 | Poems |  |
27
ODE.
Est flamma medullas.
VIRGIL.
VIRGIL.
‘Othyrsis, o'er thy tortur'd breast
‘To spread th' oblivious veil of rest,
‘One short liv'd hour of ease to gain,
‘How oft thy Damon strives in vain!
‘No prayers appease, no songs controul
‘The tumults of thy saddening soul.
‘Again, at friendship's blest command
‘I seize the lyre with hurried hand;
‘For thee, alas, unskill'd to sing,
‘I wake the sympathetic string.
‘But ere the chearful notes rejoice
‘O'erwhelming sorrow drowns my voice:
‘Love's pensive spectre chills my sight—
‘Hush'd are the warblings of delight,
‘With burning throbs my heart beats high,
‘The tears hang trembling on mine eye,
‘And from the lyre nor silver sound
‘Nor any mea ures float around.’
‘To spread th' oblivious veil of rest,
‘One short liv'd hour of ease to gain,
‘How oft thy Damon strives in vain!
‘No prayers appease, no songs controul
‘The tumults of thy saddening soul.
‘Again, at friendship's blest command
‘I seize the lyre with hurried hand;
‘For thee, alas, unskill'd to sing,
‘I wake the sympathetic string.
‘But ere the chearful notes rejoice
‘O'erwhelming sorrow drowns my voice:
‘Love's pensive spectre chills my sight—
‘Hush'd are the warblings of delight,
‘With burning throbs my heart beats high,
‘The tears hang trembling on mine eye,
‘And from the lyre nor silver sound
‘Nor any mea ures float around.’
28
Cease, Damon, cease: that tender strain
But adds a keener edge to pain!
Alas, while Love and Grief conspire
To swell the storm of Fortune's ire;
Unheeded to the chearless air
Lamenting Pity pours her prayer.
But adds a keener edge to pain!
Alas, while Love and Grief conspire
To swell the storm of Fortune's ire;
Unheeded to the chearless air
Lamenting Pity pours her prayer.
Friend of my youth, why thus deplore—
Can tears my blighted hopes restore?
Behold, how sickness wastes my frame,
How dimly gleams life's lingering flame!—
In vain the Muse each effort tries,
Can winning words, can social sighs,
Can all the charms of verse avail,
When foes so fiercely leagu'd assail?
Ah, no—for ever from my sight
Love's glittering phantoms wing their flight!
Then mix no more thy plaints with mine;
Fly, Damon fly: thy friend resign:
No longer o'er his sorrows weep,
In Lethe's wave his image steep—
Since Fate with unrelenting doom
Consigns him to an early tomb.
Can tears my blighted hopes restore?
Behold, how sickness wastes my frame,
How dimly gleams life's lingering flame!—
In vain the Muse each effort tries,
Can winning words, can social sighs,
Can all the charms of verse avail,
When foes so fiercely leagu'd assail?
Ah, no—for ever from my sight
Love's glittering phantoms wing their flight!
Then mix no more thy plaints with mine;
Fly, Damon fly: thy friend resign:
No longer o'er his sorrows weep,
In Lethe's wave his image steep—
Since Fate with unrelenting doom
Consigns him to an early tomb.
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