Poetics Or, a series of poems, and disquisitions on poetry. By George Dyer |
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 | Poetics |  |
BOOK THE FIRST.
ODE I. VISIONS.
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Every nation has its peculiar Mythology or Fabulous History, and Mythology has been rendered subservient to each nation's particular poetry. Different writers have treated of some ancient opinions on this subject: but as the author alludes, in the following poem, to different mythologies, and the poetry of different nations, he is led to contemplate them under the form of visions. The Power (according to the Platonic philosophy, the Genius) that has controlled the destinies of his life, leads him to a great Instructress, who directs him to pursue a walk of poetry best adapted to his talents, and most according with his experience: and from his situation near Isis, the poetical river of Oxford, he is led, incidentally, to reprove such writers as under-rate each others literary pursuits.
INTRODUCTION.
Yes, Mysta, yes—me much thy fables please,
Thy dreams of other days, and other climes:
For truths and kind affections with thy rhymes
Commix, inwoven well:—be thine to seize
The Poet's ground, the high æthereal way;
Mine the terrestrial walk: nor me hath age
Yet chill'd, tho' stealing on; and so I stray
Into thy upper grounds, like palmer sage.
Here let us kindly meet, and the world see,
How friends may differ much, and yet may much agree.
Thy dreams of other days, and other climes:
For truths and kind affections with thy rhymes
Commix, inwoven well:—be thine to seize
2
Mine the terrestrial walk: nor me hath age
Yet chill'd, tho' stealing on; and so I stray
Into thy upper grounds, like palmer sage.
Here let us kindly meet, and the world see,
How friends may differ much, and yet may much agree.
Me too thy Spenser pleases, and his song
Lur'd me to Fairy-land: there I did meet
King Arthur and St. George, in converse sweet,
Of their achievements proud, and labours long,
And gentlest charities, and lineage high:
From diff'rent lands they come, to diff'rent ways
They go, yet come and go as friends; so I,
Thy reas'nings heard, will now unfold what says
My secret guide; and shoulds't thou ask of me,
Why he near Isis taught, I will explain to thee.
Lur'd me to Fairy-land: there I did meet
King Arthur and St. George, in converse sweet,
Of their achievements proud, and labours long,
And gentlest charities, and lineage high:
From diff'rent lands they come, to diff'rent ways
They go, yet come and go as friends; so I,
Thy reas'nings heard, will now unfold what says
My secret guide; and shoulds't thou ask of me,
Why he near Isis taught, I will explain to thee.
It was, because he knew in early years,
I bath'd my limbs in Camus, classic stream;
And that I might unthinking lightly deem
Of those two kindred streams, his bright compeers:
For well my genius knew, in days of yore,
How bookmen oft, rivals in pedant pride,
Would over-rate each his own college lore,
And each the others minstrelsies deride;
Hence oft to Isis now my steps he leads,
To muse upon her banks, and tread her flowery meads.
I bath'd my limbs in Camus, classic stream;
And that I might unthinking lightly deem
Of those two kindred streams, his bright compeers:
For well my genius knew, in days of yore,
How bookmen oft, rivals in pedant pride,
Would over-rate each his own college lore,
And each the others minstrelsies deride;
Hence oft to Isis now my steps he leads,
To muse upon her banks, and tread her flowery meads.
3
And there he taught me still that stream to love,
Wherein long since my young limbs laved were;
For that great Spenser, Milton, Cowley, there,
Dryden and Gray, whilom were wont to rove,
And were baptiz'd, as in some wizard stream;
And will'd, too, I should ponder well and long,
That Chaucer, of old British bards supreme,
In Isis wash'd; but that the Prince of Song,
Immortal Shakespeare, Nature's fav'rite child,
Bath'd in no classic stream, but ranged the mountains wild.
Wherein long since my young limbs laved were;
For that great Spenser, Milton, Cowley, there,
Dryden and Gray, whilom were wont to rove,
And were baptiz'd, as in some wizard stream;
And will'd, too, I should ponder well and long,
That Chaucer, of old British bards supreme,
In Isis wash'd; but that the Prince of Song,
Immortal Shakespeare, Nature's fav'rite child,
Bath'd in no classic stream, but ranged the mountains wild.
------ The Dreams of Pindus, and th'Aonian maids.—
Pope's Messiah.
Pope's Messiah.
In that blithe season, when on every spray
Life lifts the fluttering wing, and warms each flower,
In muse-frequented, fancy-colour'd bower,
Sleeps prisoner, lock'd in visions deep, I lay:
Cherwell, fair river, flow'd the bower beside,
Moist'ning the bank, as wont, with kisses sweet;
While Isis pour'd along her silver tide,
Her kindred stream in kind embrace to meet:
Ah! thus, I cried, as now these streams combine,
Might man with fellow-man in friendly union join.
Life lifts the fluttering wing, and warms each flower,
In muse-frequented, fancy-colour'd bower,
Sleeps prisoner, lock'd in visions deep, I lay:
Cherwell, fair river, flow'd the bower beside,
Moist'ning the bank, as wont, with kisses sweet;
While Isis pour'd along her silver tide,
Her kindred stream in kind embrace to meet:
Ah! thus, I cried, as now these streams combine,
Might man with fellow-man in friendly union join.
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The stately sun had left his mid-day throne,
And on the waters play'd his sloping beam;
Silent awhile the feather'd warblers seem,
And faint with heat the daisied meadows shone.
Soon as soft slumbers had ensnar'd my eyes,
I heard a voice which spoke in accent strong:
“Bright scenes shall rise successive: man be wise,
And mark each shadowy form which glides along:”
All is now still; a lighter landscape shines,
Of Nature's gayest green, of Beauty's softest lines.
And on the waters play'd his sloping beam;
Silent awhile the feather'd warblers seem,
And faint with heat the daisied meadows shone.
Soon as soft slumbers had ensnar'd my eyes,
I heard a voice which spoke in accent strong:
“Bright scenes shall rise successive: man be wise,
And mark each shadowy form which glides along:”
All is now still; a lighter landscape shines,
Of Nature's gayest green, of Beauty's softest lines.
One Vision soon is past, when I behold
A power descend, that nine fair virgins led:
A glory beams from his ambrosial head,
Bright are his eyes, his sandals shine with gold;
Down his young form a golden vestment flows;
His golden harp with skill is aptly strung.
And now with musings deep his visage glows,
While all around in mute expectance hung;
But when the minstrel strikes the harmonic lyre,
What high-wrought raptures seize that sacred sister choir!
A power descend, that nine fair virgins led:
A glory beams from his ambrosial head,
Bright are his eyes, his sandals shine with gold;
Down his young form a golden vestment flows;
His golden harp with skill is aptly strung.
5
While all around in mute expectance hung;
But when the minstrel strikes the harmonic lyre,
What high-wrought raptures seize that sacred sister choir!
What pencil may describe those virgins fair,
Their mystic forms, their eyes ethereal light?
When poesy's and music's powers unite,
Who may their many-mingling charms declare?
These damsels now by turns responsive sing,
Then wake in chorus, harp, and pipe, and lute,
Sound the gay timbrels, shrill the cymbals ring,
As different sounds their different genius suit.
Thus Nature ever various loves to please,
Thus from mixt forms calls forth her wond'rous harmonies.
Their mystic forms, their eyes ethereal light?
When poesy's and music's powers unite,
Who may their many-mingling charms declare?
These damsels now by turns responsive sing,
Then wake in chorus, harp, and pipe, and lute,
Sound the gay timbrels, shrill the cymbals ring,
As different sounds their different genius suit.
Thus Nature ever various loves to please,
Thus from mixt forms calls forth her wond'rous harmonies.
Their song was proud—of gods, and heroes brave;
Of Jove loud-thundering, and his awful queen;
And her that virgin rare, of sylvan mien;
And beauty's goddess, sprung from ocean's wave;
Nor less of her, the warrior, from whose eye
Beams wisdom, gorgon-terrors from whose breast,
Nor less of him, that God, the tempest high
Who lifts, or calms at will, its rage to rest;
Of all who fill the empyreal plain,
Or thro' the skies, earth, fire, and water, boundless reign.
Of Jove loud-thundering, and his awful queen;
And her that virgin rare, of sylvan mien;
And beauty's goddess, sprung from ocean's wave;
6
Beams wisdom, gorgon-terrors from whose breast,
Nor less of him, that God, the tempest high
Who lifts, or calms at will, its rage to rest;
Of all who fill the empyreal plain,
Or thro' the skies, earth, fire, and water, boundless reign.
Beside a beech, list'ning with his rude throng,
Hung Orpheus, master of the melting lyre;
And near old Hesiod, and the vagrant sire,
Blind Homer, who so rous'd th'heroic song,
The glory of great Greece: others were there,
Bards, fam'd thro' Greece, still of illustrious names,
Some Roman, who those muses smiles wont share,
(Some now ingulph'd in time, unknown to fame)
Foremost of whom, Ennius, of distant age,
With Maro, polished bard, and with Lucretius sage.
Hung Orpheus, master of the melting lyre;
And near old Hesiod, and the vagrant sire,
Blind Homer, who so rous'd th'heroic song,
The glory of great Greece: others were there,
Bards, fam'd thro' Greece, still of illustrious names,
Some Roman, who those muses smiles wont share,
(Some now ingulph'd in time, unknown to fame)
Foremost of whom, Ennius, of distant age,
With Maro, polished bard, and with Lucretius sage.
But quickly now successive to my view,
Far different forms, and different scenes unfold,
Suns empyrean-bright, and skies of gold,
Hills ever green, and fields of heavenly hue;
And far away, two wide extended streams,
Sacred the names, and dear to eastern lore;
(More stately move not in the poet's dreams)
Roll their proud waves beside the silent shore,
And hark! a thousand songs to Mithra rise,
Luxuriant as the fields, and glowing as the skies.
Far different forms, and different scenes unfold,
Suns empyrean-bright, and skies of gold,
Hills ever green, and fields of heavenly hue;
7
Sacred the names, and dear to eastern lore;
(More stately move not in the poet's dreams)
Roll their proud waves beside the silent shore,
And hark! a thousand songs to Mithra rise,
Luxuriant as the fields, and glowing as the skies.
The rapturous notes fill every sacred bower,
Till now, as slumbering, clos'd the eye of day:
Then pour'd the nightingale his liquid lay,
Perch'd on a branch beside his favourite flower.
And near that flower his eyes are glittering bright;
And near that flower his notes so wildly rove,
As tho' his little breast with fond delight
Would break, for blooming Rosa was his love.
Thou sweetest flower, oh! still thy stay prolong,
Oh! sweetest bird, still pour that soothing, melting song.
Till now, as slumbering, clos'd the eye of day:
Then pour'd the nightingale his liquid lay,
Perch'd on a branch beside his favourite flower.
And near that flower his eyes are glittering bright;
And near that flower his notes so wildly rove,
As tho' his little breast with fond delight
Would break, for blooming Rosa was his love.
Thou sweetest flower, oh! still thy stay prolong,
Oh! sweetest bird, still pour that soothing, melting song.
8
Here gay, o'er wine, with each a dainty dame,
Hafez and Sadi sat; nor far away
Rose Cassem, far renown'd for classic lay;
And Abilola, bard of loftier name;
And he, that shepherd, who gave Israel law,
And he who glorious rul'd, their tuneful king;
And such as taught in prophets schools, and saw
Visions, and wak'd inspired the mystic string,
The first of whom, Isaiah, nor less he
Who moraliz'd in song, thro' the blest Araby.
Hafez and Sadi sat; nor far away
Rose Cassem, far renown'd for classic lay;
And Abilola, bard of loftier name;
9
And he who glorious rul'd, their tuneful king;
And such as taught in prophets schools, and saw
Visions, and wak'd inspired the mystic string,
The first of whom, Isaiah, nor less he
Who moraliz'd in song, thro' the blest Araby.
Now, as just rais'd from fiery surge, behold
Beings, monstrous gods, by God and man accurs'd,
Satan, arch-fiend, and Moloch, mad with thirst
Of human blood, and Mammon gorg'd with gold;
And other forms, huge, hideous, hateful, base;
Gods once of Egypt, or Phœnicia's coast,
Or Syrias, with Belial's beastly race,
Mail'd with dark panoply, a dreadful host!
Furious as fiery storms from Etna rise,
Which deluge all the land, and purple all the skies.
Beings, monstrous gods, by God and man accurs'd,
Satan, arch-fiend, and Moloch, mad with thirst
Of human blood, and Mammon gorg'd with gold;
And other forms, huge, hideous, hateful, base;
Gods once of Egypt, or Phœnicia's coast,
Or Syrias, with Belial's beastly race,
Mail'd with dark panoply, a dreadful host!
Furious as fiery storms from Etna rise,
Which deluge all the land, and purple all the skies.
10
'Gainst Heaven's high King, I saw them waging war;
I saw them plung'd headlong to deepest hell;
I saw them plotting machinations fell,
Plotting, tho' fall'n, in Pandæmonium far:
And against whom those machinations vile?
'Gainst man, and his long feeble progeny.
I saw the tempter give—with baleful smile;
I saw the tempted take the gift and die.
Ah! splendid horrors all; but short their stay;
How like a thunder-storm, that growls, and dies away!
I saw them plung'd headlong to deepest hell;
I saw them plotting machinations fell,
Plotting, tho' fall'n, in Pandæmonium far:
And against whom those machinations vile?
'Gainst man, and his long feeble progeny.
I saw the tempter give—with baleful smile;
I saw the tempted take the gift and die.
Ah! splendid horrors all; but short their stay;
How like a thunder-storm, that growls, and dies away!
Chang'd is the scene.—Now towering forms I view,
With limbs of giant size, they march along;
Loud they pour forth the hoarse prophetic song;
Bold is their front; their eyes of sullen blue.
Louder and louder bursts their martial strain,
(Clash their rude shields responsive to the sound)
As now embattling fierce, they scour the plain,
Where grisly foemen groaning bite the ground.
“Joy to the brave”—I hear the bardie cry;
“Shout, shout (the day is won) the song of victory.”
With limbs of giant size, they march along;
Loud they pour forth the hoarse prophetic song;
Bold is their front; their eyes of sullen blue.
Louder and louder bursts their martial strain,
(Clash their rude shields responsive to the sound)
As now embattling fierce, they scour the plain,
Where grisly foemen groaning bite the ground.
11
“Shout, shout (the day is won) the song of victory.”
And now the rites begin, dark groves among,
Long consecrate in wood-crown'd isle most fair;
Tuisto and Mannus all due honours share;
(The Gods of nations claim the warriors song)
But her in hymns accordant long and loud,
Hertha, the all-prolific source of life,
Her most they celebrate in vestments proud,
High-thron'd in chariot bright: hush'd is all strife;
And war has dropp'd his lance; for all around
The goddess fills the groves, and terrors rock the ground.
Long consecrate in wood-crown'd isle most fair;
Tuisto and Mannus all due honours share;
(The Gods of nations claim the warriors song)
But her in hymns accordant long and loud,
Hertha, the all-prolific source of life,
Her most they celebrate in vestments proud,
High-thron'd in chariot bright: hush'd is all strife;
And war has dropp'd his lance; for all around
The goddess fills the groves, and terrors rock the ground.
Now flutter forms fantastic, dimly seen,
Fays, Genii, Monsters, Spirits, a motley band,
And he, who whilom rul'd through fairy-land,
That merry, pranking king, and elfin queen.
“Oh! stay thee, Oberon—lo! a gentle knight
“Implores thy aid, on val'rous deeds intent;
“True to his love, and panting for the fight,
“On great emprize to lands far-distant bent.”
Oberon is stay'd; and “take that horn,” he cries,
And “take that sacred ring and every danger flies.”
Fays, Genii, Monsters, Spirits, a motley band,
And he, who whilom rul'd through fairy-land,
That merry, pranking king, and elfin queen.
12
“Implores thy aid, on val'rous deeds intent;
“True to his love, and panting for the fight,
“On great emprize to lands far-distant bent.”
Oberon is stay'd; and “take that horn,” he cries,
And “take that sacred ring and every danger flies.”
And lo! a castle rears its stupendous wall,
And fiery dragons guard the building round;
Ah! who would dare to tread infernal ground?
The knight has dar'd: no terrors may appal:
Though hell were in that place, he must advance:
Deep foams his fiery steed, and prances high,
Till by the terror of his flaming lance,
Close lock'd in death those raving monsters lie.
Loud sounds his horn: wide the gates open spread;
And proud he enters thro', and towers his crested head.
And fiery dragons guard the building round;
Ah! who would dare to tread infernal ground?
The knight has dar'd: no terrors may appal:
Though hell were in that place, he must advance:
Deep foams his fiery steed, and prances high,
Till by the terror of his flaming lance,
Close lock'd in death those raving monsters lie.
Loud sounds his horn: wide the gates open spread;
And proud he enters thro', and towers his crested head.
And, oh! what freezing scenes to view unfold!
How stare, with horror wild, his stony eyes!
What piteous howlings, what heart-rending cries!
Stound are his ears; his blood runs shivering cold!
Here deep enthrall'd lies many a lady bright,
Ah! doom'd by giant curs'd to writhe in pain,
Or yield, vile service, to his damn'd delight,
Who deep-retir'd here holds his dev'lish reign:
But by the knight's stout arm the monster fell,
Has felt the stroke of death and hastens down to hell.
How stare, with horror wild, his stony eyes!
What piteous howlings, what heart-rending cries!
Stound are his ears; his blood runs shivering cold!
Here deep enthrall'd lies many a lady bright,
Ah! doom'd by giant curs'd to writhe in pain,
13
Who deep-retir'd here holds his dev'lish reign:
But by the knight's stout arm the monster fell,
Has felt the stroke of death and hastens down to hell.
“Now, ladies, take heaven's ever-blessed boon,
“Freedom is yours: God speed you on your way:”
And now the knight shall hail th'all-glorious day:
High his desert, and he shall triumph soon:
A princess bright (such honours crown the brave)
In pride of youth awaits thy wish'd return;
Full many a fair, Sir Knight, 'twas thine to save;
Nor vainly did that breast with glory burn.
But lo! the fairy scene eludes my sight,
Fled is the princess fair, and fled the valorous knight.
“Freedom is yours: God speed you on your way:”
And now the knight shall hail th'all-glorious day:
High his desert, and he shall triumph soon:
A princess bright (such honours crown the brave)
In pride of youth awaits thy wish'd return;
Full many a fair, Sir Knight, 'twas thine to save;
Nor vainly did that breast with glory burn.
But lo! the fairy scene eludes my sight,
Fled is the princess fair, and fled the valorous knight.
14
But hark! the master of the Runic rhyme
Strikes the rude shell and wakes the mystic lay:
And see! the King of Men pursues his way.
To try Varthrudnis' art in things sublime.
Now Gothic lore is beaming on my sight;
Now sacred truth enchains my wond'ring mind;
Whence earth, and heav'n, and all those worlds of light;
The mighty gods and heroes of mankind;
Who drives morn's rising car, and evening's low;
Whence all the flowers that bloom, and all the herbs that grow:
Strikes the rude shell and wakes the mystic lay:
And see! the King of Men pursues his way.
To try Varthrudnis' art in things sublime.
Now Gothic lore is beaming on my sight;
Now sacred truth enchains my wond'ring mind;
Whence earth, and heav'n, and all those worlds of light;
The mighty gods and heroes of mankind;
Who drives morn's rising car, and evening's low;
Whence all the flowers that bloom, and all the herbs that grow:
15
And what that stream, which gods divides from earth;
And whose that arm, which durst with Odin war;
Whence Godhead's source, and Niflhil thence how far;
And whence that old Bergelmer owes his birth;
And where Valhalla, seat of noble men,
Who bravely fought, and durst in youth to bleed;
And where that nameless winter holds its reign,
Which must some new created world precede;
And where yon sun shall hide, when mighty Thor
Shall, midst a world in flames, extinguish ruthless War.
And whose that arm, which durst with Odin war;
Whence Godhead's source, and Niflhil thence how far;
And whence that old Bergelmer owes his birth;
And where Valhalla, seat of noble men,
Who bravely fought, and durst in youth to bleed;
And where that nameless winter holds its reign,
Which must some new created world precede;
And where yon sun shall hide, when mighty Thor
Shall, midst a world in flames, extinguish ruthless War.
16
But lo! now glimmers thro' the thicken'd air,
Helmets, and shields, and many a sparkling lance;
And see those sisters grim! quick they advance!
Orkney for woe! Erin for woe prepare!
Lo! north and south those dragon-sisters fly!
Grim-visag'd terror scowls on all the plain—
And hark! those ponderous groans, that lengthening cry!
The cry, the groan of many a warrior slain!
Oh! scene of horrors, close upon my eyes!
Sped are those grisly dames: and lo! that vision flies.
Helmets, and shields, and many a sparkling lance;
And see those sisters grim! quick they advance!
Orkney for woe! Erin for woe prepare!
Lo! north and south those dragon-sisters fly!
Grim-visag'd terror scowls on all the plain—
And hark! those ponderous groans, that lengthening cry!
The cry, the groan of many a warrior slain!
Oh! scene of horrors, close upon my eyes!
Sped are those grisly dames: and lo! that vision flies.
Dark now the scene, and lengthening still the land!
'Tis Caledonia.—How her forests frown!
Picts, like bees swarming thick, see rushing down
Southward, and now in hosts embattled stand!
Soon Fingal's spirit stalks, while Ossian's song
Rouses, such power have sounds, the martial flame;
Here Bruce's, Baliol's, rival armies throng;
There pensive Wallace with his faithful Graham:
Now border-chiefs, and Danish now arise:
And dauntless, tho' in pangs, hear how great Ragnar dies.
'Tis Caledonia.—How her forests frown!
Picts, like bees swarming thick, see rushing down
Southward, and now in hosts embattled stand!
17
Rouses, such power have sounds, the martial flame;
Here Bruce's, Baliol's, rival armies throng;
There pensive Wallace with his faithful Graham:
Now border-chiefs, and Danish now arise:
And dauntless, tho' in pangs, hear how great Ragnar dies.
18
But ruffian squadrons still embattle round,
And guilty conquest has distain'd the field:
Heralds of peace—must they to fury yield?
Shall unarm'd victims feel the dastard's wound?
Yes! they have fall'n, the bards, fair Cambria's pride,
Truth's tuneful priests—with heaven they left the prayer;
And not unmourn'd the blameless victims died;
See beck'ning spirits hover in the air;
While brave Aneurin mourns his Hoel slain;
And pity droops the head at soft Llewellyn's strain.
And guilty conquest has distain'd the field:
Heralds of peace—must they to fury yield?
Shall unarm'd victims feel the dastard's wound?
Yes! they have fall'n, the bards, fair Cambria's pride,
Truth's tuneful priests—with heaven they left the prayer;
And not unmourn'd the blameless victims died;
See beck'ning spirits hover in the air;
While brave Aneurin mourns his Hoel slain;
And pity droops the head at soft Llewellyn's strain.
Thus do these visionary pageants gleam;
Some quick retire, others as quick arise,
(As those bright forms to Jacob from the skies,
Past, and repast, gilding his midnight dream.)
Ah! scenes that do but live in fiction's eye,
Yet can, like charms, beguile a life of woe.
Too true to truth, who would each day-dream fly,
Who, rob'd in wisdom, fancy's worlds forego?
Return, ye fabled forms, if ye can please,
Oh! still, ye visions, rise, and wrap my soul in ease.
Some quick retire, others as quick arise,
(As those bright forms to Jacob from the skies,
Past, and repast, gilding his midnight dream.)
19
Yet can, like charms, beguile a life of woe.
Too true to truth, who would each day-dream fly,
Who, rob'd in wisdom, fancy's worlds forego?
Return, ye fabled forms, if ye can please,
Oh! still, ye visions, rise, and wrap my soul in ease.
Now all is past; and not a being seen;
While silence reigns (as when in spring, a shower
Sheds on the meadows round, its fruitful store,
And leaves the grateful landscape all serene)
But soon—thus changeful is the life of man—
My genius leads me to a secret cave,
Form'd by proportion's nicest, truest plan,
And ocean rolls beside the placid wave.
Straight as I enter, oh! what sweet surprise
Has seiz'd my raptur'd heart, and fill'd my ravish'd eyes!
While silence reigns (as when in spring, a shower
Sheds on the meadows round, its fruitful store,
And leaves the grateful landscape all serene)
But soon—thus changeful is the life of man—
My genius leads me to a secret cave,
Form'd by proportion's nicest, truest plan,
And ocean rolls beside the placid wave.
Straight as I enter, oh! what sweet surprise
Has seiz'd my raptur'd heart, and fill'd my ravish'd eyes!
There art had cull'd from nature's stores divine;
There plac'd in brilliant rows with studious care,
Whatever boasts the sea, of treasures rare;
Whate'er of sparkling ore conceals the mine;
The branching coral, red, and white, and blue,
The silvery pearl, the crystal bright and clear,
Em'ralds of green, the ruby's scarlet hue,
The pride of climes, and blossoms of the year;
All that could please and charm a gazer's eyes:
For here, though small the spot, did seem a paradise.
There plac'd in brilliant rows with studious care,
Whatever boasts the sea, of treasures rare;
Whate'er of sparkling ore conceals the mine;
The branching coral, red, and white, and blue,
The silvery pearl, the crystal bright and clear,
Em'ralds of green, the ruby's scarlet hue,
The pride of climes, and blossoms of the year;
All that could please and charm a gazer's eyes:
For here, though small the spot, did seem a paradise.
20
By nymphs attended, here a sylvan maid,
(Cities she fled, and spurn'd the chain of love;
Her love, to range the mountain, stream, and grove)
Finds rest and coolness in the quiet shade;
And near, an aged dame of power supreme,
Prolific parent she, the sov'reign high
Of the world's boundless realms, yet fond did seem
Of simplest chaplet, cull'd from meadows nigh.
How mild her eye!—Thus beams the morning light—
But all the goddess-form swells full upon my sight!
(Cities she fled, and spurn'd the chain of love;
Her love, to range the mountain, stream, and grove)
Finds rest and coolness in the quiet shade;
And near, an aged dame of power supreme,
Prolific parent she, the sov'reign high
Of the world's boundless realms, yet fond did seem
Of simplest chaplet, cull'd from meadows nigh.
How mild her eye!—Thus beams the morning light—
But all the goddess-form swells full upon my sight!
“Be thine,” she said, and gaz'd upon the flowers,
With looks which wisdom mixt with love express'd,
“With many a dazzling scene thy mind to feast;
“To follow fiction through her magic bowers;
“To trip with Fancy in her airy dance,
“With tiptoe revelries, and wild surprise;
“To mark each pageant in its proud advance
“From shadowy deeps, and visionary skies:
“Sweet are the haunts, wherever genius roves,
“Through fields of vision'd bliss, or academic groves.
With looks which wisdom mixt with love express'd,
“With many a dazzling scene thy mind to feast;
“To follow fiction through her magic bowers;
“To trip with Fancy in her airy dance,
“With tiptoe revelries, and wild surprise;
“To mark each pageant in its proud advance
“From shadowy deeps, and visionary skies:
“Sweet are the haunts, wherever genius roves,
“Through fields of vision'd bliss, or academic groves.
21
“Sooth'd into softness by the melting song,
“Charm'd into reverence by the mighty theme,
“Be thine to kindle at each muse's dream,
“To hail with reverence all the tuneful throng.
“Theirs be the praise—nor slender be the praise—
“To make new worlds—to burst the bounds of time—
“Their stately monument of fame to raise—
“And on the heart to bind the mystic rhyme—
“Bold their design, each daring charm to seize,
“And rouse to wonder, where they mean to please.
“Charm'd into reverence by the mighty theme,
“Be thine to kindle at each muse's dream,
“To hail with reverence all the tuneful throng.
“Theirs be the praise—nor slender be the praise—
“To make new worlds—to burst the bounds of time—
“Their stately monument of fame to raise—
“And on the heart to bind the mystic rhyme—
“Bold their design, each daring charm to seize,
“And rouse to wonder, where they mean to please.
“Thine be the warblings of the peaceful lyre,
“Peaceful, but not inglorious; thine to sing,
“The morning's glittering eye—the virgin spring—
“—The power of beauty—freedom's holy fire;
“To guide the youthful poet on his way;
“—To rouse the virtues—soothe the soul of pain.”—
Enough—if Genius may but feel the lay;
Enough, if friendship but approve the strain:
And if, for life's short day-dream soon shall fly,
The muse may charm a pang, or check a rising sigh.
“Peaceful, but not inglorious; thine to sing,
“The morning's glittering eye—the virgin spring—
“—The power of beauty—freedom's holy fire;
“To guide the youthful poet on his way;
“—To rouse the virtues—soothe the soul of pain.”—
Enough—if Genius may but feel the lay;
Enough, if friendship but approve the strain:
And if, for life's short day-dream soon shall fly,
The muse may charm a pang, or check a rising sigh.
22
ODE III. ON REVISITING THE SCENES OF EARLIER LIFE.
TO WILLIAM FREND, A. M.
[The scenes lie in and near Cambridge.]
Frend, whom I met in earlier day,
Following, where science led the way;
And warmly hail'd, a generous name,
Glowing with Freedom's hallow'd flame;
What time by Granta's classic stream,
I tried some idle, fitful theme;
Or, as in Zion's sacred grove,
Where bards ecstatic wont to rove,
I wak'd, as friendship deign'd to call my lyre,
And felt, or seem'd to feel, some prophet's holy fire.
Following, where science led the way;
And warmly hail'd, a generous name,
Glowing with Freedom's hallow'd flame;
24
I tried some idle, fitful theme;
Or, as in Zion's sacred grove,
Where bards ecstatic wont to rove,
I wak'd, as friendship deign'd to call my lyre,
And felt, or seem'd to feel, some prophet's holy fire.
We saw no Alps in grandeur climb;
Nor ocean rous'd to thought sublime;
No mountain-torrent roll'd around;
No rock gave out the mystic sound:
Yet clear was morning's trembling light,
Purpling the heav'ns with colours bright;
And lofty on his mid-day throne,
The sun in beauty glorious shone;
Even Gogmagog could smile, and sacred seem,
Tho' but with sedges crown'd, old Camus'ling'ring stream.
Nor ocean rous'd to thought sublime;
No mountain-torrent roll'd around;
No rock gave out the mystic sound:
Yet clear was morning's trembling light,
Purpling the heav'ns with colours bright;
And lofty on his mid-day throne,
The sun in beauty glorious shone;
Even Gogmagog could smile, and sacred seem,
Tho' but with sedges crown'd, old Camus'ling'ring stream.
You mark'd along th'æthereal plain,
When Hesper led the starry train;
How glitter'd in his southern sphere
Sirius; how shone the northern bear;
How mov'd the hosts round either pole;
By what sure rule the comets roll;
And by the moon's reflected ray
Mark'd out each planet's shining way;
With Newton all the heav'nly orbs would trace,
Point out their wondrous laws, and fix their certain place.
When Hesper led the starry train;
How glitter'd in his southern sphere
Sirius; how shone the northern bear;
How mov'd the hosts round either pole;
By what sure rule the comets roll;
And by the moon's reflected ray
Mark'd out each planet's shining way;
With Newton all the heav'nly orbs would trace,
Point out their wondrous laws, and fix their certain place.
25
For me, like fond enthusiast blest,
I worshipp'd earth: yet did my breast
Soon learn to burn with Milton's rage,
I look'd with pride on Nature's page:
“Minds should be free,” in scorn I cried;
“Who shall the boundless ocean guide?
“An honest mind, unaw'd by schools,
“Is to itself the best of rules.
“I may be poor, but free shall be my mind;
“For he who freedom knows, in that shall riches find.”
I worshipp'd earth: yet did my breast
Soon learn to burn with Milton's rage,
I look'd with pride on Nature's page:
“Minds should be free,” in scorn I cried;
“Who shall the boundless ocean guide?
“An honest mind, unaw'd by schools,
“Is to itself the best of rules.
“I may be poor, but free shall be my mind;
“For he who freedom knows, in that shall riches find.”
Yet mov'd one humble willow tree,
Which did not speak some charm to me?
I hail'd each swallow twittering by,
And blest the redbreast trilling nigh:
These simple fields to me were gay;
In these lorn groves I lov'd to stray;
And Cam, all silent, soft, and slow,
Suiting the scene, appear'd to flow:
Friendship's sweet magic thro' my bosom stole:
Hence towards these fields I felt with Cowley's softer soul.
Which did not speak some charm to me?
I hail'd each swallow twittering by,
And blest the redbreast trilling nigh:
These simple fields to me were gay;
In these lorn groves I lov'd to stray;
And Cam, all silent, soft, and slow,
Suiting the scene, appear'd to flow:
Friendship's sweet magic thro' my bosom stole:
Hence towards these fields I felt with Cowley's softer soul.
But now no more—Lo! time has sped;
And many a golden day-dream fled;
While backward, as my eyes I turn,
For friends who lov'd these fields I mourn;
For ah! as swift the rivers glide,
To lose themselves in ocean's tide;
And as the birds forget to sing,
And trees put off the dress of spring;
So have they left this transitory scene,
Tho' fond remembrance oft reminds us, they have been.
And many a golden day-dream fled;
While backward, as my eyes I turn,
For friends who lov'd these fields I mourn;
26
To lose themselves in ocean's tide;
And as the birds forget to sing,
And trees put off the dress of spring;
So have they left this transitory scene,
Tho' fond remembrance oft reminds us, they have been.
But rise some scenes of new delight!
Still let some vision daze my sight!
Yes—long as ought of life shall last,
Let some new day-dream chace the past:
And fire me, Freedom's ardent throng!
And fill my soul, enchanting song!
Still Friendship, love with me to rest,
And raise your altar in my breast!
But when the nobler virtues cease to fire,
Ah! then ye visions, close; each charm of life expire.
Still let some vision daze my sight!
Yes—long as ought of life shall last,
Let some new day-dream chace the past:
And fire me, Freedom's ardent throng!
And fill my soul, enchanting song!
Still Friendship, love with me to rest,
And raise your altar in my breast!
But when the nobler virtues cease to fire,
Ah! then ye visions, close; each charm of life expire.
27
ODE IV. ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
Meditated on the Banks of the Cam.
Lo! where the virgin spring is seen,
Dancing forth in bright array,
Blithe as an eastern bridal Queen,
To wed the Lord of Day.
And see! where rising nature homage yields,
And all her breathing incense pours along,
O'er dewy meads, and the wide open fields,
The stream's soft murmur, and the poet's song,
All, all, her smile attend; earth, water, sky,
All wake to thee, fair Spring, their sweetest minstrelsy.
Dancing forth in bright array,
Blithe as an eastern bridal Queen,
To wed the Lord of Day.
And see! where rising nature homage yields,
And all her breathing incense pours along,
O'er dewy meads, and the wide open fields,
The stream's soft murmur, and the poet's song,
All, all, her smile attend; earth, water, sky,
All wake to thee, fair Spring, their sweetest minstrelsy.
I, too, the genial spirit feel,
Ranging gay the meadows wide,
Or muse smooth numbers as I steal,
Fair Camus' banks beside.
Tho' on these banks no myrtle breathes perfume,
No rose unfolds its blushing beauties near,
Tho' here no gaudy tulip spreads its bloom,
Nor decks the towering lily the parterre:
Inclos'd within the garden's fair domain,
These all in sultan pride shall hold their flaunting reign.
Ranging gay the meadows wide,
Or muse smooth numbers as I steal,
Fair Camus' banks beside.
Tho' on these banks no myrtle breathes perfume,
No rose unfolds its blushing beauties near,
Tho' here no gaudy tulip spreads its bloom,
Nor decks the towering lily the parterre:
Inclos'd within the garden's fair domain,
These all in sultan pride shall hold their flaunting reign.
28
Yet wild-flowers o'er the pregnant scene,
Quicken'd by the touch of May,
Shall spring obedient to their queen,
In simple beauty gay.
To me the violet shall yield its sweet;
Its hue of gold to me the kingcup shew;
From primrose pale, like modest virtue neat,
From meek-eyed daisy shall instruction flow.
Yes, field-flower and the lowly willow-tree,
Crowning yon fav'rite bank—these shall have charms for me.
Quicken'd by the touch of May,
Shall spring obedient to their queen,
In simple beauty gay.
To me the violet shall yield its sweet;
Its hue of gold to me the kingcup shew;
From primrose pale, like modest virtue neat,
From meek-eyed daisy shall instruction flow.
Yes, field-flower and the lowly willow-tree,
Crowning yon fav'rite bank—these shall have charms for me.
What tho', at times, the drizzling shower
Spread a transient gloom around?
Soon shall burst forth the vernal power,
Amid the sweets of sound.
Upward shall spring the lark at early dawn,
And its clear matin carol thro' the sky,
The mellow blackbird hail the settled morn,
The linnet softly trill on hawthorn nigh:
The gloom shall vanish soon, and every spray
With wildest music ring, and all be holiday.
Spread a transient gloom around?
Soon shall burst forth the vernal power,
Amid the sweets of sound.
Upward shall spring the lark at early dawn,
And its clear matin carol thro' the sky,
The mellow blackbird hail the settled morn,
The linnet softly trill on hawthorn nigh:
The gloom shall vanish soon, and every spray
With wildest music ring, and all be holiday.
Even now the sunbeam glittering bright
Dances on the crisped stream;
The waters with a clearer light,
Now more pellucid gleam.
Nor does in vain the swan majestic sail,
Nor bee buzz roving near the flowery brink,
Nor the fish sportive down the current steal,
Nor the plum'd songster on the margin dank:
All, as tho' some great bounty did inspire,
Put on their happiest looks, and wear their best attire.
Dances on the crisped stream;
The waters with a clearer light,
Now more pellucid gleam.
Nor does in vain the swan majestic sail,
Nor bee buzz roving near the flowery brink,
29
Nor the plum'd songster on the margin dank:
All, as tho' some great bounty did inspire,
Put on their happiest looks, and wear their best attire.
For me, as here thy votary strays,
How past pleasures rise to view!
And thee, oh! Spring, I well may praise,
Where praise so well is due.
Sweet was thy gale in youth, when smil'd the hours;
How soothing soft, when sorrow heav'd my breast!
Thy morning gale could quicken fancy's powers;
And friendship ow'd to thee its sweetest zest.
So reign, oh! Spring, while memory shall last,
Pregnant with new delights, and redolent of past.
How past pleasures rise to view!
And thee, oh! Spring, I well may praise,
Where praise so well is due.
Sweet was thy gale in youth, when smil'd the hours;
How soothing soft, when sorrow heav'd my breast!
Thy morning gale could quicken fancy's powers;
And friendship ow'd to thee its sweetest zest.
So reign, oh! Spring, while memory shall last,
Pregnant with new delights, and redolent of past.
Yet I, who hail thy gentle reign,
Soon must leave thee, gentle Spring,
What time fate's high decrees ordain,
Or wills the Sovereign King.
Yes! all which charms at morn, of orient light,
And all which soothes of eve's soft-setting ray,
Thy gales, and songs, and rills, and flowers so bright,
All that can warm the heart, or gild the day;
All must be follow'd by funereal gloom,
And man, frail man, at length, sink silent to the tomb.
Soon must leave thee, gentle Spring,
What time fate's high decrees ordain,
Or wills the Sovereign King.
Yes! all which charms at morn, of orient light,
And all which soothes of eve's soft-setting ray,
Thy gales, and songs, and rills, and flowers so bright,
All that can warm the heart, or gild the day;
All must be follow'd by funereal gloom,
And man, frail man, at length, sink silent to the tomb.
But tho' I love thee, Spring so fair,
If there's one more fair above,
Where smiles the sun the live-long year,
And all is light and love;
There shall immortal gales breathe sweets around;
There rise seraphic songs, and golden flowers,
Cherish'd luxuriant on the laughing ground,
From heav'ns own dews, and pure ambrosial showers;
And happy beings rest, their conquests won,
Spring never cease to smile, nor time its course to run.
If there's one more fair above,
Where smiles the sun the live-long year,
And all is light and love;
30
There rise seraphic songs, and golden flowers,
Cherish'd luxuriant on the laughing ground,
From heav'ns own dews, and pure ambrosial showers;
And happy beings rest, their conquests won,
Spring never cease to smile, nor time its course to run.
ODE V. INDEPENDENCE.
Written on some public occasion.
Mark the sun that climbs on high,
Scattering round a golden ray!
It shines amidst the desert sky,
Unrivall'd ruler of the day.
So where Independence reigns,
Wide it spreads a living light,
And soon majestic heights it gains;
While slavery slinks away from sight.
Scattering round a golden ray!
It shines amidst the desert sky,
Unrivall'd ruler of the day.
So where Independence reigns,
Wide it spreads a living light,
And soon majestic heights it gains;
While slavery slinks away from sight.
What tho' sinks awhile the sun?
Long it gilds the western skies;
And soon again its course will run;
Again, with double splendor, rise.
Thus, a light in feeble times,
Independence here shall reign;
Or, soon, if circling distant climes,
With new-born glory rise again.
Long it gilds the western skies;
And soon again its course will run;
Again, with double splendor, rise.
31
Independence here shall reign;
Or, soon, if circling distant climes,
With new-born glory rise again.
What tho' Isr'el's tribes so long
Bow'd the knee at Baal's shrine?
A thousand thousand hearts were strong,
Nor durst from honour's course decline:
Well they knew the patriot's part,
Look'd with scorn on idol powers;
Their country's love inspir'd each heart;
And that sweet love shall glow in ours.
Bow'd the knee at Baal's shrine?
A thousand thousand hearts were strong,
Nor durst from honour's course decline:
Well they knew the patriot's part,
Look'd with scorn on idol powers;
Their country's love inspir'd each heart;
And that sweet love shall glow in ours.
What, tho' Grecians now no more
Shine a nation brave and free?
Yet some, while they the loss deplore,
Still love the song, of liberty.
They who have but heard of day,
Freedom's day, revolt at night;
And we—shall Britons basely stray
In darkness, born in glorious light?
Shine a nation brave and free?
Yet some, while they the loss deplore,
Still love the song, of liberty.
They who have but heard of day,
Freedom's day, revolt at night;
And we—shall Britons basely stray
In darkness, born in glorious light?
Did Columbia strive in vain?
Long in vain oppose our will?
No—great the fight, nor small the gain,
And Britons love Columbia still.
She for Independence bled,
Glorious death, and glorious prize!
Muse, patriots, muse on heroes dead,
And bid a proud ambition rise.
Long in vain oppose our will?
No—great the fight, nor small the gain,
And Britons love Columbia still.
She for Independence bled,
Glorious death, and glorious prize!
Muse, patriots, muse on heroes dead,
And bid a proud ambition rise.
32
Once to Rome did Albion bow?
Still some gallant souls retire,
And high from Cambria's mountain-brow,
In lofty scorn they struck the lyre:
Independence was their theme;
Freedom, purest, noblest cause!
And never may we lightly deem,
Of freedom's claims, of honour's laws!
Still some gallant souls retire,
And high from Cambria's mountain-brow,
In lofty scorn they struck the lyre:
Independence was their theme;
Freedom, purest, noblest cause!
And never may we lightly deem,
Of freedom's claims, of honour's laws!
No—by Alfred's generous name,
No—by Edward's warriors brave;
By lofty Hampden's love of fame,
And noble Sidney's sacred grave;
By those heroes' pains and wrongs,
Who have struggled, fought, and died;
Shall Independence rule our songs;
Shall only freedom be our guide.
No—by Edward's warriors brave;
By lofty Hampden's love of fame,
And noble Sidney's sacred grave;
By those heroes' pains and wrongs,
Who have struggled, fought, and died;
Shall Independence rule our songs;
Shall only freedom be our guide.
Is there who his rights betrays?
Whom not Independence charms?
For him may poet wreathe no lays,
Nor beauty hail him to her arms!
Gold, and state, and splendid name,
Meanly take, nor envy we;
No—yours be pow'r, and pomp, and shame,
And ours all-glorious liberty!
Whom not Independence charms?
For him may poet wreathe no lays,
Nor beauty hail him to her arms!
Gold, and state, and splendid name,
Meanly take, nor envy we;
No—yours be pow'r, and pomp, and shame,
And ours all-glorious liberty!
Whilst we view yon lamp of fire,
Whilst we feel its genial ray,
May freedom British hearts inspire,
May honour rule with sovereign sway!
Independence, reign supreme,
By thy more than charter'd plan!
And never may we Briton deem,
Who spurns the noblest right of man!
Whilst we feel its genial ray,
May freedom British hearts inspire,
May honour rule with sovereign sway!
33
By thy more than charter'd plan!
And never may we Briton deem,
Who spurns the noblest right of man!
ODE VI. TO JOHN HAMMOND, A. M. OF FENSTANTON, HUNTINGDONSHIRE.
[_]
Written in a garden where many improvements had been made, and designed to censure some moderns, in their extravagant imitations of the Greek and Roman Poets, who, however, themselves, cannot be too much admired.
Tho' still I love th'Æolian lyre,
Whose varying sounds beguil'd my youthful day;
And still, as fancy leads, I love to stray,
In fabled groves among th'Aonian choir;
Yet more 'mid native scenes, thro' milder skies,
Nature's mysterious harmonies delight;
There rests my heart; for let the sun but rise,
What is the moon's pale orb, that cheer'd the lonesome night?
Whose varying sounds beguil'd my youthful day;
And still, as fancy leads, I love to stray,
In fabled groves among th'Aonian choir;
Yet more 'mid native scenes, thro' milder skies,
Nature's mysterious harmonies delight;
There rests my heart; for let the sun but rise,
What is the moon's pale orb, that cheer'd the lonesome night?
34
I cannot quite leave classic ground,
Nor bid their labyrinths of song adieu;
Yet scenes to me more dear unfold to view,
And my ear drinks-in notes of clearer sound.
No lyre of Phœbus in my Hammond's bower,
No purple Venus song and love diffuse;
The king of gods here rains no golden shower;
Nor have these lips e'er sipt Castalian dews.
Nor bid their labyrinths of song adieu;
Yet scenes to me more dear unfold to view,
And my ear drinks-in notes of clearer sound.
No lyre of Phœbus in my Hammond's bower,
No purple Venus song and love diffuse;
The king of gods here rains no golden shower;
Nor have these lips e'er sipt Castalian dews.
Yet oh! bright rose, fair child of May,
Tho' Bacchus ne'er with thee his brow may wreathe;
Ye fragrant myrtles, tho' ye ne'er shall breathe
On the soft couch that wak'd to am'rous play;
Yet will I steal from you the richest sweet;
Yet shall your beauties wake no vulgar strain:
Each wild note shall some kindred feeling greet,
And not a gale that sighs, shall sigh to me in vain.
Tho' Bacchus ne'er with thee his brow may wreathe;
Ye fragrant myrtles, tho' ye ne'er shall breathe
On the soft couch that wak'd to am'rous play;
Yet will I steal from you the richest sweet;
Yet shall your beauties wake no vulgar strain:
Each wild note shall some kindred feeling greet,
And not a gale that sighs, shall sigh to me in vain.
Say, polish'd friend, each motley flower
That fable streaks, to daze our youthful sight,
Say, can they breathe so soft, or shine so bright,
As those which nature paints in sober hour?
And if, thy books exchang'd for rural ease,
You teach the garden in new grace to shine,
Ah! what may please, if this hath nought to please,
What, if beguiles not this, the studious hour beguile?
That fable streaks, to daze our youthful sight,
35
As those which nature paints in sober hour?
And if, thy books exchang'd for rural ease,
You teach the garden in new grace to shine,
Ah! what may please, if this hath nought to please,
What, if beguiles not this, the studious hour beguile?
Why should I envy Pindar's lyre,
Deep-ton'd and various? why the melting flow
Of Sappho, and Anacreon's feverish glow?
Or why the warrior-poet's nobler fire?
Or, should Albunea's sacred grove resound,
While headlong Anio roll'd his tide along,
Why Horace envy, tho' gods listen'd round,
To hear him strike the lyre, and wake the soul of song?
Deep-ton'd and various? why the melting flow
Of Sappho, and Anacreon's feverish glow?
Or why the warrior-poet's nobler fire?
Or, should Albunea's sacred grove resound,
While headlong Anio roll'd his tide along,
Why Horace envy, tho' gods listen'd round,
To hear him strike the lyre, and wake the soul of song?
Or why, where suns more fervid glow,
Where flowers like gems, and springs as crystal bright,
Where fruits like opals fire the ravish'd sight,
And silver streams o'er beds of amber flow,
Where to the rose the nightingale complains,
In love-notes tuneful from her myrtle grove,
Why envy Abi'lolas' loftier strains,
Or Cassem's splendid notes, or Hafez' song of love.
Where flowers like gems, and springs as crystal bright,
Where fruits like opals fire the ravish'd sight,
And silver streams o'er beds of amber flow,
36
In love-notes tuneful from her myrtle grove,
Why envy Abi'lolas' loftier strains,
Or Cassem's splendid notes, or Hafez' song of love.
Place me beneath the arctic skies,
Still verse and friendship shall inspire!
Still shall this bosom glow with genial fire!
Still nature's simple forms delight these eyes!
Nor shall my soul, tho' fate has fix'd my lot,
To temperate climes, not feel the rapt'rous muse;
Nor shall my verse, tho' humble, be forgot,
Breath'd in my Hammond's bower, beside the banks of Ouse.
Still verse and friendship shall inspire!
Still shall this bosom glow with genial fire!
Still nature's simple forms delight these eyes!
Nor shall my soul, tho' fate has fix'd my lot,
To temperate climes, not feel the rapt'rous muse;
Nor shall my verse, tho' humble, be forgot,
Breath'd in my Hammond's bower, beside the banks of Ouse.
37
ODE VII. THE RECONCILIATION.
TO A YOUNG LADY WHO HAD REASON TO BE OFFENDED WITH THE AUTHOR; INVITING HER INTO THE COUNTRY.
Narcissa, why that look severe?
Smiles best become the youthful face,
And kindest thoughts, and maiden grace,
And language gentle, and sincere.
And these, sweet girl, are all your own;
Why look then awkward in a frown?
Smiles best become the youthful face,
And kindest thoughts, and maiden grace,
And language gentle, and sincere.
And these, sweet girl, are all your own;
Why look then awkward in a frown?
See you where winter hastes away?
The melted snows no more are seen;
Lo! nature shews her robe of green;
The redbreast trills its cheerful lay;
And soon the snow-drop shall appear,
Fair herald of the rising year.
The melted snows no more are seen;
Lo! nature shews her robe of green;
The redbreast trills its cheerful lay;
And soon the snow-drop shall appear,
Fair herald of the rising year.
Cease then to frown, and haste along,
To rural scenes, and bring with thee,
The roguish look, the flirt, and glee,
Music, and dance, and sprightly song:
For only then do mortals live,
When pleasure they receive or give.
To rural scenes, and bring with thee,
The roguish look, the flirt, and glee,
Music, and dance, and sprightly song:
For only then do mortals live,
When pleasure they receive or give.
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Oh! come, and mark each early flower,
Come and together we will rove,
And in your favorite poplar grove,
Hear its first notes the blackbird pour;
Beside the fleecy ewes shall stray,
And new-fall'n lambkins frisk and play.
Come and together we will rove,
And in your favorite poplar grove,
Hear its first notes the blackbird pour;
Beside the fleecy ewes shall stray,
And new-fall'n lambkins frisk and play.
What tho' nor blooms the flowery thorn,
Nor silvery blossoms gem the trees,
Nor fragrant breathes the gentle breeze,
Nor gaudy flowers our walks adorn?
Yet like the morning's dawning light,
The year's first buddings shall delight.
Nor silvery blossoms gem the trees,
Nor fragrant breathes the gentle breeze,
Nor gaudy flowers our walks adorn?
Yet like the morning's dawning light,
The year's first buddings shall delight.
But should the snows again arise,
The heav'ns grow thick, and wild winds roar,
Our pleasures yield not to their power,
We will not heed the fickle skies:
At home we'll read, and dance, and sing,
And thus enjoy a constant spring.
The heav'ns grow thick, and wild winds roar,
Our pleasures yield not to their power,
We will not heed the fickle skies:
At home we'll read, and dance, and sing,
And thus enjoy a constant spring.
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ODE VIII. INVOCATION TO MAY.
ON A YOUNG COUPLE MARRIED ON MAY-DAY.
Let April go, capricious Thing,
With many a smile, yet many a frown;
Why should we call her child of spring?
Why deck her locks with flowery crown?
With many a smile, yet many a frown;
Why should we call her child of spring?
Why deck her locks with flowery crown?
Yes go inconstant as the wind,
And chilling midst her amorous play;
A nymph more constant I would find;
And therefore call on lovely May.
And chilling midst her amorous play;
A nymph more constant I would find;
And therefore call on lovely May.
Wake all thy flow'rs, and bid them wear,
Oh! queen of sweets, their brightest dyes;
Spread the full blossom of the year;
And let us view no fickle skies.
Oh! queen of sweets, their brightest dyes;
Spread the full blossom of the year;
And let us view no fickle skies.
And tell thy minstrel of the grove,
Her amorous descant to prolong;
Dear is this day to wedded love,
And I must have her softest song.
Her amorous descant to prolong;
Dear is this day to wedded love,
And I must have her softest song.
For lovers tried, O May so sweet,
Thou hear'st me claim these honours due,
Oh! then, this day as sacred treat,
And I will consecrate it too.
Thou hear'st me claim these honours due,
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And I will consecrate it too.
But shouldst e'en thou, oh! May, be found,
As thou, alas! art sometimes seen,
To strew thy blossoms on the ground,
With froward look and frolic mien;
As thou, alas! art sometimes seen,
To strew thy blossoms on the ground,
With froward look and frolic mien;
Yet spare, oh! spare, this genial day;
Let no rude blight disturb its bliss:
But, if thou must the wanton play,
Choose any other day than this.
Let no rude blight disturb its bliss:
But, if thou must the wanton play,
Choose any other day than this.
| Poetics | |