I only seek to find thy temperate vale; To maids and shepherds round, And all thy sons, O nature, learn my tale. 5 ΤΟ 15 20 THE PASSIONS WHEN music, heavenly maid, was young, From the supporting myrtles round Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each (for madness ruled the hour) Would prove his own expressive power. First fear, his hand, its skill to try, Even at the sound himself had made. Next anger rushed; his eyes on fire, In lightnings owned his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept, with hurried hand, the strings. With woful measures wan despair Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delightful measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on echo still, through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 25 30 35 A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung;- but with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, down; And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And, ever and anon, he beat 40 45 50 55 The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. Thy numbers, jealousy, to naught were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state; Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale melancholy sat retired; And, from her wild sequestered seat, 60 In notes by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 65 Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But O! how altered was its sprightlier tone, 70 When cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, 75 Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown exercise rejoiced to hear; And sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, 80 First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best; To some unwearied minstrel dancing, Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic round: As if he would the charming air repay, O music! sphere-descended maid, 85 90 95 100 105 ΙΙΟ 115 5 You learned an all-commanding power, Confirm the tales her sons relate! ODE ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON IN yonder grave a druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave; In yon deep bed of whispering reeds His airy harp shall now be laid, |