 | [Poems by Smith in] The Echo |  |
893
ODE.
TO BIRTHA.
Poor, and unknown, a stranger to the great,
While now, with holy veneration deep inspir'd,
To Him, whose virtue glads the extending state,
Wak'd by the voice of Truth, my soul to song is fir'd.
While now, with holy veneration deep inspir'd,
To Him, whose virtue glads the extending state,
Wak'd by the voice of Truth, my soul to song is fir'd.
And now, while Friendship, trembling o'er the strings,
Breathes on the lyre unutterable things,
And steals its ancient, and neglected store:
Hark! o'er the wild-resounding air,
What music floats, in varied numbers near,
And winds, in wildering echoes, down the dashing shore!
Breathes on the lyre unutterable things,
And steals its ancient, and neglected store:
Hark! o'er the wild-resounding air,
What music floats, in varied numbers near,
And winds, in wildering echoes, down the dashing shore!
Again, in full, deep sounds, it loads the swelling gale;
And now, it softly undulates the breeze;
And now, a small, still voice, the notes my soul assail,
With calm delight responsive; now they seize,
In bolder swellings, on the impassion'd mind,
That feels its different powers refin'd,
As now, with many a slowly-solemn pause, they fail.
And now, it softly undulates the breeze;
And now, a small, still voice, the notes my soul assail,
With calm delight responsive; now they seize,
In bolder swellings, on the impassion'd mind,
That feels its different powers refin'd,
As now, with many a slowly-solemn pause, they fail.
O Thou, whose fingers from the answering lyre
Draw sounds so flattering to the Youth of Song,
Deep from my soul the grateful sighs aspire,
That hail the enjoyment which they would prolong.
Draw sounds so flattering to the Youth of Song,
Deep from my soul the grateful sighs aspire,
That hail the enjoyment which they would prolong.
894
Life hath trifling joys to give;
Not in Life doth pleasure live;
Tomb of pleasure, tomb of joy,
Ever anxious to destroy:
Not in Life doth pleasure live;
Tomb of pleasure, tomb of joy,
Ever anxious to destroy:
Shrouding in thy narrow space
Every virtue, every grace.
Tyrant! soon thy reign is o'er,
Radiant glory bursts thy door.
Every virtue, every grace.
Tyrant! soon thy reign is o'er,
Radiant glory bursts thy door.
Love, who all thy power defies,
Rising, mingles with the skies.
Now, even now, I scorn thy wrath—
Glory brightens round my path.
Rising, mingles with the skies.
Now, even now, I scorn thy wrath—
Glory brightens round my path.
Now thy yawning gates unfold,
While the powerful charm is told.
See, my soul, in fancy rise—
BIRTHA, seraph, opes the skies.
While the powerful charm is told.
See, my soul, in fancy rise—
BIRTHA, seraph, opes the skies.
ELLA.
| [Poems by Smith in] The Echo | |