Next Anger rush'd; his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woful measures wan Despair Low, sullen sounds his grief beguil'd; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! Still would her touch the strain prolong; 25 30 And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still, through all the song; 35 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had she sung;-but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: 40 He threw his blood-stain'd sword, in thunder, down; VARIATION. Ver. 30. The first edition has; What was thy delightful measure? But I have followed the more poetical reading of Langhorne and others. And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! 45 The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 50 While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; 54 And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, And, from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, 60 Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 65 Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 70 Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known! The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-ey'd Queen, Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear; 75 And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov❜d the best: They would have thought who heard the strain They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 80 85 Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round: 90 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. O Music! sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! 95 Why, goddess! why, to us denied, Can well recall what then it heard; Where is thy native simple heart, 100 105 AN EPISTLE, ADDRESSED TO SIR THOMAS HANMER, ON HIS EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE'S WORKS. SIR, 5 While, born to bring the Muse's happier days, VARIATIONS. Ver. 1. The poem originally opened thus; While, own'd by you, with smiles the Muse surveys Th' expected triumph of her sweetest lays: While, stretch'd at ease, she boasts your guardian aid, Secure, and happy in her sylvan shade: Excuse her fears, who scarce a verse bestows, In just remembrance of the debt she owes; With conscious, etc. 10 Ver. 9. Instead of this passage, the original edition has the following lines: Long slighted Fancy with a mother's care Wept o'er his works, and felt the last despair : Torn from her head, she saw the roses fall, By all deserted, though admir'd by all: |