Odes on Various Subjects By Joseph Warton ... The second edition |
 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | ODE V. To a Gentleman upon his Travels thro' Italy.
|
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
 | Odes on Various Subjects |  |
23
ODE V. To a Gentleman upon his Travels thro' Italy.
While I with fond officious care,
For you my chorded shell prepare,
And not unmindful frame an humble lay,
Where shall this verse my Cynthio find,
What scene of art now charms your mind,
Say, on what sacred spot of Roman ground you stray?
For you my chorded shell prepare,
And not unmindful frame an humble lay,
Where shall this verse my Cynthio find,
What scene of art now charms your mind,
Say, on what sacred spot of Roman ground you stray?
Perhaps you cull each valley's bloom,
To strew o'er Virgil's laurell'd tomb,
Whence oft at midnight echoing voices sound;
For at that hour of silence, there
The shades of ancient bards repair,
To join in choral song his hallow'd urn around:
To strew o'er Virgil's laurell'd tomb,
Whence oft at midnight echoing voices sound;
For at that hour of silence, there
The shades of ancient bards repair,
To join in choral song his hallow'd urn around:
24
Or wander in the cooling shade
Of Sabine bow'rs, where Horace stray'd,
And oft' repeat in eager thought elate,
(As round in classic search you trace
With curious eye the pleasing place)
“That fount he lov'd, and there beneath that hill he sate.”
Of Sabine bow'rs, where Horace stray'd,
And oft' repeat in eager thought elate,
(As round in classic search you trace
With curious eye the pleasing place)
“That fount he lov'd, and there beneath that hill he sate.”
How longs my raptur'd breast with you
Great Raphael's magic strokes to view,
To whose blest hand each charm the Graces gave!
Whence each fair form with beauty glows
Like that of Venus, when she rose
Naked in blushing charms from Ocean's hoary wave.
Great Raphael's magic strokes to view,
To whose blest hand each charm the Graces gave!
Whence each fair form with beauty glows
Like that of Venus, when she rose
Naked in blushing charms from Ocean's hoary wave.
As oft by roving fancy led
To smooth Clitumnus' banks you tread,
What awful thoughts his fabled waters raise!
While the low-thoughted swain, whose flock
Grazes around, from some steep rock
With vulgar disregard his mazy course surveys.
To smooth Clitumnus' banks you tread,
What awful thoughts his fabled waters raise!
While the low-thoughted swain, whose flock
Grazes around, from some steep rock
With vulgar disregard his mazy course surveys.
25
Now thro' the ruin'd domes my Muse
Your steps with eager flight pursues,
That their cleft piles on Tyber's plains present,
Among whose hollow-winding cells
Forlorn and wild Rome's Genius dwells,
His golden sceptre broke, and purple mantle rent.
Your steps with eager flight pursues,
That their cleft piles on Tyber's plains present,
Among whose hollow-winding cells
Forlorn and wild Rome's Genius dwells,
His golden sceptre broke, and purple mantle rent.
Oft to those mossy mould'ring walls,
Those caverns dark, and silent halls,
Let me repair by midnight's paly fires;
There muse on Empire's fallen state,
And frail Ambition's hapless fate,
While more than mortal thoughts the solemn scene inspires.
Those caverns dark, and silent halls,
Let me repair by midnight's paly fires;
There muse on Empire's fallen state,
And frail Ambition's hapless fate,
While more than mortal thoughts the solemn scene inspires.
What lust of pow'r from the cold North
Could tempt those Vandal-robbers forth,
Fair Italy, thy vine-clad vales to wast?
Whose hands profane, with hostile blade,
Thy story'd temples dar'd invade,
And all thy Parian seats of Attic art defac'd!
Could tempt those Vandal-robbers forth,
Fair Italy, thy vine-clad vales to wast?
Whose hands profane, with hostile blade,
Thy story'd temples dar'd invade,
And all thy Parian seats of Attic art defac'd!
26
They, weeping Art in fetters bound,
And gor'd her breast with many a wound,
And veil'd her charms in clouds of thickest night;
Sad Poesy, much-injur'd maid,
They drove to some dim convent's shade,
And quench'd in gloomy mist her lamp's resplendent light.
And gor'd her breast with many a wound,
And veil'd her charms in clouds of thickest night;
Sad Poesy, much-injur'd maid,
They drove to some dim convent's shade,
And quench'd in gloomy mist her lamp's resplendent light.
There long she wept, to darkness doom'd,
'Till Cosmo's hand her light relum'd,
That once again in lofty Tasso shone,
Since has sweet Spenser caught her fire,
She breath'd once more in Milton's lyre,
And warm'd the soul divine of Shakespear, Fancy's son.
'Till Cosmo's hand her light relum'd,
That once again in lofty Tasso shone,
Since has sweet Spenser caught her fire,
She breath'd once more in Milton's lyre,
And warm'd the soul divine of Shakespear, Fancy's son.
Nor she, mild queen, will cease to smile
On her Britannia's much-lov'd isle,
Where these her best, her favourite Three were born,
While Theron warbles Grecian strains,
Or polish'd Dodington remains,
The drooping train of arts to cherish and adorn.
On her Britannia's much-lov'd isle,
Where these her best, her favourite Three were born,
While Theron warbles Grecian strains,
Or polish'd Dodington remains,
The drooping train of arts to cherish and adorn.
| Odes on Various Subjects | |