art thou, nor Prophetefs of good, But mother of the giant-brood!


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 praise demands my fong,

Owen fwift, and Owen ftrong;
Fairest flow'r of Roderic's them,
Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profufely pours:
Lord of ev'ry regal art,
Lib'ral hand and open heart.

Big with hofts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came ;
This the force of Eirin hiding;
Side by fide as proudly riding,
On her fhadow long and gay
Lochlin plows the wat'ry way;
There the Norman fails alar
Catch the winds, and join the war :
Black and huge along they fweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntiefs on his native fands
The dragon-fon of Mona ftands;


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