ODE TO THE SUN.
[_]
Published in May 1780.
I.
Lord of the Planets! in their course
Through the long tracts of never-ceasing day,
Who to their orbs with matchless force,
Bendest their rapid, wild, reluctant way;
Though midst the vast and glitt'ring maze
Of countless worlds, that round thee blaze,
Small, dim, and cold, our little Earth appears,
Thy life-enkindling light she shares:
From the chill Pole's far-shining mountains frore,
To sandy Afric's sultry shore,
Wide o'er her plains thy living lustres stream,
In Lapland's long pale day, and swart Numidia's beam.
II.
For her, with delegated right,
Thy virgin-sister in thy absence shines,
Throws her soft robe of snowy light
O'er sullen Night's opake and shadowy shrines;
Thy watchful sentinel, she reigns
Controuler of the watry plains,
Onward her silver arm the Ocean guides,
Or dashes back the impetuous tides.
But thou, on the green wave's capacious bed,
Hast light, and life, and gladness shed,
Through liquid mountains, as they roll,
Darting the beauteous beam, the vivifying soul,
III.
That paints the shell's meand'ring mould,
Or spots the twinkling fin with gold;
That gives the diamond's eye to blaze
With all thy bright and arrowy rays.—
Low in the billowy hold,
Where the mighty whales are straying,
And the burnish'd dolphins playing,
There, with tremulous light, thou charmest
Nations basking in thy gleam;
And e'en there thy earth thou warmest
With thy mild prolific beam:
From the dwarf coral, with his vermil horns,
Or sea-moss, matted round her briny caves,
To the broad oak, that Albion's cliff adorns,
And bears her sons triumphant o'er the waves;
Each stem, root, leaf, fair fruit, and floret bright,
Lustre and fragrance drink from thy all-cheering light.
IV.
Remov'd from its more ardent ray,
In grassy Albion's deep umbrageous. vales,
Thou bid'st them bloom in soft array,
And breathe sweet incense on her vernal gales.
Thy red Morn blushes on her shores,
And liquid gems profusely pours;
Thy gay Noon glows with unoppressive beams,
And glitters on her winding streams;
Thy modest Evening draws the deep'ning shades
O'er her green hills, and bowery glades,
Till the fair Months, with faded charms,
Shrink in the chilly grasp of Winter's icy arms.
V.
But this highly-favoured year
From thee with gifts peculiar sprung;
At thy command Autumna fair
Her golden vest o'er shiv'ring Winter flung;
And bade him his pale ling'ring hours
Gaily deck with fragrant flow'rs;
For his hoar brow matur'd the Violet wreath,
From his wan lip bid Pleasure breathe;
No more he blasts the plain, or warps the tide,
Thou throw'st his icy bonds aside.
His soften'd gale serenely blows,
Till with Italia's charms hybernal Albion glows.
VI.
But see!—with bright hair drench'd in blood,
On a rock that braves the flood,
Her Genius sits, and pours the tear,
Mindless of thy rosy year;
Since War's terrific brood
Bid in chains his Commerce languish,
Fright his shrines with groans of anguish.—
Great SUN! would lovely Peace, descending,
Hither guide her dove-drawn car,
And with thine her influence blending,
Break the wintry clouds of War,
Then should yon Angel-Form, that now deplores
His wasted wealth, his bleeding joys,
Rush from the rock, and, springing to the shores,
Unbind fair Commerce, fetter'd where she lies;
Indignant hurl those fetters to the main,
As thou threw'st back, great Sun! old Hyems' icy chain.
