I. 3. Thee the voice, the dance obey, The rofy-crowned loves are feen On Cytherea's day, With antic Sports, and blue-ey'd Pleasures, Now pursuing, now retreating, Slow melting ftrains their Queen's approach declare: With arms fublime, that float upon the air, In gliding ftate fhe wins her eafy way: O'er her warm cheek, and rifing bofom, move The bloom of young defire, and purple light of love. II. I. Man's feeble race what ills await! Labour, and penury, the racks of pain, Disease, and forrow's weeping train ; And death, fad refuge from the storms of fate! And juftify the laws of Jove. Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse? Night, and all her fickly dews, Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary sky: Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy,and glitt'ring shafts of wy. II. 2. In climes beyond the folar road, Where fhaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, To cheer the fhiv'ring native's dull abode. Of Chili's boundlefs forefts laid, She deigns to hear the favage youth repeat, Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dufky loves. Her track, where'er the goddefs roves, Glory purfues, and gen'rous thame, Th' unconquerable mind, and Freedom's holy flame. II. 3. Woods, that wav'd o'er Delphi's steep; Ifles, that crown'd th' Egean deep; Fields, that cool Iliffus laves; Or where Mæander's amber waves How do your tuneful echoes languish, They fought, O Albion! next thy fea-encircled aft H III. 1. Far from the fun and fummer-gale, Thine too thefe golden keys, immortal boy! Of horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the facred fource of fympathetic tears. Nor fecond he, that rode fublime Upon the feraph-wing of ecftacy, The fecrets of th' abyfs to spy. He pafs'd the flaming bounds of place and time: Where angels tremble while they gaze, He faw; but blafted with excefs 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, With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long refounding pace. III. 3. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Fright-ey'd Fancy, Lov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictur'd urn Thor gh's that breathe, and words that burn. But ab, 'tis heard no more! Oh, lyre divine! what daring spirit Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Beneath the Good how far-but far above the Great! SMOLLETT. ODE, TO INDEPENDENCE, STROPHE. THY fpirit, Independence, let me fhare! Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye, Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in ev'ry varying clime; With frantic Superftition for his guide, Arm'd with the dagger and the pall, The ruthlefs hag, by Wefer's flood, In Heaven's name urg'd th' infernal blow; The vanquish'd were baptiz'd with blood.* ANTISTROPHE. The Saxon prince in horror fled And deeply felt the impreffion of her charms: And straight compress'd her in his vigorous arm. STROPHE, The Curlieu fcream'd; the Tritons blew Their fhells to celebrate the ravish'd rite; Old Time exulted as he flew ; And Independence faw the light. * Charlemagne obliged 4000 Saxon prisoners to embrace the Christian religion, and immediately after they were bap tized ordered their throats to be cut. Their prince Vitikind ed for shelter to Gotrick king of Denmark. |