The poems (1969) | ||
41 Ode for Music
268
Air
‘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 these consecrated bowers
‘Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers.
Chorus
‘Nor Envy base nor creeping Gain‘Dare the Muse's walk to stain,
‘While bright-eyed Science watches round:
‘Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!’
Recitative
From yonder realms of empyrean dayBursts on my ear the indignant lay:
There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine,
The few whom genius gave to shine
269
Rapt in celestial transport they,
Yet hither oft a glance from high
They send of tender sympathy
To bless the place, where on their opening soul
First the genuine ardour stole.
'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell,
And, as the choral warblings round him swell,
Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime,
And nods his hoary head and listens to the rhyme.
Air
‘Ye brown o'er-arching groves,‘That Contemplation loves,
‘Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!
‘Oft at the blush of dawn
270
‘Oft wooed the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright
‘In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,
‘With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy.’
Recitative
But hark! the portals sound and, pacing forthWith solemn steps and slow,
High potentates and dames of royal birth
And mitred fathers in long order go:
Great Edward with the lilies on his brow
271
And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn
That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,
And Anjou's heroine, and the paler rose,
The rival of her crown and of her woes,
And either Henry there,
The murthered saint and the majestic lord,
That broke the bonds of Rome,
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human passions now no more,
Save charity, that glows beyond the tomb).
272
Rich streams of regal bounty poured,
And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise,
To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come;
And thus they speak in soft accord
The liquid language of the skies.
Quartetto
‘What is grandeur, what is power?‘Heavier toil, superior pain.
‘What the bright reward we gain?
‘The grateful memory of the good.
‘Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,
‘The bee's collected treasures sweet,
‘Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet
‘The still small voice of gratitude.’
Recitative
Foremost and leaning from her golden cloudThe venerable Margaret see!
‘Welcome, my noble son,’ (she cries aloud)
‘To this, thy kindred train, and me:
‘Pleased in thy lineaments we trace
273
Air
‘Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye,‘The flower unheeded shall descry,
‘And bid it round heaven's altars shed
‘The fragrance of its blushing head:
‘Shall raise from earth the latent gem
‘To glitter on the diadem.
Recitative
‘Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band,‘Not obvious, not obtrusive, she
‘No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings;
‘Nor dares with courtly tongue refined
‘Profane thy inborn royalty of mind:
‘She reveres herself and thee.
274
‘The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, she brings,
‘And to thy just, thy gentle hand
‘Submits the fasces of her sway,
‘While spirits blest above and men below
‘Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay.
Grand Chorus
‘Through the wild waves as they roar‘With watchful eye and dauntless mien
‘Thy steady course of honour keep,
‘Nor fear the rocks nor seek the shore:
‘The star of Brunswick smiles serene,
‘And gilds the horrors of the deep.’
The poems (1969) | ||