In glitt'ring arms and glory dreft, 882. Ode on the Inftallation of the Duke of Grafton. Irregular. GRAY. HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground) Comus, and his midnight crew, "And Ignorance with looks profound, "And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue, "Mad Sedition's cry profane, "Servitude that hugs her chain, "Nor in thefe confecrated bow'rs "Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent - train in "Nor Eavy bafe, nor creeping Gain, "Dare the Mufe's walk to ftain, "While bright-ey'd Science watches round: "Hence, away, 'tis holy ground !” [flow'rs. From yonder realms of empyrean day Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undifcover'd clime. To blefs the place, where on their op'ning foul 'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd fhell, « Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia filver-bright But hark! the portals found, and pacing forth High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth, And fad Chatillon, on her bridal mom That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare, The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord The liquid language of the skics: "What the bright reward we gain? "Welcome, my noble Son (fhe cries aloud) "Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band "With modeft pride to grace thy youthful brow § 83. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE, And pray'd till I've been weary: Sweet airy being, wanton fprite, That lurk 'ft in woods unfeen, If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd, As ancient ftories tell, And for th'Athenian maid who lov'd, Thou fought'ft a wond'rous fpell; Oh! deign once more t'exert thy pow'r; Haply fome herb or tree, Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r, Conceals a balm for me. I afk no kind return of love, No tempting charm to please; Nor peace nor eafe the heart can know, Far as diftrefs the foul can wound, 'Tis blifs but to a certain bound; Bevond is agony. Take then this treach'rous fenfe of mine, To pains new pangs impart. That blafts the promis'd joy. The heart that melts for others woe, The wounds which now each moment bleed, Each moment then thall close; And tranquil days fhall ftill fucceed To nights of calm repose. O fairy elf! but grant me this, And fo may never-fading blifs So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light To fome new region of delight, And be thy acorn-goblet fill'd With heav'n's ambrofial dew; Half-pleas'd, contented will I be, Content but half to please, $84. The Fairy's Anfwer to Mrs. Greville's Praver for Indiference. WI By the Countess of C. ITHOUT preamble to my friend, Thefe hatty lines I'm bid to fend, Or give, if I am able : I dare not hesitate to fay, Laft night's adventure is my theme; To be compos'd in fport. The moon did fhine ferenely bright, And ev'ry ftar did deck the night, While Zephyr fann'd the trees; Enwrapt in folemn thoughts, I fate, Yet void of hope or fear; When lo! behold an aëry throng, A form, fuperior to the reft, And gently thus began: "I've heard ftrange things from one of you; "Pray tell me if you think 'tis true; Explain it if you can. "Such incenfe has perfum'd my throne! "I know her wit and beauty too; "I cannot understand. "To light fome flames, and fome revive, "To keep fome others just alive, "Full oft I am implor'd; "But, with peculiar pow'r to please, "To fupplicate for nought but cafe "Tis odd, upon my word! “Tell her, with fruitless care I've sought, "And tho' my realms, with wonders fraught "In remedies abound, "No grain of cold Indifference "Was ever yet ally'd to fenfe "In all my fairy round. "The regions of the fky I'd trace, "I'd ranfack ev'ry earthly place, "Each leaf, each herb, each flow'r, "To mitigate the pangs of fear, "Difpel the clouds of black defpair, "Or lull the rettlefs hour. "I would be gen'rous as I'm juft, "Bat I obey, as others muft, "Thofe laws which fate has made. "My tiny kingdom how defend, "And what might be the horrid end, + "Should man my fate invade ? "Twould put your mind into a rage; "And fuch unequal war to wage Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak; Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor! Oh take me to your hofpitable dome; Should I reveal the fources of my grief, Heav'n fends misfortunes; why fhould we repine? 'Tis Heav'n has brought me to the state you fee; And your condition may be foon like mine, The Child of Sorrow and of Mifery. A little farm was my paternal lot, And left the world to wretchednefs and me. Amid the fecret windings of the wood, With folemn Meditation let me ftray; This is the hour when to the wife and good The heav'nly maid repays the toils of day. The river murmurs, and the breathing gale Whispers the gently-waving boughs among : The ftar of ev'ning glimmers o'er the dale, And leads the filent hoft of Heav'n along. How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height, The filver emprefs of the night appears; Yon limpid pool reflects a ftream of light, And faintly in its breast the woodland bears; The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed, Solemn and conftant, from yon dell refound; The lonely hearths blaze o'er the diftant glade; The bat, low-wheeling,skims the dusky ground. Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale The Gothic abbey rears its fculptur'd tow'rs; Dull through the roofs refounds the whistling Dark folitude among the pillars lowrs. [gale; Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves, And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains, Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window waves, And, twining round, the hoary arch fuftains; There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind, Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his ftaff reclin'd, Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken pray'r. High o'er the pines,that with their dark'ning fhade Its crumbling turrets: ftill its tow'ry head Surround yon craggy bank, the cattle rears A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears. So, midst the fnow of age, a boastful air Still on the war-worn vet'ran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare, Tho' trembling o'er the feeble crutch he bends. Wild round the gates the dufky wall - flow'rs creep, [have led; Where oft the knights the beauteous dames Gone is the bow'r, the grot a ruin'd heap, Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments spread. 'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight, Great in their bloody arms, march'do'er the lea, Eving their refcu'd fields with proud delight! Now loft to them!-and ah! how chang'd When April's finiles the flow'ry lawn adorn, And modeft cowflips deck the ftreamlet's fide; When fragrant orchards to the rofcat morn Unfold their bloom, in heav'n's own colours dy'd, So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio wore ; Thefe were the emblems of his healthful mind; To him the letter'd page difplay'd its lore; To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; Him, with her pureft flames the Mufe endow'd, Flames never to th'illib'ral thought ally'd; The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd In all her charms: he faw, he felt, and dy'd. Oh, partner of my infant griefs and joys! Big with the fcenes now paft, my heart o'erBids each endearment, fair as once, to rife, [flows; And dwells luxurious on her melting woes. Oft with the rifing fun, when life was new, Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee; Oft by the moon have bruth'd the ev'ning dew; When all was fearlefs innocence and glee. The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines, Has oft been confcious of thofe happy hours; But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines, And fainted well, have loft their cheering powers; For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh, Hope faulters, and the foul recoils aghast! Chill'd in this vale of death, but languish here. So plant the vine on Norway's wint'ry land, The languid ftranger feebly buds, and dies: Yet there's a clime where Virtue fhall expand With godlike ftrength beneath her native skies! The lonely fhepherd on the mountain's fide, With patience waits the rofy op'ning day : The mariner at midnight's darkfome tide, With cheerful hope expects the morning ray: Thus I, on life's form-beaten ocean tofs'd, In mental vifion view the happy fhore Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coast, Where Fate and Death divide the friends no more ! Oh, that fome kind, fome pitying kindred fhade, Who now, perhaps, frequents this folemn Would tell the awful fecrets of the dead, [grove, And from my eyes the mortal film remove! Vain is the wifh-yet furely not in vain Man's bofom glows with that celeftial fire Which fcorns earth's luxuries, which fimiles at pain, And wings his fpirit with fublime defire! To fan this fpark of Heav'n, this ray divine, Still, O my foul! ftill be thy dear employ; Still thus to wander thro' the fhades be thine, And fwell thy breast with visionary joy! So to the dark-brow'd wood, or facred mount, In ancient days, the holy feers retir'd, And, led in vifion, drank at Siloe's fount, While rifing extafies their bofoms fir'd: Reftor'd creation bright before them rofe; The burning defarts fmil'd as Eden's plains; One friendly fhade the wolf and lambkin chofe; The flow'ry mountain fung, Melliah reigns!' Tho' fainter raptures my cold breaft infpire, Yet let me oft frequent this folemn icene; Oft to the abbey's fhatter'd walls retire, [tween: What time the moonshine dimly gleams be There, where the crofs in hoary ruin nods, And weeping yews o'erfhade the letter'd ftones, While midnight filence wraps thefe drear abodes, And foothes me wand'ring o'er my kindred bones, Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn When from the burfting graves the just shall All Nature fmiling, and by angels borne, [rife Mefliah's crofs far blazing o'er the fkies. § 87. The Tears of Scotland. SMOLLET. MOURN, hapless Caledonia, mourn Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn t Thy fons, for valour long renown'd, Lie flaughter'd on their native ground; Invite the ftranger to the door; Thy hofpitable roofs no more In fimoky ruins funk they lie, The monuments of cruelty. The wretched owner fees, afar, His all become the prey of war; Bethinks him of his babes and wife, Then finites his breaft, and curfes life. Thy fwains are famifh'd on the rocks, Where once they fed their wanton flocks: Thy ravifh'd virgins fhriek in vain; Thy infants peril on the plain. What boots it then, in ev'ry clime, Thro' the wide-ipreading waste of time, Thy martial glory, crown'd with praife, Still fhone with undiminish'd blaze? Thy tow'ring fpirit now is broke, Thy neck is bended to the yoke: What foreign arms could never quell, By civil rage and rancour fell. The rural pipe and merry lay No more fhall cheer the happy day: No focial fcenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night: Ec No No ftrains, but thofe of forrow, flow; $88. Ode to Mirth. SMOLLET. PARENT of joy! heart-eafing Mirth! Whether of Venus or Aurora born! So fhall each hill, in purer green array'd, And flow'r adorn'd in new-born beauty glow: The grove fhall fimooth the horrors of the fhade, And ftreams in murmurs fhall forget to flow. Shine, Goddefs, fhine with unremitted ray, [day. And gild (a fecond fun) with brighter beam our Labour with thee forgets his pain, [ray, And on the world doth pour His glories in a golden ihow'r. Lo! Darkness, tranbling 'fore the hoftile Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn: The brood obfcene, that own her gloony fway, Troop in her rear, and fly th'approach of morn. Quick as the lightnings flash, glide to fepulchral But whence the gladd'ning beam That pours his purple ftream O'er the long profpect wide? With Laughter at her fide. Nor fear ye aught in evil hour, Now Mirth hath heard the fuppliant Poet's pray't, No cloud that rides the blaft fhall vex the troubled air. § 89. Ode to Leven Water. SMOLLET. ON Leven's banks, while free to rove, And tune the rural pipe to love, I envy'd not the happieft fwain That ever trod th'Arcadian plain. Pure ftream! in whofe tranfparent wave With white, round, polifh'd pebbles spread; Still on thy banks, fo gaily green, Benjamin Stillingfleet was the only fon of Edward Stillingflect, a clergyman in the county of Norfolk, and grandson to Dr. Stillingtieet, Bihop of Worcester. |