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III. 2.

Lo! on yon long-refounding fhore,

I. 2.

Cast o'er yon trackless waste thy wand'ring eye:

Where the rock totters o'er the headlong deep, Yon hill, whofe gold illumin'd brow,

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What phantoms, bath'd in infant gore,
Stand mutt'ring on the dizzy fteep!
Their murmur fhakes the zephyr's wing
The ftorm obeys their pow'rful spell !
See! from his gloomy cell

Fierce Winter ftarts! his fcowling eye
Blots the fair mantle of the breathing Spring,
And lowrs along the ruffled sky!

To the deep vault the yellow harpies run *;
Its yawning mouth receives th'infernal crew.
Dim thro' the black gloom winks the glimm'ring
And the pale furnace gleams with brimstone
Hell howls and fiends that join the dire acclaim
Dance on the bubbling tide, and point the livid

III. 3.
But ah! on Sorrow's cyprefs bough
Can Beauty breathe her genial bloom?
On Death's cold check will Paffion glow?
Or Mufic warble from the tomb ?
There fleeps the bard, whofe tuneful tongue
Pour'd the full ftream of mazy fong!
Young Spring, with lip of ruby, here
Showers from her lap the blushing Year;
While, along the turf reclin'd,
The loofe wind fwimming on the wind,
The Loves, with forward gefture bold,
Sprinkled the fod with fpangling gold;
And oft the blue-ey'd Graces trim
Dance lightly round on downy limb;
Oft too, when Eve demure and still

Chequers the dale's purling rill,
Sweet Fancy pours the plaintive strain,
Or, wrapt in foothing dream,
By Avon's ruffled stream,

[the plain.

Hears the low murmuring gale that dies along

Juft trembling thro' the bending fky,
O'erlooks the boundlefs wild below,
Once bore the branching wood
That o'er yon murm'ring flood
Hung, wildly waving to the ruftling gale;
The naked heath with mofs o'ergrown,
That hears the lone owl's nightly moan,
Once bloom'd with fummer's copious store,
Once rais'd the lawn-befpangling flow'r;
Or heard fome lover's plaintive lay,
When by pale Cynthia's filver ray,
All wild he wander'd o'er the lonely dale, [tale,
And taught the lift'ning moon the melancholy
1. 3.

Ye wilds, where heav'n-rapt Fancy roves,
Ye fky crown'd hills and folemn groves!
Ye low-brow'd vaults, ye gloomy cells!
Ye caves, where night-bed Silence dwells
Ghosts that in yon lonely hall
Lightly glance along the wall,
Or, beneath yon ivy'd tow'r,
At the filent midnight hour,
Stand, array'd in fpotlefs white,
And ftain the dusky robe of Night!
Or, with flow folemn paufes, roam
O'er the long-founding hollow dome!
Say, 'mid yon defart folitary round,
When darkness wraps the boundless fpheres,
Does ne'er fome difmal dying found
On Night's dull ferious car rebound,
That mourns the ceafelefs lapfe of life-confum-
ing years?

II. 1.

O call th'infpiring glorious hour to view,
When Caledonia's martial train
From yon fteep rock's high-arching brow
Pour'd on the heart-ftruck flying Dane !
When War's blood-tinctur'd spear

$131. Ode to Time. Occafioned by feeing the Hung o'er the trembling rear;

Ruins of an Old Cafile.

I. t.


THOU! who, 'mid the world-involving
Sitt'ft on yon folitary spire! [gloom,

Or flowly fhak'it the founding dome,
Or hear'it the wildly-warbling lyre;
Say when thy musing soul

Bids diftant times unroll,

And marks the flight of each revolving year,
Of years whole flow confuming pow'r
Has clad with mofs yon leaning tow'r,
That faw the race of Glory run,
That mark'd Ambition's fetting fun,
That thook old Empire's tow'ring pride,
That fwept them down the floating tide;
Say, when thefe long-unfolding scenes appear,
Streams down thy hoary cheek the pity-darting


[long flight:
When light-heel'd Terror wing'd their head
Yon tow'rs then rung with wild alarms i
While on the bleak hill's bright'ning fpire
Yon defart gleam'd with shining arms!
Bold Vict'ry flam'd with eyes of fire,
Her limbs celestial robes infold,

Her wings were ting'd with fpangling gold,
She fpoke her words infus'd refiftless might,
And warm'd the bounding heart, and rous'd the
foul of fight.

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Lo! rifing from yon dreary tomb,
What fpectres ftalk across the gloom!
With haggard eyes and vifage pale,
And voice that moans with feeble wail!
O'er yon long-refounding plain
Slowly moves the folemn train,
Wailing wild with fhrieks of woe
O'er the bones that reft below!
While the dull Night's startled ear
Shrinks, aghaft with thrilling fear!
Or ftand, with thin robes waiting foon,
And eyes that blaft the fick'ning moon!
Yet thefe, ere Time had roll'd their years away,
Ere Death's fell arm had mark'd its aim,
Rul'd yon proud tow'rs with ample sway,
Beheld the trembling fwains obey,

And wrought the glorious deed that fwell'd the
trump of Fame.

III. 1.

But why o'er thefe indulge the bursting sigh?
Feels not each fhrub the tempeft's pow'r?
Rocks not the dome when whirlwinds fly?
Nor fhakes the hill when thunders roar?
Lo mould'ring, wild, unknown,
What fanes, what tow'rs o'erthrown,

Slow Patience fits with eye depreft,
And Courage beats his fobbing breaft;
Ev'n War's red 'cheek the gushing streams o'er

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And Fancy's lift'ning ear attends the plaint of
III. 3.

Lo! on yon pyramid fublime,
Whence lies Old Egypt's defart clime,
Bleak, naked, wild! where ruin lowrs,
'Mid fanes, and wrecks, and tumbling towa!
On the steep height, wafte and bare,
Stands the Pow'r with hoary hair!
O'er his feythe he bends; his hand
Slowly shakes the flowing fand,
While the Hours, an airy ring,
Lightly flit with downy wing,

And fap the works of man; and fhade
With filver locks his furrow'd head:
Thence rolls the mighty Pow'r his broad furvey,
And feals the nations awful doom:
He fees proud Grandeur's meteor ray;
He yields to joy the festive day;-
Then fweeps the length'ning fhade, and marks

them for the tomb.

$132. Ode to Evening. OGILVIE.
MEEK Pow'r! whose balmy-pinion'd gale
Steals o'er the flow'r-enamell'd daie;
Whofe voice, in gentle whispers near,
Oft fighs to Quiet's lift'ning car,
As on her downy couch at reft,
By Thought's infpiring visions bleft,
She fits, with white-rob'd Silence nigh,
And, mufing, heaves her ferious eye,
To mark the flow fun's glimm'ring ray

What tumbling chaos marks the waite of Time! To catch the last pale gleam of day;

I fee Palmyra's temples fall!

Old Ruin thakes the hanging wall!
Yon wafte, where roaming lions howl,
Yon aifle, where moans the grey-cy'd owl,
Shows the proud Perfian's great abode * !
Where, feepter'd once, an earthly god!
His pow'r-clad arm controul'd each happier
[foars fublime.
Where 1ports the warbling Mufc, and Fancy

III. 2.

Hark! what dire found rolls murm'ring on
the gale?

Ah! what foul-thrilling fcene appears!
I fee the column'd arches fail!

And structures hoar, the boaft of years!
What mould'ring piles decay'd
Gleam thro' the moon-streak'd fhade,


Where Rome's proud genius rear'd her awful
Sad monument-Ambition near
Rolls on the duft and pours a tear,
Pale Honour drops the flutt'ring plume,
And Conqueft weeps o'er Cæfar's tomb;

Or, funk in fweet repofe, unknown,
Lies on the wild hill's van alone,
And fees thy gradual pencil flow
Along the heav'n-illumin'd bow.

Come, Nymph demure, with mantle blue,
Thy treffes bath'd in balmy dew,
The Graces breathing in thy mien,
With ftep fmooth-fliding o'er the green,
Girt with a zone of circling gold,
And thy vefture's gather'd fold,
And bring the harp, whofe folemn ftring
Dies to the wild wind's murm'ring wing,
And the Nymph, whofe eye ferene
Marks the calin-breathing woodland feene,
Thought, mountain fage who loves to climb,
And haunts the dark rock's fummit dun:
Let Fancy, falcon-wing'd, be near;
And, thro' the cloud-envelop'd iphere,
Where, mufing, roams Retirement hoar,
Lull'd by the torrent's diftant roar,
O bid, with trembling light, to glow
The raven plume that crowns his brow.

Lo, where the meek-ey'd train attend! Queen of the folemn thought, defcend! * Perfipolis.

O hide me in romantic bow'rs!
Or lead my step to ruin'd tow'rs!
Where, gleaming thro' the chinky door,
The pale ray gilds the moulder'd floor:
While, beneath the hallow'd pile,
Deep in the defart-fhrieking aifle,
'Rapt Contemplation ftalks along,
And hears the flow clock's pealing tongue!
"Or, 'mid the dun difcolour'd gloom,
Sits on fome hero's peaceful tomb,
Throws Life's gay glitt'ring robe aside,
And tramples on the neck of Pride.

Oft, shelter'd by the rambling sprays,
Lead o'er the foreft's winding maze,
Where, thro' the mantling boughs, afar
Glimmers the filver-ftreaming ftar,
And, fhow'r'd from ev'ry rustling blade,
The loofe light floats along the fhade:
So, hov'ring o'er the human scene,
Gay Pleasure sports with brow ferene;
By Fancy beam'd, the glancing ray
Shoots, Autters, gleams, and fleets away;
Unfettl'd, dubious, reftlefs, blind,
Floats all the bufy bustling mind;
While Mem'ry's unftain'd leaves retain
No trace from all th'ideal train.

But fee, the Jandfkip, op'ning fair,
Invites to breathe the purer air!
O when the cowflip-fcented gale
Shakes the light dew-drop o'er the dale,
When, on her amber-dropping bed,
Loofe Eafe reclines her downy head,
How bleft! by fairy-haunted stream
To melt in wild ecftatic dream,
Die to the pictur'd wish, or hear
Breath'd foft in Fancy's trembling ear)
Such lays, by angel-harps refin'd,
As half unchain the flutt'ring mind,
When on life's edge it eyes the shore,
And all its pinions stretch to foar.

Lo, where the fun's broad orb, withdrawn,
Skirts with pale gold the dusky lawn,
While, led by ev'ry gentler pow'r,
Steals the flow, folemn, mufing hour.
Now, from the green hill's purple brow,
Let me mark the fcene below,
Where, feebly glancing thro' the gloom,
Yon myrtle fhades the filent tomb:
Not far, beneath the ev'ning beam,
The dark lake rolls his azure stream,
Whose breast the fwan's white plumes divide,
Slow-failing o'er the floating tide.

Groves, meads, and fpires, and forests bare,
Shoot glimm'ring thro' the mifty air,
Dim as the vifion-pictur'd bow'r
That gilds the faint's expiring hour,
When, rapt to ecitafy, his eye
Looks thro' the blue ethereal fky:-
All heav'n unfolding to his fight!
Gay forms that fwim in floods of light!
The fun-pav'd floor, the balmy clime,
The ruby-beaming dome fublime,

The tow'rs in glitt'ring pomp difplay'd,—
The bright fcene hovers o'er his bed.

He ftarts-but from his eager gaze
Black clouds obfcure the lets'ning rays;
On mem'ry ftill the fcene is wrought,
And lives in Fancy's featur'd thought.

On the airy mount reclin'd,
What wishes foothe the mufing mind!
How foft the velvet lap of Spring!
How sweet the Zephyr's violet wing!
Goddess of the plaintive fong,
That leads the melting heart along,
O bid thy voice of genial pow'r
Reach Contemplation's lonely bow'r,
And call the fage with tranced fight
To climb the mountain's fteepy height,-
To wing the kindling with, or fpread
O'er Thought's pale cheek enliv'ning red;
Come, hoary Pow'r, with ferious eye,
Whofe thought explores yon diftant sky;
Now, when the bufy world is ftill,
Nor paflion tempts the wav'ring will,
When fweeter hopes each pow'r controul,
And Quiet whifpers to the foul,
Now fweep from life th'illufive train
That dance in Folly's dizzy brain;
Be Reafon's fimple draught pourtray'd,
Where blends alternate light and fhade
Bid dimpled Mirth, with thought bely'd,
Sport on the bubble's glitt'ring fide;
Bid Hope purfue the diftant boon,
And Frenzy watch the fading moon;
Paint Superftition's starting eye,
And Wit that leers with gefture fly;
Let Cenfure whet her venom'd dart,
And green-ey'd Envy gnaw the heart;
Let Pleafure lie, on flow'rs reclin'd,
While Anguish aims her fhaft behind.

Hail, Sire fublime! whofe hollow'd cave
Howls to the hoarfe deep's dashing wave,
Thee Solitude to Phoebus bore,
Far on the lone deferted fhore,
Where Orellano's rufhing tide
Roars on the rock's projected fide:
Hence, burfting o'er thy ripen'd mind,
Beams all the father's thought refin'd:
Hence, oft in filent vales, unfeen,
Thy footsteps print the fairy green;
Or thy foul melts to ftrains of woe,
That from the willow's quiv'ring bough
Sweet warbling breathe;-the zephyrs round
O'er Dee's finooth current waft the found,
When foft, on bending ofiers laid,
The broad fun trembling thro' the bed,
All wild thy heav'n-rapt Fancy strays,
Led thro' the foul-diffolving maze,
Till Slumber, downy pinion'd, near
Plants her ftrong fetlocks on thy ear,
The foul, unfetter'd ourfts away,
And bafks, enlarg'd, in beamy day.

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When by a murm'ring rill reclin'd

But still that scrap is bought with many a ligh, Sat wrapt in thought a wand'ring fivain ; And pride einbitters what it can't deny. Calin peace compos'd his musing mind;

Say ye, opprest by some fantastic woes, And thus he rais’d the flowing strain :

Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose ; • Hail Innocence! celestial maid !

Who press the downy couch, while flaves advance • What joys thy blushing charms reveal!

With timid cye, to read the distant glance ; • Sweet, as the arbour's cooling shade,

Who with sad prayers the weary doctor teaze • And milder than the vernal gale.

To naine the nameless ever-new diseate;

Who with mock-patience dire complaints endure, «On Thce attends a radiant choir,

Which real pain, and that alone can cure ; • Soft-smiling Peace, and downy Rest;

How would ye bear in real pain to lie, • With Love, that prompts the warbling lyre,

Defpis'd, neglected, left alone to die? • And Hope, that foothes the throbbing breaft.

How would ye bear to draw your latest breath, * Sent from Heav'n to haunt the grove, Where all that's wretched paves theway for death? • Where squinting Envy ne'er can coine !

Such is that room which one rude beam divides, • Nor pines the check with luckless Love, And naked rafters form the floping sides; • Nor Anguilh chills the living bloom.

Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen, • But Ipotless Beauty, rob'd in white,

And lath and mud is all that lie between; (way • Sits on yon mofs-grown hill reclin'd;

Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patch'd, gives • Serene as heav'n's unsully'd light,

To the rude tempeft, yet excludes the day : * And pure as Delia’s gentle mind.

Here, on a matted fock, with duft o'erspread,

The drooping wretch reclines his languid head ; Grant, Heav'nly Pow'r! thy pcaceful sway For him no hand the cordial cup applies, May still iny ruder thoughts controul;

Nor wipes the tcar that stagnates in his eyes ; Thy hand to point my dubious way,

No friends with foft discourse his pain beguile, Thy voice to foothe the melting foul!

Nor promile hope till sickness wears a smile. • Far in the shady sweet retrcat • Let Thought beguile the ling'ring hour; • Let Quiet court the mosty fcat,

135. Description of a Country Apothecary. * And twining olives form the bow'r !

CRABBE. Let dove-ey'd Peace her wreath befow, BUT foon a loud and haiły fummons calls, And oft fit lift'ning in the dale,

Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the While Night's fiveet warbler from the bough Anon a figure enters, quaintly peat, [walls: Tells to the grove her plaintive tale.

All pride and bus'ness, bustle and conceit; • Soft as in Delia's snowy breast,

With looks unaltered by these scenes of woe,

With speed that, entering, speaks his hafte to go; • Let each consenting pallion move; • Let Angels watch its silent rett,

He bids the gazing throng around him fly,

And carries fate and phyfic in his eye ; * And all its blissful drcams be Love !"

A potent quack, long vers'd in human ills,

Who first insults the victim whom he kills; § 134. A Description of a Purila Poor - House. Whole murd'rous hand a droivfy bench protect,

CRABBE. And whose most tender inercy is neglect. THEIRS is yon house that holds

the parish

poor, Paid by the parish for attendance here, Whole walls of mud scarce bear the broken He wcars contempt upon his fapient (neer!

In haftc he lecks the bed where misery lies, There, where the putrid vapours flagging play, Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes; And the dull wheel huins doleful thro' the day; And, fome habitual qucrics hurtied o'er, There children dwell who know no parents carc, Without reply, he ruthes on the door ;, Parents, who know nochildrens love, dwell there; His drooping patient, long inur’d to pain, Heart-broken matrons on their joylets bed, And long unheeded, knows remonftrance vain ; Fortaken wives, and mothers never wed; He ccates now the feeble help to crave Dejected widows with unheeded tears,

Of man, and mutely haftens to the grave. And crippled age with more than childhood-fears! The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest chey! The inoping idiot, and the madman gay. § 136. Description of a Country Clergymar Here too tbclick their final doom receive,

visiting the Sick. CRABBE. Were brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve; BoT ere his death some pious doubts arise, Where the loud groans from some tad chamber Some simple fcars which “bold bad” men flow,

despise ; Mixt with the clamours of the crowd below; Fain would he ask the parish-priest to prove Here forrowing, they each kindred sorrow fcan, His title certain to the joys above; And the cold charities of man to man.

For this he fends the inurmuring nurse, who calls Whofe laws indeed for ruin'd age provide, The holy Grarget to these dismal walls; And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from And doth not he, the pious man, appear, pride;

He, " pafling rich with furty foun Is a year!” อ




Ah! no, a shepherd of a different stock, Where once in life's gay spring I lov'd to roain
And far unlike him, feeds this little Rock ; Invites thy willing steps, accept, dear youth,
A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task This parting strain; accept the fervent prayer
As much as God or man can fairly ask ; Of him, who loves thee with a patsion pure
The reft he gives to loves and labours light, As ever friendlhip dropp'd in human heart,
To fields the morning, and to feasts the night; The prayer, Thathe whoguides the hand of youth
None better skill'd the noisy pack to guide, Thro' all the puzzled and perplexed round
To urge their chace, to cheer them or to chide; Of life's meandring path, upon thy head
Sure in his shot, his game hic seldom mist, May shower down every blefling, everyjoy, [give!
And seldom fail'd to win his game at whift ; Which health, which virtue, and which fame can
Then, while such honors bloom around his head, Yet think not I will deign to flatter thee :
Shall he fit fadly by the fick man's bed, Shall he, the guardian of my faith and truth,
To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal The guide, the pilot of thy tender vears,
To coinbat fears that ev'n the pious feel? Teach-thy young heart to feel a fpurious glow

At undeserved praise? Perish the llave
§ 137. The Reason for describing the Vices of Whofe venal breath in youth's unpractis'd car
the Village.

Pours poison'd Aattery, and corrupts the soul
TET why, you ask, these humble crimes rclate, Fawns on the vice which fome with honeft hand

With vain conceit; whose base ungenerous art
Why make the poor as guilty as the great? Have torn for ever from the bleeding brcast.
-To thew the great, those mightier sons of Pride,
How near vice the lowest are ally'd;

Say, gentle youth, remember'st thou the day
Such are their natures, and their pallions such,

When o'er thy tender thoulders first I hung

The golden lyre, and taught thy trembling hand
But these disguise too little, those too much :
So Thall the man of power and pleasure see

To touch th'accordant ftrings From that blest
In his own Nave as vile a wretch as he;

I've seen thee panting up the hill of farne; [hour In his luxuriant lord the servant find

Thy little heart beat high with honcft praile, His own low pleasures and degenerate mind:

Thy cheek was flush’d, and oft thy sparkling eye And each in all the kindred vices trace

Shot Aames of young ambition. Never quench Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race;

That generous ardour in thy virtuous breast. Who, a short time in varied fortune past,

Sweet is the concord of harinonious founds,

When the soft lutc or pealing organ strikes
Die, and are equal in the dust at last.-
And you, ye poor, who still lament your fate,

The well-attemper'd car; fwect is the breath
Forbear to envy

Of honeft love, when nyınph and gentle Twain you reckon

grcat ; And know, amid thosc blessings they possess,

Waft fighs alternate to cach other's heart;

But nor the concord of harmonious founds,
They are, like you, the victims of distress ;
While Sloth with many a pang torments her slave, The well-atteinper'd car; nor the livect brcath

When the soft lute or pealing organ strikes
Fcar waits on guilt, and Danger thakes the brave. Of honcst love, when nyinph and gentle tivain

Waft fighs alternate to cach other's heart,
$ 138. Apology for Vagrants. Anon. So charm with ravithment the raptur'd fense,

As docs the voice of well-deferv'd report
FOR him who, loft to ev'ry hope of life,

Has long with fortunc held unequal Arife, Strike with fiveet melody the conscious soul.
Known to no human love, no human care, On every object thro' the giddy world
The friendless, homeless object of despair ;

Which fashion to the dazzled eye prefents,
For the poor vagrant, feel, while he complains, Fresh is the glofs of newness ; look, dead youth,
Nor from fad freedom send to fadder chains. Oh look, but not admire : 0 Ict not there
Alike, if folly or misfortune brought

Rafe froin thy noble heart che fair records
Those last of wocs his evil days have wrought ; Which youth and education planted there :
Believe with social mercy, and with me,

Let not affection's full impetuous tide,
Folly's inisfortune in the first degree.

Which riots in thy generous brcast, be check'd
Perhaps on fome in hospitable thore

By felfi ih cares ; nor let the idle jeers
The houseless wretch a widow'd parent bore ;

Of laughing fools make thee forget thyself.
Who then, no more by golden prospects led,

When didnt thou hear a tender tale of woc,
Of the poor Indian beyg'd a lcały bed.

And feel thy heart at rest ? Have I not seen
Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, In thy swoln eye the tcar of tympathy,
Perhaps that parent mourn'd her foldier Nain; The inilk of humankindness? When did it thou,
Bent o'cr her babe, her eye dissolv'd in dew,

With envy ranklinç, hear a rival prais'd?
The big drops mingling with the milk he diew, When did thou Night the wretched ? When
Gave the sad prclage of his future years,

The modeft humble fuit of poverty? (despise
The child of milery, baptiz'd in tears !

Thcfe virtues still be thine ; nor ever Icarn
To look with cold cye on the charities

Of brother, or of parents ; think on those (path § 139. Epiftle to a young Gentleman, on his Whofe anxious care thro' childhood's flippery

leaving Eton School. By Dr. ROBERTS. Sustain'd thy feeble steps; whole every with INCE now a nobicr scene awakes thy care, Is wafted fill to thee: reineinber thole, Since manhood, dawning to fair Granta's towers, 'Even in thy heart while memory holds her seat:

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