The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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ODE TO SOME ROBIN REDBREASTS, IN A COUNTRY CATHEDRAL. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
466
ODE TO SOME ROBIN REDBREASTS, IN A COUNTRY CATHEDRAL.
Sweet minstrels of the sounding choir,
Your ditties sooth, delight, inspire;
That wake the echoes from their deep repose;
Soft echoes dying through the dome
(As though from spirits of the tomb),
Soon as your voices sink in plaintive close!
Your ditties sooth, delight, inspire;
That wake the echoes from their deep repose;
Soft echoes dying through the dome
(As though from spirits of the tomb),
Soon as your voices sink in plaintive close!
Again, O! lull me with your lay,
And let it never die away.
And let it never die away.
How welcome rise your hymns to Heav'n,
In gratitude so simply giv'n!
Celestials smile upon your songs of praise:
For to the chaste angelic ear
The grateful voice is ever near,
But loath'd the sounds that Affectation brays;
And yet how many a voice, and pipe, and chord,
Brays to the praise and glory of the Lord!
In gratitude so simply giv'n!
Celestials smile upon your songs of praise:
For to the chaste angelic ear
The grateful voice is ever near,
But loath'd the sounds that Affectation brays;
And yet how many a voice, and pipe, and chord,
Brays to the praise and glory of the Lord!
Hark! hark! what rude discordant sounds!
A jail broke loose!—a pack of hounds!
No, 'tis a bishop, dean, and bawling boys!
What uproar wild! The wolves of Thrace
Howl'd to the moon with sweeter grace;
Ev'n Libya's lions make not half the noise.
What human brain the thunder bears;
A kingdom for a pair of patent ears!
A jail broke loose!—a pack of hounds!
No, 'tis a bishop, dean, and bawling boys!
What uproar wild! The wolves of Thrace
Howl'd to the moon with sweeter grace;
Ev'n Libya's lions make not half the noise.
467
A kingdom for a pair of patent ears!
Yet while they deal these direful sounds;
Din that disturbs, affrights, astounds;
How merciful is Heav'n, to bear the bother,
And not knock one thick skull against the other!
Din that disturbs, affrights, astounds;
How merciful is Heav'n, to bear the bother,
And not knock one thick skull against the other!
Yet to the praise and glory of the Lord,
As oft they ope the volume of their throat,
Their gullets gape not of their own accord:—
'Tis money, money only, prompts the note.
Heav'n's cherubs blush, and burning seraphs stare,
To think that bribes must purchase praise and pray'r.
As oft they ope the volume of their throat,
Their gullets gape not of their own accord:—
'Tis money, money only, prompts the note.
Heav'n's cherubs blush, and burning seraphs stare,
To think that bribes must purchase praise and pray'r.
Sweet race, to you I turn again!
Now all the ear-distracting train
Has left the dome, the cherub peace restor'd.—
How different your delighting throats!
How different all your liquid notes!
How different too your merits with the Lord!
For how can Heav'n with venal sounds be taken,
Tainted with ale and gin, and eggs and bacon?
Now all the ear-distracting train
Has left the dome, the cherub peace restor'd.—
How different your delighting throats!
How different all your liquid notes!
How different too your merits with the Lord!
For how can Heav'n with venal sounds be taken,
Tainted with ale and gin, and eggs and bacon?
Yes; all is hush'd the vault along;
Resume, resume the choral song,
And make atonement for the horrid cry.
Lo! in her shroud, near yonder tomb,
A gentle spectre breaks the gloom!
She listens!—lo! she listens with a sigh!
Ah! bid your airs divinely flow,
And, soothing, steal a tear from woe.
Resume, resume the choral song,
And make atonement for the horrid cry.
Lo! in her shroud, near yonder tomb,
A gentle spectre breaks the gloom!
She listens!—lo! she listens with a sigh!
Ah! bid your airs divinely flow,
And, soothing, steal a tear from woe.
The deep'ning shades of Night prevail,
They wrap the hollow-sounding aisle,
And steal each column from the eye:
What solemn solitude around!
Here Nature's true sublime is found,
Hence Thought should travel to the sky!
They wrap the hollow-sounding aisle,
And steal each column from the eye:
What solemn solitude around!
Here Nature's true sublime is found,
Hence Thought should travel to the sky!
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Mild tenants of the fane, farewell!
At early dawn I quit my cell,
And haste a pilgrim, to these shrines again:
Simplicity will join my way,
And listen to your mingled lay,
And, list'ning, learn a lesson from your strain.
At early dawn I quit my cell,
And haste a pilgrim, to these shrines again:
Simplicity will join my way,
And listen to your mingled lay,
And, list'ning, learn a lesson from your strain.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |