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A wiser founder, and a nohler plan, O sons of Alfred, were for you assign'd: llring to that hirthright hut an equal mind, And no suhlimer lot will Fate reserve for man.

ODE X.

TO THE Mt'SE.

Cji^en of my songs, harmonious maid. Ah why hast thou withdrawn thy aid? Ah why forsaken thus my hreast With inauspicious damps oppress'd? Where is the dread prophetic heat, With which my hosom wont to heat? Where all the hright mysterious dreams Of haunted groves and tuneful streams, That woo'd my genins to divinest themes }

Say, goddess, can the festal hoard,
Or young Olympia's form ador'd;
Say, can the pomp of promis'd fame
Eelume thy faint, thy dying flame?
Or have melodious airs the power
To give one free, poetic hour?
Or, from amid the Elysian train,
The soul of Milton shall I gain,
To win thee hack with some celestial strain?

0 powerful strain, O sacred soul!
His numhers every sense control:
And now again my hosom hurns;
The Muse, the Muse herself, returns.
Such on the hanks of Tyne, confess'd,

I hail'd the fair immortal guest,
When first she seal'd me for her own,
Made all her hlissful treasures known,

And hade me swear to follow her alone.

ODE XI.
ON LOVE.—TO A FRIEND.

No, foolish youth—to virtuous fame
If now thy early hopes he vow'd,

If true amhition's nohler flame

Command thy footsteps from the crowd,

Lean not to Love's enchanting snare;

His songs, his words, his looks heware,
Nor join his votaries, the young and fair.

By thought, hy dangers, and hy toils,
The wreath of just Renown is worn/
Nor will Amhition's awful spoils

The flowery pomp of Ease adorn:
But Love unhends the force of thought J
By Ixive unmanly fears are taught;
And Love's reward with gaudy Sloth is hought.

Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays,

And heard from many a zealous hreast,

The pleasing tale of Beauty's praise
In Wisdom's lofty language dress'd;

Of Beauty, powerful to impart

Each fmer sense, each comelier art, And soothe aud polish man's ungentle heart.

If then, f rom Love's deceit secure,
Thus far alone thy w ishes tend,
Go; see the white-wing'd evening hour

On Delia's vernal walk descend:
Go, while the golden light serene,
The grove, the lawn, the soften'd scene.
Becomes the presence of the rural queen.

Attend, while that harmonious tongue
Each hosom, each desire, commands:

Apollo's lute hy Hermes strung,

And touch'd hy chaste Minerva's hands,

Attend. I feel a force divine,

0 Delia, win my thoughts to thine; That half the colour of thy life is mine.

Yet, conscious of the dangerous charm,
Soon would I turn my steps away;

Nor oft provoke the lovely harm,
Nor lull my reason's watchful sway.

But thou, my friend—I hear thy sighs:

Alas! I read thy downcast eyes;
And thy tongue faulters; and thy colour flies.

So soon again to meet the fair?

So pensive all this ahsent hour? —O yet, unlucky youth, heware,

While yet to think is in thy power.
In vain with friendship's flattering name
Thy passion veils its inward shame;
Friendship the treacherous fuel of thy flame!

Once I rememher, new to Love,
And dreading his tyrannic chain,

I sought a gentle maid, to prove

What peaceful joys in friendship reign;
Whence we forsooth might safely stand,
And pitying view the love-sick hand,
And mock the winged hoy's malicious hand.

Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day.
To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd;

While I exulted to survey

One generous woman's real mind:

Tdl Friendship soon my languid hreast

Each night with unknown cares posm^'d, Dash' d my coy slumhers, or my dreams distressed.

Fool that I was!—And now, even now

While thus I preach the Stoic strain,
Unless I shun Olympia's view,
An hour unsays^t all again.
O friend!—when Love directs her eyes
To pierce w here every passion lies,
Where is the firm, the cautious, or the »ise?

ODE XII.

TO 9IR FRANCIS HENRY DRAKE, BART.

Bmni.D, the Balance in the sky

Swift on the wintry scale inclines; To earthy caves the Dryads fly,

And the hare pastures Pan resigns. Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread With recent soil the twice-mown mead,

Tainting the hloom which autumn knows: He whets the rusty coulter now, He hinds his oxen to the plough,

And wide his future harvest throws.

Kow, London's husy confines round,

By Kensington's imperial towers,
From Highgate's rough descent profound,

Essexian heaths, or Kentish howers,
Where'er I pass, I see approach
Some rural statesman's eager coach

Hurried hy senatorial cares:
Wher* rural nymphs (alike within,
Aspiring courtly praise to win)

Dchate their dress, reform their airs.

Say, what can now the country hoast,

0 Drake, thy footsteps to detain, When peevish winds and gloomy frost

The sunshine of the temper stain?
Say, are the priests of Devon grown
Friends to this tolerating throne,

Champions for George's legal right?
Have general freedom, equal law,
Wop to the glory of Nassau

Each hold Wessexian 'squire and knight?

I douht it much; and guess at least

ThaJ when the day, which made us free, Shall next return, that sacred feast

Thou hetter may'st ohserve with me.
With me the sulphurous treason old
A far inferior part shall hold

In that glad day's triumphal strain;
And generous William he rever'd,
Nor one untimely accent heard

Of James or his ignohle reign.

Then, while the Gascon's fragrant wine

With modest cups our joy supplies,
We'll truly thank the power divine

Who hade the chief, the patriot rise;
Rise from heroic ease (the spoil
Due, for his youth's Herculean toil,

From Belginm to her saviour son)
Rise with the same unconquer'd zeal
For our Britannia's injur'd weal,

Her laws defac'd, her shrines o'crthrown.

He came. The tyrant from our shore,

Like a forhidden demon, fled; And to eternal exile hore

Pontine rage and vassal dread. There sunk the mouldering Gothic reign: >"ew years came forth, a liheral train,

Call'd hy the people's great decree. That day, my friend, let hlessings crown: —Fill, to the demigod's renown

Fpim »horu thou hast that thou art free.

Then, Drake, (for wherefore should we part

The puhlic and the private weal?)
In vows to her who sways thy heart,

Fair health, glad fortune, w ill we deal.
Whether Aglaia's hlooming check,
Or the soft ornaments that speak

So eloquent in Daphne's smile,
Whether the piercing lights that fly
From the dark heaven of Myrto's eye,

Haply thy fancy then heguile.

For so it is. Thy stuhhorn hreast,
Though touch'd hy many a slighter wound,

Hath no full conquest yet confess'd,
Kor the one fatal charmer found.

While I, a true and loyal swain,
My fair Olympia's gentle reign

Through ail the varying seasons own.
Her genins still my hosom warms:
No other maid for me hath charms,

Or I have eyes for her alone.

ODE XIII.
ON LYRIC POETRT.'
I.

Once more I join the Thesp'an choir,
And taste the inspiring fount again:

0 parent of the Grecian lyre,
Admit me to thy powerful strain—

And lo! with ease my step invades
The pathless vale and opening shades,

Till now I spy her verdant seat:
And now at large I drink the sound,
While these her offspring, listening round.

By turns her melody repeat.

I see Anacreon smile and sing,

His silver tresses hreathe perfume;
His cheek displays a second spring

Of roses taught hy w ine to hloom.
Away, deceitful cares, away,
And let me listen to his lay;

Let me the wanton pomp enjoy,
While in smooth dance the light-wing'd hours
Lead round his lyre its patron powers,

Kind laughter and convivial joy.

Broke from the fetters of his native land,

Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords, . With louder impulse and a threatening hand The Leshian patriot' smiles the sounding chords: Ye wretches, ye perfidious train, Yc curs'd of gods and free-horn men,

Ye murderers of the laws, Though now ye glory in your lust, Though now ye tread the feehle neck in dust, Yet Time and righteous Jove will judge your dreadful cause.

II.

But lo, to Sappho's melting airs

Descends the radiant queen of love:
She smiles, and asks what fonder cares

Her suppliant's plaintive measures move:
Why is my faithful maid distress'd?
Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender hreast!

Say, flies he ?—Soon he shall pursue:
Shuns he thy gifts?—He soon shall give:
Slights he thy sorrows?—He shall grieve.

And soon to all thy wishes how.

Bat, O Melpomene, for whom

Awakes thy golden shell again? What mortal hreath shall e'er presume

To echo that unhounded strain?
Majestic in the frown of years,
Behold, the man of Thehes' appears:

For some there are, whose mighty frame
The hand of Jove at hirth endow 'd
With hopes that mock the gazing crowd;

As eagles drink the noon-tide flame,

'Aleams. 'Pindar.

While the dim raven hoats her weary wings, And clamours far helow.—Propitious Muse,

While I so late unlock thy purer springs, And hreathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse,

Wilt thou for Alhion's sons around

(Ne'er hadst thou audience more renown'd)
Thy charming arts employ,

As when the winds from shore to shore Through Greece thy lyre's persuasive language lxire,

Till towns and isles and seas return'd the vocal joy? IIT.

Yet then did Pleasure's lawless throng,

Oft rushing forth in loose attire, Thy virgin dance, thy graceful song,

Pollute with impious revels dire. O fair, O chaste, thy echoing shade May no foul discord here invade:

Nor let thy strings one accent move, Except what Earth's untrouhled ear 'Mid all her social trihes may hear,

And Heaven's unerring throne approve.

Queen of the lyre, in thy retreat

The fairest flowers of Pindus glow l The vine aspires to crown thy seat,

And myrtles round thy laurel grow:
Thy strings adapt their varied strain
To every pleasure, every pain,

Which mortal trihes were horn to prove;
And straight our passions rise or fall,
As at the wind's imperious call

The ocean swells, the hillows move.

When Midnight listens o'erthe slumhering Earth,

Let me, O Muse, thy solemn whispers hear: When Morning sends her fragrant hreezes forth, With airy murmurs touch my opening ear, And ever watchful at thy side, Let Wisdom's awful suffrage guide

The tenour of thy lay: To her of old hy Jove was given To judge the various deeds of Earth and Heaven; Twas thine hy gentle arts to win us to her sway.

IV.

Oft as, to well-earn'd ease resign'd,

I quit the maze where Science toils, Do thou refresh my yielding mind

With all thy gay, delusive spoils, But, O indulgent! come not nigh The husy steps, the jealous eye

Of wealthy Care or gainful Age; Whose harren souls thy joys disdain, And hold as foes to Reason's reign

Whome'er thy lovely works engage.

When Friendship and when letter'il Mirth

Haply partake my simple hoard,
Then let thy hlameless hand call forth

The music of the Teian chord.
Or if invok'd at softer hours,
O! seek with me the happy howers

That hear Olympia's gentle tongue;
To Beauty link'd with Virtue's train,
To Love devoid of jealous pain,

There let the Sapphic lute he strung.

But when from Envy and from Death to claim
A hero hleeding for his native land;

When to throw incense on the vestal flame
Of Liherty my genins gives command,

Nor Thehan voice nor Leshian lyre

From thee, O Muse! do I require;
While my presaging mind,
Conscious of powers she never knew,

Astonish'd grasps at things heyond her view.
Nor hy another's fate suhmits to he conim'd.

ODE XIV.
TO THE RON. CHARLES TOWNSHEND:
FROM THE COUNTRV.

Sav, Townshend, what can Loudon hoast
To pay thee for the pleasures lost,

The health to day resign'd;
When Spring from this her favourite scat
Bade Winter hasten his retreat,

And met the western wind?

Oh! knew'st thou how the halmy air,
The Sun, the azure heavens prepare

To heal thy languid frame;
No more would noisy courts engage,
In vain would lying Faction's rage

Thy sacred leisure claim.

Oft I look'd forth, and oft admir'd;
Till with the studious volume tir'd

I sought the open day;
"And sure," I cry'd, "the rural gods
Expect me in their green ahodes,

And chide my tardy stay."

But, ah! in Tain my restless feet
Trae'd every silent shady seat

Which knew their forms of old:
Nor Naiad hy her fountain laid,
Nor Wood-nymph tripping through her glade,

Did now their rites unfold:

Whether to nurse some infant oak
They turn the slowly-tinkling hrook,

And catch the pearly showers,
Or hrush the mildew from the woods,
Or paint with noon-tide heams the huds,

Or hreathe on opening flowers.

Such rites, which they with Spring renew,
The eyes of Care can never view;

And care hath long heen mine:
And hence offended with their guest,
Since grief of love my soul oppress'd,

They hide their toils divine.

But soon shall thy enlivening tongue
This heart, hy dear affliction wrung,

With nohle hope inspire:
Then will the sylvan powers again
Receive me in their genial train,

And listen to my lyre.

Beneath yon Dryad's lonely shade
A rustic altar shall he paid,

Of turf with laurel fram'd: And thou the inscription wilt approve; "This for the peace which, lost hy Love,

By Friendship was reclaim'd."

ODE XV.
TO THE EVENING STAR.

To Iocrt retir'd the queen of Heaven

With young Endymion strays:
And now to Hesper is it given
Awhile to rule the vacant sky,
Till she shall to her lamp supply
A stream of lighter rays.

0 Hesper! while the starry throng
With awe thy path surrounds,
Oh! listen to my suppliant song.
If haply now the vocal sphere
Can surfer thy delighted ear
To stoop to mortal sounds.

So may the hridegroom's genial strain

Thee still invoke to shine:
So may the hride's unmarried train
To Hymen chant their ttattering vow,
Still that his lucky torch may glow

With lustre pure as thine.

Far other vows roust I prefer

To thy indulgent power,
Alas! hut now I paid my tear
On fair Olympia's virgin tomh:
And lo! from thence, in quest I roam

Of Philomela's hower.

Propitions send thy golden ray,

Thou purest light ahove:
Let no false flame seduce to stray
Where gulf or steep lie hid for harm:
Bat lead where Musie's healing charm

May soothe afflicted love.

To them, hy many a grateful song

In happier seasons vow'd,
These lawns, Olympia's haunt, helong i
Oft hy yon silver stream we walk'd,
Or fix'd, while Philomela talk'd,

Beneath yon copses stood.

Nor seldom, where the heachen houghs

That roofless tower invade,
We come while her enchanting Muse
The radiant Moon ahove us held:
Till, hy a clamorous owl eompell'd,

She fled the solemn shade.

But hark! I hear her liquid tone.

Now, Hesper, guide my feet Down the red marie with moss o'ergrown, Through yon wild thicket next the plain, Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane

Which leads to her retreat.

See the green space: on either hand

Enlarg'd it spreads around:
See, in the midst she takes her stand,
Where one old oak his awful shade
Extends o'er half the. level mead,

Enclos'd in woods profound.

Hark! how through many a melting note

She now prolongs her lays:
How sweetly down the void they float!
The hreeze their magic path attends:
The stars shine out: the forest hends:

The wakeful heifers gaze.

Whoe'er thou art, whom chance may hring

To this sequester'd spot,
If then the plaintive syren 6ing,
Oh! softly tread heneat h her hower.
And think of Heaven's disposing power,

Of man's uncertain lot.

Oh! think, o'er all this mortal stage,

What mournful scenes arise:
What ruin waits on kingly rage:
How often Virtue dwells with Woe:
How many griefs from knowledge flow:

How swiftly pleasure flies.

O sacred hird, let me at eve,

Thus wandering all alone,
Thy tender counsel oft receive,
Bear witness to thy pensive airs,
And pity Nature's common carcs

Till I forget my own.

ODE XVI.
TO CALEB HARDING E, M. D.

With sordid floods the wintry urni

Hath stain'd fair Richmond's level green: Her naked hill the Dryads mourn,

No longer a poetic scene.
No longer there thy raptur'd eye
The heauteous forms of earth or sky
Surveys as in their author's mind:
And London shelters from the year
Those whom thy social hours to share
The Attic Muse design'd.

From Hampstead's airy summit me,
Her guest, the city shall hehold,

What day the people's stem decree
To unhelieving kings is told.

When common men (the dread of Fame)

Adjudg'd as one of evil name,

Before the Sun, the anointed head.

Then seek thou too the pious town,

With no unworthy cares to crown
That evening's awful shade.

Deem not I call thee to deplore

The sacred martyr of the day, By fast and penitential lore

To purge our ancient guilt away. For this, on humhle faith I rest That still our advocate, the priest,

i Aquarins.

From heavenly wrath will save the land; Nor ask what rites our pardon Lain, Nor how his potent sounds restrain The thunderer's lifted hand.

No, Hardinge: peace to church and state

That evening, let the Muse give law: While I anew the theme relate

Which my first youth enamour'd saw. Then will I oft explore thy thought, What to reject which Locke hath taught,

What to pursue in Virgil's lay:
Till Hope ascends to loftiest things.
Nor envies demagogues or kings
Their frail and vulgar sway.

O! vers'd in all the human frame,
Lead thou where'er my lahour lies,

And English Fancy's eager flame
To Grecian purity chastise:

While hand in hand, at Wisdom's shrine,

Beauty with Truth I strive to join,

And grave assent with glad applause;

To paint the story of the soul,

And Plato's visions to control
By Verulamian ' laws.

ODE XVII.
ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY.

H.DCC.XI.VM.

Come then, tell me, sage divine,

Is it an offence to own
That our liosoms e'er incline

Toward immortal Glory's throne?
For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure,
Bourhon's might, Braganza's treasure,
So can Fancy's dream rejoice,
So conciliate Reason's choice,
As one approving word of her impartial voice.

If to spurn at nohle praise

Be the passport to thy Heaven, Follow thou those gloomy ways;

No such law to me was given, Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me Faring like my friends hefore me; Nor an holier place desire Than Timoleon's arms acquire, And Tully's curnle chair, and Milton's golden lyre.

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For, taught of Heaven, the sacred Nine
Persuasive numhers, forms divine,

To mortal sense impart:
They hot the soul with glory fire;
They nohlest counsels, holdest deeds inspire;
And high o'er Fortune's rage enthrone the fix^d heart.

Nor less prevailing is their charm

The vengeful Iiosom to disarm;

To melt the proud with human woe,

And prompt unwilling tears to flow.

Can wealth a power like this affurd?

Can Cromwell's arts, or Marlhorough's sword,

An equal empire claim? No, Hastings. Thou my words will own: Thy hreast the gifts of every Muse hath known; Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy nohle i

The Muse's awful art, And the hlest function of the poet's tongue, Ne'er shalt thou hlush to honour; to assert From all that scorned Vice or slavish Fear hath sung. Nor shall the hlandishment of Tuscan strings

Warhling at will in Pleasure's myrtle hower; Nor shall the servile no^es to Celtic kings

By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour,
Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign.
A different strain,
And other themes,
From her prophetic shades and hallon M streams,
(Thou well canst witness) meet the purged ear:
Such, as when Greece to her immortal shell
Rejoicing listen'd, godlike sounds to hear;

To hear the sweet instructress tell
(While men and heroes throng'd around)
How life its nohlest use may find,
How well for freedom be resign'd;
And how, hy Glory, Virtue shall he crown'd.

It

Such was the Chian father's strain
To many a kind domestic train,
Whose pious hearth and genial howl
Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's soul:
When, every hospitahle rite
With equal hounty to requite,

He struck his magic strings;
And pour'd spontaneous numhers forth,
And sciz'd their ears with tales of ancient worth.
And fil I'd their musing hearts with vast heroic things.

Now oft, where happy spirits dwell,
Where yet he tunes his charming shell,
Oft near him, with applauding hands,
The Genins of his country stands.
To listening gods he makes him known,
That man divine, hy whom were sown

The seeds of Grecian fame:
Who first the race with freedom fir'd;
From whom Lycurgus Sparta's sons inspir'd;
From whom Plat .van palms and Cyprian trophies
came.

O nohlest, happiest age! . When Aristides rul'd, and Cimon fought; When all the generous fruits of Homer's page Exulting Pindar saw to full perfection hrought. O Pindar, oft shalt thou he hail'd of me:

Not that Apollo fed thee from his shrine; Not that thy lips drank sweetness from the hee; Nor yet that, studious of thy notes divine,

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