The Works of William Mason :: :: University of Virginia Library

Mother of wisdom! thou, whose sway
The throng'd ideal hosts obey;
Who bid'st their ranks, now vanish, now appear,
Flame in the van, or darken in the rear;
Accept this votive verse. Thy reign
Nor place can fix, nor power restrain.
All, all is thine. For thee, the ear and eye
Rove through the realms of grace and harmony:
The senses thee spontaneous serve,
That wake, and thrill through every nerve.
Else vainly soft, loved Philomel! would flow
The soothing sadness of thy warbled woe:
Else vainly sweet yon woodbine shade
With clouds of fragrance fill the glade;

Vainly the cygnet spread her downy plume,
The vine gush nectar, and the virgin bloom.
But swift to thee, alive, and warm,
Devolves each tributary charm:
See modest Nature bring her simple stores,
Luxuriant Art exhaust her plastic powers;
While every flower in Fancy's clime,
Each gem of old heroic Time,
Cull'd by the hand of the industrious Muse,
Around thy shrine their blended beams diffuse.

II

Hail, Memory! hail. Behold, I lead
To that high shrine the sacred Maid:
Thy daughter she, the empress of the lyre,
The first, the fairest of Aonia's quire.
She comes, and lo, thy realms expand:
She takes her delegated stand
Full in the midst, and o'er thy numerous train
Displays the awful wonders of her reign.
There throned supreme in native state
If Sirius flame with fainting heat,
She calls; ideal groves their shade extend,
The cool gale breathes, the silent showers descend.
Or, if bleak winter, frowning round,
Disrobe the trees, and chill the ground,
She, mild magician, waves her potent wand,
And ready summers wake at her command.

See, visionary suns arise,
Through silver clouds, and azure skies;
See sportive zephyrs fan the crisped streams;
Thro' shadowy brakes light glance the sparkling beams:
While, near the secret moss-grown cave,
That stands beside the crystal wave,
Sweet Echo, rising from her rocky bed,
Mimics the feather'd chorus o'er her head.

III

Rise, hallow'd Milton! rise, and say,
How, at thy gloomy close of day;
How, when “depress'd by age, beset with wrongs:”
When “fall'n on evil days and evil tongues;”
When darkness, brooding on thy sight,
Exiled the sov'reign lamp of light;
Say, what could then one cheering hope diffuse?
What friends were thine, save Mem'ry and the Muse?
Hence the rich spoils, thy studious youth
Caught from the stores of ancient truth:
Hence all thy classic wand'rings could explore,
When rapture led thee to the Latian shore;
Each scene, that Tiber's bank supplied;
Each grace, that play'd on Arno's side;
The tepid gales, through Tuscan glades that fly;
The blue serene, that spreads Hesperia's sky;
Were still thy own: thy ample mind
Each charm received, retain'd, combined.

And thence “the nightly visitant,” that came
To touch thy bosom with her sacred flame,
Recall'd the long-lost beams of grace,
That whilom shot from Nature's face,
When God, in Eden, o'er her youthful breast
Spread with his own right hand perfection's gorgeous vest.

According to a fragment of Afranius, who makes Experience and Memory the parents of Wisdom.

Usus me genuit, Mater peperit Memoria
ΣΟΦΙΑΝ vocant me Graii, vos Sapientiam.

This passage is preserved by Aulus Gellius, lib. xiii. cap. 8.

ODE II. TO A WATER-NYMPH.

Ye green hair'd Nymphs, whom Pan's decrees
Have given to guard this solemn wood,
To speed the shooting scions into trees,
And call the roseate blossom from the bud,
Attend. But chief, thou Naiad, wont to lead
This fluid crystal sparkling as it flows,
Whither, ah, whither art thou fled?
What shade is conscious to thy woes?
Ah, 'tis yon poplars' awful gloom:
Poetic eyes can pierce the scene;
Can see thy drooping head, thy withering bloom;
See grief diffused o'er all thy languid mien.
Well may'st thou wear misfortune's fainting air
Well rend those flow'ry honours from thy brow;

Devolve that length of careless hair;
And give thine azure veil to flow
Loose to the wind: for, oh, thy pain
The pitying Muse can well relate:
That pitying Muse shall breathe her tend'rest strain,
To teach the echoes thy disastrous fate.
'Twas, where yon beeches' crowding branches closed,
What time the dog-star's flames intensely burn,
In gentle indolence composed,
Reclined upon thy trickling urn,
Slumb'ring thou lay'st, all free from fears;
No friendly dream foretold thine harm;
When sudden, see, the tyrant Art appears,
To snatch the liquid treasures from thine arm.
Art, Gothic Art, has seized thy darling vase:
That vase which silver-slipper'd Thetis gave,
For some soft story told with grace,
Among the associates of the wave;
When, in sequester'd coral vales,
While worlds of waters roll'd above,
The circling sea-nymphs told alternate tales
Of fabled changes, and of slighted love.
Ah! loss too justly mourn'd: for now the fiend
Has on yon shell-wrought terrace pois'd it high;
And thence he bids its streams descend,
With torturing regularity.
From step to step, with sullen sound,
The forc'd cascades indignant leap;

Now sinking fill the bason's measur'd round;
There in a dull stagnation doom'd to sleep.
Where now the vocal pebbles' gurgling song?
The rill slow-dripping from its rocky spring?
What free meander winds along,
Or curls when Zephyr waves his wing?
Alas, these glories are no more:
Fortune, oh, give me to redeem
The ravish'd vase; oh, give me to restore
Its ancient honours to this hapless stream.
Then, Nymph, again, with all their wonted ease,
Thy wanton waters, volatile and free,
Shall wildly warble, as they please,
Their soft, loquacious harmony.
Where Thou and Nature bid them rove,
There will I gently aid their way;
Whether to darken in the shadowy grove,
Or, in the mead, reflect the dancing ray.
For thee too, Goddess, o'er that hallow'd spot,
Where first thy fount of chrystal bubbles bright,
These hands shall arch a rustic grot,
Impervious to the garish light.
I'll not demand of Ocean's pride
To bring his coral spoils from far:
Nor will I delve yon yawning mountain's side,
For latent minerals rough, or polish'd spar:
But antique roots, with ivy dark o'ergrown,
Steep'd in the bosom of thy chilly lake,

Thy touch shall turn to living stone;
And these the simple roof shall deck.
Yet grant one melancholy boon:
Grant that, at evening's sober hour,
Led by the lustre of the rising moon,
My step may frequent tread thy pebbled floor.
There, if perchance I wake the love lorn theme,
In melting accents querulously slow,
Kind Naiad, let thy pitying stream
With wailing notes accordant flow:
So shalt thou sooth this heaving heart,
That mourns a faithful virgin lost;
So shall thy murmurs, and my sighs impart
Some share of pensive pleasure to her ghost.

This Ode was written in the year 1747, and published in the first volume of Mr. Dodsley's Miscellany. It is here revised throughout, and concluded according to the Author's original idea.

A seat near ------ finely situated, with a great command of water; but disposed in a very false taste.

ODE III. ON LEAVING ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 1746.

Granta farewell! thy time-ennobled shade
No more must glimmer o'er my musing head,
Where waking dreams, of Fancy born,
Around me floated eve and morn.
I go—Yet, mindful of the charms I leave,
Mem'ry shall oft their pleasing portrait give;
Shall teach th' ideal stream to flow
Like gentle Camus, soft and slow;
Recall each antique spire, each cloister's gloom,
And bid this vernal noon of life re-bloom.
Ev'n if old age, in northern clime,
Shower on my head the snows of time,
There still shall Gratitude her tribute pay
To him who first approv'd my infant lay;
And fair to Recollection's eyes
Shall Powell's various virtues rise.

See the bright train around their fav'rite throng:
See Judgment lead meek Diffidence along,
Impartial Reason following slow,
Disdain at Error's shrine to bow,
And Science, free from hypothetic pride,
Proceed where sage Experience deigns to guide.
Such were the guests from Jove that came,
Genius of Greece! to fix thy fame:
These wak'd the bold Socratic thought, and drest
Its simple beauties in the splendid vest
Of Plato's diction: These were seen
Full oft on academic green;
Full oft where clear Ilissus warbling stream'd;
Bright o'er each master of the mind they beam'd,
Inspiring that preceptive art
Which, while it charm'd, refin'd the heart,
And with spontaneous ease, not pedant toil,
Bade Fancy's roses bloom in Reason's soil.
The fane of Science then was hung
With wreathes that on Parnassus sprung;
And in that fane to his encircling youth
The Sage dispens'd th' ambrosial food of Truth,
And mingled in the social bowl
Friendship, the nectar of the soul.

Meanwhile accordant to the Dorian lyre,
The moral Muses join'd the vocal choir,
And Freedom dancing to the sound
Mov'd in chaste Order's graceful round.
Thus, Athens, were thy freeborn offspring train'd
To act each patriot part thy laws ordain'd;
Thus void of magisterial awe,
Each youth in his instructor saw
Those manners mild, unknown in modern school,
Which form'd him by example more than rule;
And felt that, varying but in name,
The Friend and Master were the same.

It was by the advice of Dr. Powell, the author's tutor at St. John's College, that Musæus was published. This Ode was for the first time printed from a corrected copy 1797.

Alluding to the ΣΨΜΠΟΣΙΑ, particularly Zenophon's respecting the moral songs of the Greeks. —See Dr. Hurd's note on the 219th verse of Horace's Art of Poetry, Vol. i. p. 173, 4th edit.

ODE IV. ON EXPECTING TO RETURN TO CAMBRIDGE, 1747.

I. 1.

While Commerce, riding on thy refluent tide,
Impetuous Humber! wafts her stores
From Belgian or Norwegian shores
And spreads her countless sails from side to side;
While, from yon crowded strand,
Thy genuine sons the pinnace light unmoor,
Break the white surge with many a sparkling oar,
To pilot the rich freight o'er each insidious sand;

I. 2.

At distance here my alien footsteps stray,
O'er this bleak plain unblest with shade,
Imploring Fancy's willing aid
To bear me from thy banks of sordid clay:

Her barque the fairy lends,
With rainbow pennants deck'd, and cordage fine
As the wan silkworm spins her golden twine,
And, ere I seize the helm, the magic voyage ends.

I. 3.

Lo, where peaceful Camus glides
Through his ozier-fringed vale,
Sacred Leisure there resides
Musing in his cloyster pale.
Wrapt in a deep solemnity of shade,
Again I view fair Learning's spiry seats,
Again her ancient elms o'erhang my head,
Again her votary Contemplation meets,
Again I listen to Æolian lays,
Or on those bright heroic portraits gaze,
That, to my raptur'd eye, the classic page displays.

II. 1.

Here, though from childhood to the Muses known,
The Lyric Queen her charms reveal'd;
Here, by superior influence held
My soul enchain'd, and made me all her own.
Re-echo every plain!
While, from the chords she tun'd, the silver voice
Of heav'n-born harmony proclaims the choice
My youthful heart has made to all Aonia's train.

II. 2.

Here too each social charm that most endears:
Sincerity with open eye,
And frolic Wit, and Humour sly,
Sat sweetly mix'd among my young compeers.
When, o'er the sober bowl,
That but dispell'd the mind's severer gloom,
And gave the budding thought its perfect bloom,
Truth took its circling course and flow'd from soul to soul.

II. 3.

Hail ye friendly faithful few!
All the streams that Science pours,
Ever pleasing, ever new,
From her ample urn be yours.
When, when shall I amid your train appear,
O when be number'd with your constant guests,
When join your converse, when applauding hear
The mental music of accordant breasts?
Till then, fair Fancy! wake these favourite themes,
Still kindly shed these visionary gleams,
Till suns autumnal rise, and realize my dreams.

This was also for the first time printed 1797. In the interval between the dates of the preceding Ode and of this, the author had been unexpectedly nominated by the Fellows of Pembroke Hall to a vacant Fellowship. See Memoirs of Mr. Gray, vol. iii, p. 70, edit. 1778.

ODE V. FOR MUSIC.

IRREGULAR.

I.

Here all thy active fires diffuse,
Thou genuine British Muse;
Hither descend from yonder orient sky,
Cloath'd in thy heav'n-wove robe of harmony.
Come, imperial Queen of Song;
Come with all that free-born grace
Which lifts thee from the servile throng,
Who meanly mimic thy majestic pace;
That glance of dignity divine,
Which speaks thee of celestial line;
Proclaims thee inmate of the sky,
Daughter of Jove and Liberty.

II.

The elevated soul, that feels
Thy awful impulse, walks the fragrant ways
Of honest unpolluted praise:
He with impartial justice deals
The blooming chaplets of immortal lays:
He flies above ambition's low career;
And thron'd in Truth's meridian sphere,
Thence, with a bold and heav'n-directed aim,
Full on fair Virtue's shrine he pours the rays of Fame.

III.

Goddess! thy piercing eye explores
The radiant range of Beauty's stores,
The steep ascent of pine-clad hills,
The silver slope of falling rills;
Catches each lively-coloured grace,
The crimson of the Wood-Nymph's face,
The verdure of the velvet lawn,
The purple of the eastern dawn,
And all the tints that, rang'd in vivid glow,
Mark the bold sweep of the celestial bow.

IV.

But loftier far her tuneful transports rise,
When all the moral beauties meet her eyes:
The sacred zeal for Freedom's cause,
That fires the glowing Patriot's breast;

The honest pride that plumes the Hero's crest,
When for his country's aid the steel he draws:
Or that, the calm yet active heat,
With which mild Genius warms the Sage's heart,
To lift fair Science to a loftier seat,
Or stretch to ampler bounds the wide domain of art.
These, the best blossoms of the virtuous mind,
She culls with taste refin'd;
From their ambrosial bloom
With bee-like skill she draws the rich perfume,
And blends the sweets they all convey
In the soft balm of her mellifluous lay.

V.

Is there a clime, in one collected beam
Where charms like these their varied radiance stream?
Is there a plain, whose genial soil inhales
Glory's invigorating gales,
Her brightest beams where Emulation spreads,
Her kindliest dews where Science sheds,
Where ev'ry stream of Genius flows,
Where ev'ry flow'r of Virtue glows?
Thither the Muse exulting flies,
There loudly cries------
Majestic GRANTA! hail thy awful name,
Dear to the Muse, to Liberty, to Fame.

VI.

You too, illustrious Train, she greets,
Who first in these inspiring seats
Caught that ætherial fire
That prompts you to aspire
To deeds of civic note: whether to shield
From base chicane your country's laws;
To pale Disease the bloom of health to yield;
Or in Religion's hallow'd cause
Those heavenly-temper'd arms to wield,
That drive the foes of Faith indignant from the field.

VII.

And now she tunes her plausive song
To you her sage domestic throng;
Who here at Learning's richest shrine,
Dispense to each ingenuous youth
The treasures of immortal Truth,
And open Wisdom's golden mine.
Each youth, inspir'd by your persuasive art,
Clasps the dear form of Virtue to his heart;
And feels in his transported soul
Enthusiastic raptures roll,
Gen'rous as those the Sons of Cecrops caught
In hoar Lycæum's shades from Plato's fire-clad thought.

VIII.

O GRANTA! on thy happy plain
Still may these Attic glories reign:
Still may'st thou keep thy wonted state
In unaffected grandeur great;
Great as at this illustrious hour,
When He, whom George's well-weigh'd choice,
And Albion's gen'ral voice
Have lifted to the fairest heights of pow'r,
When He appears, and deigns to shine
The leader of thy learned line;
And bids the verdure of thy olive bough
Mid all his civic chaplets twine,
And add fresh glories to his honour'd brow.

IX.

Haste then, and amply o'er his head
The graceful foliage spread.
Meanwhile the Muse shall snatch the trump of Fame,
And lift her swelling accents high,
To tell the world that PELHAM's name
Is dear to Learning as to Liberty.

This Ode was written at the request of the Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, set to music by the late Dr. Boyce, and performed in the Senate-House at Cambridge, July 1st, 1749, at the Installation of his Grace Thomas Hollis, Duke of Newcastle, Chancellor of the University; it has since appeared in some Miscellaneous Collections of Poetry, and was therefore inserted 1797.

ODE VI. TO INDEPENDENCY.

I

Here, on my native shore reclin'd,
While Silence rules this midnight hour,
I woo thee, Goddess. On my musing mind
Descend, propitious Power!
And bid these ruffling gales of grief subside:
Bid my calm'd soul with all thy influence shine;
As yon chaste orb along this ample tide
Draws the long lustre of her silver line,
While the hush'd breeze its last weak whisper blows,
And lulls old Humber to his deep repose.

II

Come to thy vot'ry's ardent prayer,
In all thy graceful plainness drest:
No knot confines thy waving hair,
No zone, thy floating vest;
Unsullied Honour decks thine open brow,
And Candour brightens in thy modest eye:
Thy blush is warm Content's ethereal glow;
Thy smile is Peace; thy step is Liberty:
Thou scatter'st blessings round with lavish hand,
As Spring with careless fragrance fills the land.

III

As now o'er this lone beach I stray,
Thy fav'rite swain oft stole along,
And artless wove his Dorian lay,
Far from the busy throng.
Thou heard'st him, Goddess, strike the tender string,
And bad'st his soul with bolder passions move:
Soon these responsive shores forgot to ring,
With Beauty's praise, or plaint of slighted Love;
To loftier flights his daring genius rose,
And led the war, 'gainst thine, and Freedom's foes.

IV

Pointed with Satire's keenest steel,
The shafts of Wit he darts around;
Ev'n mitred Dulness learns to feel,
And shrinks beneath the wound.
In awful poverty his honest Muse
Walks forth vindictive thro' a venal land:
In vain Corruption sheds her golden dews,
In vain Oppression lifts her iron hand;
He scorns them both, and, arm'd with Truth alone,
Bids Lust and Folly tremble on the throne.

V

Behold, like him, immortal Maid,
The Muses' vestal fires I bring:
Here, at thy feet, the sparks I spread:
Propitious wave thy wing,
And fan them to that dazzling blaze of song,
Which glares tremendous on the sons of Pride.
But, hark! methinks I hear her hallow'd tongue!
In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide;
Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly free,
As swells the lark's meridian extasy.

VI

“Fond youth! to Marvell's patriot fame.
“Thy humble breast must ne'er aspire.
“Yet nourish still the lambent flame;
“Still strike thy blameless lyre:
“Led by the moral Muse, securely rove;
“And all the vernal sweets thy vacant youth
“Can cull from busy Fancy's fairy grove,
“Oh hang their foliage round the fane of Truth:
“To arts like these devote thy tuneful toil,
“And meet its fair reward in D'Arcy's smile.

VII

“'Tis he, my Son, alone shall chear
“Thy sick'ning soul; at that sad hour,
“When o'er a much-lov'd parent's bier,
“Thy duteous sorrows shower:

“At that sad hour, when all thy hopes decline;
“When pining Care leads on her pallid train,
“And sees thee, like the weak, and widow'd vine,
“Winding thy blasted tendrils o'er the plain:
“At that sad hour shall D'Arcy lend his aid,
“And raise with Friendship's arm thy drooping head.

VIII

“This fragrant wreath, the Muse's meed,
“That bloom'd those vocal shades among,
“Where never Flatt'ry dar'd to tread,
“Or Interest's servile throng;
“Receive, thou favour'd Son, at my command,
“And keep, with sacred care, for D'Arcy's brow:
“Tell him, 'twas wove by my immortal hand,
“I breath'd on every flower a purer glow;
“Say, for thy sake I send the gift divine
“To him, who calls thee his, yet makes thee mine.”

Andrew Marvell, born at Kingston upon Hull in the year 1620.

See The Rehearsal transprosed, and an account of the effect of that satire, in the Biographia Britannica, art. Marvell.

ODE VII. TO A FRIEND.

I

Ah! cease this kind persuasive strain,
Which, when it flows from Friendship's tongue,
However weak, however vain,
O'erpowers beyond the Siren's song:
Leave me, my friend, indulgent go,
And let me muse upon my woe.
Why lure me from these pale retreats?
Why rob me of these pensive sweets?
Can Music's voice, can Beauty's eye,
Can Painting's glowing hand supply
A charm so suited to my mind,
As blows this hollow gust of wind,
As drops this little weeping rill
Soft tinkling down the moss-grown hill,
While thro' the west, where sinks the crimson day,
Meek Twilight slowly sails, and waves her banners gray?

II

Say, from Affliction's various source
Do none but turbid waters flow?
And cannot Fancy clear their course?
For Fancy is the friend of Woe.
Say, mid that grove, in love-lorn state,
While yon poor ringdove mourns her mate,
Is all, that meets the shepherd's ear,
Inspir'd by anguish, and despair?
Ah! no; fair Fancy rules the song:
She swells her throat; she guides her tongue;
She bids the waving aspin spray
Quiver in cadence to her lay;
She bids the fringed osiers bow,
And rustle round the lake below,
To suit the tenor of her gurgling sighs,
And sooth her throbbing breast with solemn sympathies.

III

To thee, whose young and polish'd brow
The wrinkling hand of Sorrow spares;
Whose cheeks, bestrew'd with roses, know
No channel for the tide of tears;
To thee yon abbey dank, and lone,
Where ivy chains each mould'ring stone
That nods o'er many a martyr's tomb,
May cast a formidable gloom.

Yet some there are, who, free from fear,
Could wander through the cloisters drear,
Could rove each desolated isle,
Though midnight thunders shook the pile;
And dauntless view, or seem to view,
(As faintly flash the lightnings blue)
Thin shiv'ring ghosts from yawning charnels throng,
And glance with silent sweep the shaggy vaults along.

IV

But such terrific charms as these,
I ask not yet: My sober mind
The fainter forms of sadness please;
My sorrows are of softer kind.
Through this still valley let me stray,
Rapt in some strain of pensive Gray:
Whose lofty genius bears along
The conscious dignity of Song;
And, scorning from the sacred store
To waste a note on Pride or Power,
Roves through the glimmering twilight gloom,
And warbles round each rustic tomb:
He, too, perchance (for well I know,
His heart can melt with friendly woe)
He, too, perchance, when these poor limbs are laid,
Will heave one tuneful sigh, and sooth my hov'ring shade.

ODE VIII. ON THE FATE OF TYRANNY.

I. 1.

Oppression dies: the tyrant falls:
The golden city bows her walls!
Jehovah breaks the avenger's rod.
The Son of Wrath, whose ruthless hand
Hurl'd desolation o'er the land,
Has run his raging race, has closed the scene of blood.
Chiefs arm'd around behold their vanquish'd lord;
Nor spread the guardian shield, nor lift the loyal sword.

I. 2.

He falls; and earth again is free.
Hark! at the call of Liberty,
All Nature lifts the choral song.
The fir-trees, on the mountain's head,
Rejoice through all their pomp of shade;
The lordly cedars nod on sacred Lebanon:
Tyrant! they cry, since thy fell force is broke,
Our proud heads pierce the skies, nor fear the woodman's stroke.

I. 3.

Hell, from her gulf profound,
Rouses at thine approach; and, all around,
Her dreadful notes of preparation sound.
See, at the awful call,
Her shadowy heroes all,
Even mighty kings, the heirs of empire wide,
Rising, with solemn state, and slow,
From their sable thrones below,
Meet, and insult thy pride.
What, dost thou join our ghostly train,
A flitting shadow light, and vain?

Where is thy pomp, thy festive throng,
Thy revel dance, and wanton song?
Proud king! Corruption fastens on thy breast;
And calls her crawling brood, and bids them share the feast.

1st Antistrophe, The whole earth is at rest, &c. ver. 7, 8.

1st Epode, Hell from beneath is moved for thee, &c. ver. 9, 10, 11.

II. 1.

Oh Lucifer! thou radiant star;
Son of the Morn; whose rosy car
Flamed foremost in the van of day:
How art thou fall'n, thou King of Light!
How fall'n from thy meridian height!
Who said'st the distant poles shall hear me, and obey.
High, o'er the stars, my sapphire throne shall glow,
And, as Jehovah's self, my voice the heav'ns shall bow.

II 2.

He spake, he died. Distain'd with gore,
Beside yon yawning cavern hoar,
See, where his livid corse is laid.
The aged pilgrim passing by,
Surveys him long with dubious eye;
And muses on his fate, and shakes his reverend head.

Just heavens! is thus thy pride imperial gone?
Is this poor heap of dust the King of Babylon?

II. 3.

Is this the man, whose nod
Made the earth tremble: whose terrific rod
Levell'd her loftiest cities? Where he trod,
Famine pursued, and frown'd;
'Till Nature groaning round,
Saw her rich realms transform'd to deserts dry;
While at his crowded prison's gate,
Grasping the keys of fate,
Stood stern Captivity.
Vain man! behold thy righteous doom;
Behold each neighb'ring monarch's tomb;
The trophied arch, the breathing bust,
The laurel shades their sacred dust:
While thou, vile out-cast, on this hostile plain,
Moulder'st a vulgar corse, among the vulgar slain.

2d Strophe, How art thou fallen from Heaven, &c. ver. 12, 13, 14.

2d Antistrophe, Yet thou shalt be brought down to Hell, &c. ver. 15, 16.

2d Epode, Is this the man that made the earth to tremble, &c. ver. 16, 17, 18, 19.

III. 1.

No trophied arch, no breathing bust,
Shall dignify thy trampled dust:

No laurel flourish o'er thy grave.
For why, proud king, thy ruthless hand
Hurl'd desolation o'er the land,
And crush'd the subject race, whom kings are born to save:
Eternal infamy shall blast thy name,
And all thy sons shall share their impious father's shame.

III. 2.

Rise, purple slaughter! furious rise;
Unfold the terror of thine eyes;
Dart thy vindictive shafts around:
Let no strange land a shade afford,
No conquer'd nations call them lord;
Nor let their cities rise to curse the goodly ground.
For thus Jehovah swears; no name, no son,
No remnant shall remain of haughty Babylon.

III. 3.

Thus saith the righteous Lord:
My vengeance shall unsheath the flaming sword;
O'er all thy realms my fury shall be pour'd.
Where yon proud city stood,
I'll spread the stagnant flood;
And there the bittern in the sedge shall lurk,

Moaning with sullen strain:
While, sweeping o'er the plain,
Destruction ends her work.
Yes, on mine holy mountain's brow,
I'll crush this proud Assyrian foe.
The irrevocable word is spoke.
From Judah's neck the galling yoke
Spontaneous falls, she shines with wonted state;
Thus by myself I swear, and what I swear is fate.

3d Strophe, Thou shalt not be joined to them in burial, &c. ver. 20.

3d Antistrophe, Prepare slaughter for his children, ver. 21, 22.

3d Epode, Saith the Lord, I will also make it a possession for the bittern, &c. ver. 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27.

This Ode is a free paraphrase of part of the 14th chapter of Isaiah, where the Prophet, after he has foretold the destruction of Babylon, subjoins a Song of Triumph, which, he supposes, the Jews will sing when his prediction is fulfilled. And it shall come to pass in the day that the Lord shall give thee rest from thy sorrow, and from thy fear, and from the hard bondage wherein thou wast made to serve, that thou shall take up this proverb against the King of Babylon, and say, “How hath the oppressor ceased,” &c.

1st Strophe, ver. 4, 5, 6.

ODE IX. TO AN ÆOLUS'S HARP

SENT TO MISS SHEPHEARD.

Yes, magic Lyre! now all complete
Thy slender frame responsive rings;
While kindred notes, with undulation sweet,
Accordant wake from all thy vocal strings.
Go then to her, whose soft request
Bad my blest hands thy form prepare:
Ah go, and sweetly sooth her tender breast
With many a warble wild, and artless air.
For know, full oft, while o'er the mead
Bright June extends her fragrant reign,
The slumb'ring fair shall place thee near her head,
To court the gales that cool the sultry plain.
Then shall the sylphs, and sylphids bright,
Mild genii all, to whose high care

Her virgin charms are given, in circling flight
Skim sportive round thee in the fields of air.
Some, flutt'ring through thy trembling strings,
Shall catch the rich melodious spoil,
And lightly brush thee with their purple wings
To aid the Zephyrs in their tuneful toil;
While others check each ruder gale,
Expel rough Boreas from the sky,
Nor let a breeze its heaving breath exhale,
Save such as softly pant, and panting die.
Then, as thy swelling accents rise,
Fair Fancy, waking at the sound,
Shall paint bright visions on her raptur'd eyes,
And waft her spirits to enchanted ground;
To myrtle groves, Elysian greens,
In which some fav'rite youth shall rove,
And meet, and lead her through the glittering scenes,
And all be music, extasy, and love.

This instrument was first invented by Kircher about the year 1649. See his Musurgia Universalis, sive ars consoni et dissoni, lib. ix. After having been neglected above a hundred years, it was again accidentally discovered by Mr. Oswald.

ODE X. FOR MUSIC. IRREGULAR.

I.

Lo! where incumbent o'er the shade
Rome's rav'ning eagle bows his beaked head;
Yet, while a moment fate affords,
While yet a moment freedom stays,
That moment, which outweighs
Eternity's unmeasured hoards,
Shall Mona's grateful bards employ
To hymn their god-like hero to the sky.

II.

Radiant Ruler of the day,
Pause upon thy orb sublime,
Bid this awful moment stay,
Bind it on the brow of time;

While Mona's trembling echoes sigh
To strains, that thrill when heroes die.

III.

Hear our harps, in accents slow,
Breathe the dignity of woe,
Solemn notes that pant and pause,
While the last majestic close
In diapason deep is drown'd:
Notes that Mona's harps should sound.

IV.

See our tears in sober shower,
O'er this shrine of glory pour!
Holy tears by virtue shed,
That embalm the valiant dead;
In these our sacred song we steep:
Tears that Mona's bards should weep.

V.

Radiant Ruler, hear us call
Blessings on the god-like youth,
Who dared to fight, who dared to fall,
For Britain, freedom, and for truth.
His dying groan, his parting sigh
Was music for the gods on high;
'Twas Valour's hymn to Liberty.

VI.

Ring out, ye mortal strings!
Answer, thou heavenly harp, instinct with spirit all,
That o'er Andrastes' throne self-warbling swings.
There where ten thousand spheres, in measured chime,
Roll their majestic melodies along,
Thou guidest the thundering song,
Poised on thy jasper arch sublime.
Yet shall thy heavenly accents deign
To mingle with our mortal strain,
And heaven and earth unite in chorus high,
While freedom wafts her champion to the sky.

When the dramatic poem of Caractacus was altered for theatrical representation in 1776, this dirge was added to be sung over the body of Arviragus. Being of the lyrical cast, the author found himself inclined to preserve it in the series of his Odes, published in 1797.

ODE XI.

Majestic pile! whose ample eye
Surveys the rich variety
Of azure hill, and verdant vale;
Say, will thy echoing towers return
The sighs, that, bending o'er her urn,
A Naiad heaves in yonder dale?

The pitying Muse, who hears her moan,
Smooths into song each gurgling groan,
And pleads the Nymph's and Nature's cause;
In vain, she cries, has simple taste
The pride of formal art defaced,
Where late yon height of terras rose;

Has vainly bad the lawn decline,
And waved the pathway's easy line
Around the circuit of the grove,
To catch, through every opening glade,
That glimmering play of sun and shade,
Which peace and contemplation love.

Beauty in vain approved the toil,
And hail'd the sovereign of the soil,
Her own and fancy's favour'd friend;
For see, at this ill-omen'd hour,
Base art assumes his ancient power,
And bids yon distant mound ascend.

See, too, his tyrant grasp to fill,
In silence swells the pensive rill,
That caroll'd sweet the vale along;
So swells the throbbing female breast,
By wiles of faithless swain oppress'd,
When love forbids to speak her wrong.

Tell me, chaste Mistress of the Wave!
If e'er thy rills refused to lave
The plain where now entrench'd they sleep?
Would not thy stream at Fancy's call,
O'er crags she lifted, fret, and fall,
Through dells she shaded, purl, and creep?

Yes, thou wert ever fond and free,
To pour thy tinkling melody,
Sweet pratler, o'er thy pebbled floor;
Thy sisters, hid in neighb'ring caves,
Would bring their tributary waves,
If genuine taste demanded more.

Why then does yon clay barrier rise?
Behold, and weep, ye lowering skies!
Ah rather join in vengeful shower:
Hither your wat'ry phalanx lead,
And, deeply deluging the mead,
Burst through the bound with thunder's roar.

So shall the Nymph, still fond and free
To pour her tinkling melody,
Again her lucid charms diffuse:
No more shall mean mechanic skill
Dare to confine her liberal rill,
Foe to the Naiad and the Muse.

Printed for the first time 1797.

ODE XII. TO THE NAVAL OFFICERS OF GREAT BRITAIN.

February 11, 1779.

I. 1.

Hence to thy Hell! thou Fiend accurst,
Of Sin's incestuous brood, the worst
Whom to pale Death the spectre bore:
Detraction hence! 'tis Truth's command;
She launches, from her seraph hand,
The shaft that strikes thee to th' infernal shore.
Old England's Genius leads her on
To vindicate his darling Son,
Whose fair and veteran fame
Thy venom'd tongue had dar'd defile:
The Goddess comes, and all the isle
Feels the warm influence of her heav'nly flame.

I. 2.

But chief in those, their country's pride,
Ordain'd, with steady helm, to guide
The floating bulwarks of her reign,
It glows with unremitting ray,
Bright as the orb that gives the day;
Corruption spreads her murky mist in vain:
To virtue, valour, glory true,
They keep their radiant prize in view
Ambition's sterling aim;
They know that titles, stars, and strings,
Bestow'd by kings on slaves of kings,
Are light as air when weigh'd with honest fame.

I. 3.

Hireling courtiers, venal peers
View them with fastidious frown,
Yet the Muse's smile is theirs,
Theirs her amaranthine crown.
Yes, gallant Train, on your unsullied brows,
She sees the genuine English spirit shine,
Warm from a heart where ancient honour glows,
That scorns to bend the knee at Interest's shrine.
Lo! at your poet's call,
To give prophetic fervor to his strain,
Forth from the mighty bosom of the main
A giant Deity ascends:

Down his broad breast his hoary honours fall;
He wields the trident of th' Atlantic vast;
An awful calm around his pomp is cast,
O'er many a league the glassy sleep extends.
He speaks; and distant thunder, murmuring round,
In long-drawn volley rolls a symphony profound.

Alluding to the well-known allegory of Sin and Death, in the second Book of Paradise Lost.

II. 1.

Ye thunders cease! the voice of Heav'n
Enough proclaims the terrors given
To me, the Spirit of the Deep;
Tempests are mine; from shore to shore
I bid my billows when to roar,
Mine the wild whirlwind's desolating sweep.
But meek and placable I come
To deprecate Britannia's doom,
And snatch her from her fate;
Ev'n from herself I mean to save
My sister sov'reign of the wave;
A voice immortal never warns too late.

II. 2.

Queen of the Isles! with empire crown'd,
Only to spread fair freedom round,
Wide as my waves could waft thy name;
Why did thy cold reluctant heart
Refuse that blessing to impart,
Deaf to great Nature's universal claim?

Why rush, through my indignant tide,
To stain thy hands with parricide?
—Ah, answer not the strain!
Thy wasted wealth, thy widow's sighs,
Thy half-repentant embassies
Bespeak thy cause unblest, thy councils vain.

II. 3.

Sister sov'reign of the wave!
Turn from this ill-omen'd war:
Turn to where the truly brave
Will not blush thy wrath to bear;
Swift on th' insulting Gaul, thy native foe,
For he is Freedom's, let that wrath be hurl'd;
To his perfidious ports direct thy prow,
Arm every bark, be every sail unfurl'd;
Seize this triumphant hour,
When, bright as gold from the refining flame,
Flows the clear current of thy Keppel's fame.
Give to the hero's full command
Th' imperial ensigns of thy naval power;
So shall his own bold auspices prevail,
Nor Fraud's insidious wiles, nor Envy pale
Arrest the force of his victorious band;
The Gaul subdued, fraternal strife shall cease,
And firm, on Freedom's base, be fixt an empire's peace.

Written immediately after the trial of Admiral Keppel, and then printed.

ODE XIII.

While scattering from her seraph wings
The heav'nly-tinctur'd dew
Whence ev'ry earthly blessing springs,
Fair Hope o'er Albion flew,
She heard from that superb domain,
Where Art has dar'd to fix his reign,
Mid shaggy rocks, and mountains wild,
A female vot'ry breathe her prayer.
She clos'd her plumes, she hush'd the air,
And thus replied in accents mild:

“What tender warblings to my ear,
On zephyrs born, aspire,
To draw me from my sapphire sphere,
Charm'd by her magic lyre?
I come; she wakes the willing strings,
With careless grace her hand she flings
The soft symphonious chords among;
Nor ever on the list'ning plain,
Since the sweet Lesbian tun'd her strain,
Was heard a more melodious song.

“But why to me, fair Syren, wake
The supplicating lay?
Is it in Hope's vain power to make
Thy gaiety more gay?
O rather bid me bear my balm
Some sable captive's woe to calm,
Who bows beneath Oppression's weight;
Or sooth those scorn'd, yet faithful few
(For much they need my lenient dew)
That tremble for Britannia's fate.

“My mirror but reflects the gleam
Of distant happiness;
They scorn to court a flatt'ring dream,
Who present joy possess.
The feather'd sov'reign of the sky,
Who glories with undazzled eye
To meet the sun's meridian rays,
Say, will he quit his radiant height,
When floating in that sea of light,
To flutter in a meteor's blaze?

“Art thou not She whom fav'ring Fate
In all her splendor drest,
To shew in how supreme a state
A mortal might be blest?

Bade beauty, elegance, and health,
Patrician birth, patrician wealth,
Their blessings on her darling shed;
Bade Hymen of that generous race
Who Freedom's fairest annals grace
Give to thy love th' illustrious head.

“Is there a boon to mortals dear
Her fondness has not lent,
Ere I could whisper in thy ear
‘The blessing will be sent?’
Obsequious have I e'er denied
To wait attendant at thy side,
Prepar'd each shade of fear to chace.
To antedate each coming joy,
And ere the transient bliss could cloy,
To bid a livelier take its place.

“Nay (blushing I confess the truth)
I've hover'd o'er thy head
Ev'n when thy too compliant youth,
By wayward fashion led,
Has left the Muses and thy lyre,
To mix in that tumultuous choir,
Of purblind Chance the vot'rys pale,
Who round his midnight altars stand,
And, as the glittering heaps expand,
His power with unblest orgies hail.

“There Cunning lours, there Envy pines,
There Avarice veils his face,
Ev'n Beauty's eager eye resigns
Its mildly-melting grace;
There, as his lots the dæmon throws,
Each breast with expectation glows,
While heedless Thou of loss or gain,
Seest from thy hand that treasure flown
That might have hush'd an orphan's moan,
Or smooth'd the rugged bed of pain.

“O then I spread my wings to fly
Back to my sapphire sphere,
Resolv'd to leave no ray to dry
Thy morn's repentant tear;
But when that bright atonement falls,
The sight my resolution palls,
I haste the liquid gem to save.
So still, fair Syren, shall my power
Console thee through life's varying hour,
Nor will I quit thee at the grave.

“O then may white-rob'd Faith appear,
With glowing Charity,
To spread with mine their wings, and bear
Their vot'ry to the sky.
Then mingling with our Seraph train,
Thy lyre may wake a loftier strain,

Where Rapture hymns th' eternal throne;
Where to desire is to possess,
No wish for more, no fear for less,
Where Certainty and I are one.”

Printed 1797, from an enlarged and corrected copy.

This marks the time when this Ode was written, viz. towards the conclusion of the American War.

ODE XIV. TO THE HON. WILLIAM PITT.

1782.

Μη νυν, οτι φθονεραι
Θνατων φρενας αμφικρεμανται ελπιδες,
Μητ' αρεταν ποτε σιγατω πατρωαν,
Μηδε τουσδ υμνους.
Pindar, Isthm. Ode 11.

I

'Tis May's meridian reign; yet Eurus cold
Forbids each shrinking thorn its leaves unfold,
Or hang with silver buds her rural throne;
No primrose shower from her green lap she throws,
No daisy, violet, or cowslip blows,
And Flora weeps her fragrant offspring gone.
Hoar frost arrests the genial dew;
To wake, to warble, and to woo,
No linnet calls his drooping love:
Shall then the Poet strike the lyre,
When mute are all the feather'd quire,
And Nature fails to warm the Syrens of the grove?

II

He shall: for what the sullen spring denies
The orient beam of virtuous youth supplies;
That moral dawn be his inspiring flame.
Beyond the dancing radiance of the east
Thy glory, Son of Chatham! fires his breast,
And, proud to celebrate thy vernal fame,
Hark, from his lyre the strain ascends,
Which but to Freedom's fav'rite friends
That lyre disdains to sound.
Hark and approve as did thy Sire
The lays which once with kindred fire
His Muse in Attic mood, made Mona's oaks rebound.

III

Long silent since, save when, in Keppel's name,
Detraction, murd'ring Britain's naval fame,
Rous'd into sounds of scorn th' indignant string.
But now, replenish'd with a richer theme,
The vase of Harmony shall pour its stream,
Fann'd by free Fancy's rainbow-tinctur'd wing.
Thy country too shall hail the song,
Her echoing heart the notes prolong,

While they alone with envy sigh,
Whose rancour to thy parent dead
Aim'd, ere his funeral rites were paid,
With vain vindictive rage to starve his progeny.

IV

From earth and these the Muse averts her view,
To meet in yonder sea of ether blue
A beam, to which the blaze of noon is pale;
In purpling circles now the glory spreads,
A host of angels now unveil their heads,
While Heav'n's own music triumphs on the gale.
Ah see, two white-rob'd Seraphs lead
Thy Father's venerable shade;
He bends from yonder cloud of gold,
While they, the ministers of light,
Bear from his breast a mantle bright,
And with the Heav'n-wove robe thy youthful limbs enfold.

V

“Receive this mystic gift, my Son!” he cries,
“And, for so wills the Sov'reign of the Skies,
“With this receive, at Albion's anxious hour,
“A double portion of my patriot zeal,
“Active to spread the fire it dar'd to feel
“Through raptur'd Senates, and with awful power

“From the full fountain of the tongue
“To roll the rapid tide along,
“Till a whole nation caught the flame.
“So on thy Sire shall Heav'n bestow
“A blessing Tully fail'd to know,
“And redolent in thee diffuse thy Father's fame.

VI

“Nor thou, ingenious Boy! that fame despise
“Which lives and spreads abroad in heav'n's pure eyes,
“The last best energy of noble mind,
“Revere thy Father's shade; like him disdain
“The tame, the timid, temporizing train,
Awake to self, to social interest blind:
“Young as thou art, occasion calls,
“Thy country's scale or mounts or falls
“As thou and thy compatriots strive;
“Scarce is the fatal moment past
“That trembling Albion deem'd her last:
“O knit the union firm, and bid an empire live.

VII

“Proceed, and vindicate fair Freedom's claim,
“Give life, give strength, give substance to her name;

“The legal Rights of Man with fraud contest,
“Yes, snatch them from Corruption's baleful power,
“Who dares, in day's broad eye, those rights devour,
“While prelates bow, and bless the harpy feast.
“If foil'd at first, resume thy course,
“Rise strengthen'd with Antæan force,
“So shall thy toil in conquest end.
“Let others doat on meaner things,
“On broider'd stars, and azure strings,
“To claim thy Sov'reign's love, be thou thy country's friend.”

Printed separately in May, 1782.

This expression is taken from Milton's song on May Morning, to which this stanza in general alludes, and the 4th verse in the next.

The Poem of Caractacus was read in MS. by the late Earl of Chatham, who honoured it with an approbation which the Author is here proud to record.

See Ode to the Naval Officers of Great Britain, written 1779.

See the Motto from Pindar.

In allusion to a fine and well-known passage in Milton's Lycidas.

VARIATION.

The concluding line in this Ode, when first printed, ran thus:

“Be thine the Muse's wreath; be thou the people's friend.”

But when it was recollected, that very soon after its publication, a person, too well known in the political world, usurped the name of friend of the people, for no better reason than that of promoting his own success in an election contest at Westminster, it will not be wondered at, that the Author should now choose to alter that conclusion.

This he has done, not only on moral and prudential, but, he trusts, also on constitutional principles; as he firmly believes, that no Englishman will now (he writes at the conclusion of the year 1795) honour that person with such an appellation, except the very few, who think the people of England and an English mob, synonymous terms.

ODE XV. SECULAR.

November the Fifth, MDCCLXXXVIII.

I

It is not Age, creative Fancy's foe,
Foe to the finer feelings of the soul,
Shall dare forbid the lyric rapture flow:
Scorning its chill control,
He, at the vernal morn of youth,
Who breathed to liberty and truth,
Fresh incense from his votive lyre,
In life's autumnal eve, again
Shall, at their shrine, resume the strain,
And sweep the veteran chords with renovated fire.

II

Warm to his own, and to his country's breast,
Twice fifty brilliant years the theme have borne,
And each, through all its varying seasons, blest
By that auspicious morn,

Which gilding Nassau's patriot prow,
Gave Britain's anxious eye to know
The source whence now her blessings spring;
She saw him from that prow descend,
And in the hero, hail'd the friend:
A name, when Britain speaks, that dignifies her King.

III

In solemn state she led him to the throne
Whence bigot zeal and lawless power had fled,
Where Justice fix'd the abdicated crown
On his victorious head.
Was there an angel in the sky,
That glow'd not with celestial joy,
When freedom in her native charms,
Descended from her throne of light,
On eagle plumes, to bless the rite,
Recall'd by Britain's voice, restored by Nassau's arms.

IV

Since then, triumphant on the car of time,
The sister years in gradual train have roll'd,
And seen the goddess from her sphere sublime,
The sacred page unfold,
Inscribed by her's and Nassau's hands,
On which the hallow'd charter stands,
That bids Britannia's sons be free;
And, as they pass'd, each white-robed year

Has sung to her responsive sphere,
Hail to the charter'd rights of British liberty!

V

Still louder lift the soul-expanding strain,
Ye future years! while, from her starry throne
Again she comes to magnify her reign,
And make the world her own.
Her fire e'en France presumes to feel,
And half unsheaths the patriot steel,
Enough the monarch to dismay,
Whoe'er, with rebel pride, withdraws
His own allegiance from the laws
That guard the people's rights, that rein the sovereign's sway.

VI

Hark! how from either India's sultry bound,
From regions girded by the burning zone,
Her all-attentive ear, with sigh profound
Has heard the captive moan:
Has heard, and ardent in the cause
Of all, that free by Nature's laws,
The avarice of her sons enthrals;
She comes, by Truth and Mercy led,
And, bending her benignant head,
Thus on the seraph pair in suppliant strain she calls:

VII

“Long have I lent to my Britannia's hands
That trident which controls the willing sea,
And bade her circulate to distant lands
Each bliss derived from me.
Shall then her commerce spread the sail,
For gain accursed, and court the gale,
Her throne, her sov'reign to disgrace;
Daring (what will not Commerce dare!)
Beyond the ruthless waste of war,
To deal destruction round, and thin the human race?

VIII

“Proclaim it not before the eternal throne
Of him, the sire of universal love;
But wait till all my sons your influence own,
Ye envoys from above!
O wait, at this precarious hour,
When in the pendent scale of power
My rights and Nature's trembling lie;
Do thou, sweet Mercy! touch the beam,
Till lightly, as the feather'd dream
Ascends the earthly dross of selfish policy.

IX

“Do thou, fair Truth! as did thy master mild,
Who, fill'd with all the power of godhead, came

To purify the souls, by guilt defiled,
With Faith's celestial flame;
Tell them, 'tis Heaven's benign decree
That all, of Christian liberty
The peace-inspiring gale should breathe.
May then that nation hope to claim
The glory of the Christian name,
That loads fraternal tribes with bondage worse than death?

X

“Tell them, they vainly grace, with festive joy,
The day that freed them from Oppression's rod,
At Slavery's mart who barter and who buy
The image of their God.
But peace!—their conscience feels the wrong;
From Britain's congregated tongue,
Repentant breaks the choral lay,
“Not unto us, indulgent Heaven,
“In partial stream be freedom given,
“But pour her treasures wide, and guard with legal sway?”

First published on the day of its date.

ODE XVI. PALINODIA.

I. 1.

Say did I err, chaste Liberty!
When warm with youthful fire,
I gave the vernal fruits to thee
That ripen'd on my lyre?
When, round thy twin-born sister's shrine,
I taught the flowers of verse to twine
And blend in one their fresh perfume;
Forbade them, vagrant and disjoin'd,
To give to every wanton wind
Their fragrance and their bloom?

I. 2.

Or did I err, when, free to choose
'Mid fabling Fancy's themes,
I led my voluntary Muse
To groves and haunted streams;
Disdain'd to take that gainful road,
Which many a courtly bard had trod,

And aim'd but at self-planted bays?
I swept my lyre enough for me,
If what that lyre might warble free
My free-born friends might praise.

I. 3.

And art thou mute! or does the fiend that rides
Yon sulphurous tube, by tigers drawn,
Where seas of blood roll their increasing tides
Beneath his wheels while myriads groan,
Does he with voice of thunder make reply:
“I am the Genius of stern Liberty,
“Adore me as thy genuine choice;
“Know, where I hang with wreaths my sacred tree,
“Power undivided, just equality
“Are born at my creative voice?”

Independency, see Ode, p. 38.

II. 1.

Avaunt, abhorr'd Democracy!
O for Ithuriel's spear!
To show to Party's jaundiced eye
The fiend she most should fear,
To turn her from the infernal sight
To where, array'd in robes of light,
True Liberty on Seraph wing
Descends to shed that blessing rare,
Of equal rights an equal share
To People, Peers, and King.

II. 2.

To her alone I rais'd my strain,
On her centennial day,
Fearless that age should chill the vein
She nourish'd with her ray.
And what, if glowing at the theme,
Humanity in vivid dream,
Gave to my mind impatient Gaul
(Ah! flattering dream, dismiss'd by fate
Too quickly through the ivory gate)
Freed from despotic thrall?

II. 3.

When Ruin, heaving his gigantic mace,
(Call'd to the deed by Reason's voice),
Crush'd, proud Bastile! thy turrets to their base,
Was it not virtue to rejoice?
That power alone, whose all-combining eye
Beholds, what he ordains, futurity,
Could that tremendous truth reveal,
That, ere six suns had round the zodiac roll'd
Their beams, astonished Europe should behold
All Gallia, one immense Bastile?

See English Garden, Book IV. v. 685, &c.

There were in the prisons of Paris alone, when this was written, above 6000 prisoners.

III. 1.

Is it not virtue to repine,
When thus transform'd the scene?

“Ah! no,” replied, in strain divine,
The heaven-descending Queen.
And, as she sung, she shot a ray,
Mild as the orient dawn of May,
Enlight'ning while it calm'd my brain:
“Now purg'd, my Son! from error, own
“My blessings ne'er were meant to crown
“The vicious, or the vain.

III. 2.

“'Tis only those of purer clay
“From sensual dross refined,
“In whom the passions pleas'd obey
“The God within the mind,
“Who share my delegated aid,
“Through Wisdom's golden mean convey'd
“From the first source of sov'reign good:
“All else to horrid license tends,
“Springs from vindictive pride, and ends
“In anarchy and blood.

III. 3.

“Had France possess'd a sober patriot band,
“True to their own, and nation's weal,
“Such as, fair Albion, bless'd thy favour'd land,
“When Nassau came thy rights to seal;
“She might—but why compare such wide extremes,
“Why seek for reason in delirious dreams?
“Rather consign to exile and to shame
“Her coward princes, her luxurious peers,
“Who fed the hell-born hydra with their fears,
“That now usurps my hallow'd name.”

Cui meliore Luto finxit præcordia Titan. So Milton in his 12th Sonnet, speaking of liberty, says, “But who loves that, must first be wise and good.”

Mr. Pope uses this Platonic phrase for conscience. —See Essay on Man, Ep. II. p. 204, with Warburton's note upon it, where the learned critic says justly that it admits a double meaning. —It is in its latter practical, or rather Christian sense, that I here employ it, to convey the important truth delivered by St. Paul, “where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.”

Written in March, 1794, and first printed 1797.

ODE ON WISDOM;

OR, THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER OF THE BOOK OF JOB ATTEMPTED IN LYRICAL VERSE, AND ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT REVEREND RICHARD, LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER, &c

I. 1.

Deep in the secret veins of earth,
Where each metallic ore has birth,
Silver and gold for ages sleep;
Blue sapphires there by rocks are veil'd,
There crystal springs in grottos seal'd,
Unheard, unseen, their useless vigils keep:
But man, by fortitude and vigour led,
Can cleave the rocks, thro' mountains force his way,
Drag the bright sapphires from their murky bed,
And bid them rival the meridian ray.
Thro' clefts he bursts, can teach the stream to glide,
Direct, augment, control its fertilizing tide.

I. 2.

He can those depths profound descry,
Where never pierced the vulture's eye,
Can those tremendous caves descend,
Where fiercest lions dare not prowl,
Nor ere was heard the tiger's growl;
Can make all nature to his prowess bend:
But did this bold, this all-pervading man
That dread mysterious region ere explore,
Where Wisdom dwells? Does he presume to scan
The place, where she exerts her sacred power?
What if he ask the deep abyss below,
If in its realm she dwells? its Genius answers, “No!”

I. 3.

What if to ocean's caves he hies,
In hope to find the guest?
The Monarch of the waves replies,
“She sleeps not on my breast.”
Vain then the hope! the fleet aerial race,
Born on sublimest plume, her mansion fail to trace.

First antistrophe, ver. 7. There is a path which no fowl knoweth, and which the vulture's eye hath not seen, &c. But where shall wisdom be found, &c. to verse 14.

First epode, ver. 14. And the sea saith it is not in me. Ver. 21. It is kept close from the fowls of the air. Note, this is the only slight transposition of the text.

II. 1.

O could he seize her form divine!
Beyond the gold of Ophir's mine,
The sapphire's beam, the diamond's blaze,
Beyond the Ethiop's pearly store,
Beyond each gem, the sculptor's power
Could teach to sparkle on his richest vase,
Her charms he'd prize! yet Death, destructive king,
Who erst to chaos made despotic claim,
Ere from the void he saw creation spring,
Remembers whilom that he heard her name,
And knows that God, to whom all space is known,
Call'd Wisdom to himself, and rais'd her to his throne.

II. 2.

'Twas then in solemn synod high,
Or ere he plann'd the galaxy,
Ere through the heavens one planet roll'd,
With her he fix'd all Nature's laws,
Creation's first and final cause,
And bade her hands th' ideal chart unfold.

She saw this vast material orb appear,
Bless'd the first pause of elemental strife,
When earth, air, water, fire forgot to war,
And all was harmony, and light, and life;
Saw man produced, while, thund'ring from on high,
The Eternal's awful voice proclaim'd his destiny:

II. 3.

“Offspring of matter and of mind!
“Know, Mortal, know, in age and youth
“Thy proudest talents are confin'd
“To mark this one important truth,
“That all of wisdom, to thy race allow'd,
“Is to refrain from sin, and venerate thy God!”

Second strophe, ver. 15. It cannot be gotten for gold, &c. to ver. 24.

Second antistrophe, from ver. 24 to 28. But here the version of Albert Schultens is rather followed, than that of our Bible.

Second epode, ver. 28. And unto man he said, Behold, to fear the Lord, that is wisdom, and to depart from evil is understanding.

The whole 28th chapter of the book of Job, when separated from the context, is a poetical illustration of this truth, “that man is capable of making great advances in the discovery of nature, but as to prying into the secrets of Providence in the government of the world, which is here emphatically called the Wisdom of God, that is above the reach of all creatures.” The first strophe, in the above metrical version, begins at the first verse: “Surely there is a vein for silver and a place for gold;” and proceeds to the 7th.