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In buskin'd" measures move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice,” as of the cherub-choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear;
"And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious man, think'st thou, yon sanguine cloud,
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me; with joy I see
The different doom our Fates assign.
Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care,
To triumph, and to die, are mine.’
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height,
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.
“HEN CE, avaunt, ('tis holy ground)
Comus and his midnight-crew,
And Ignorance with looks profound,
And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,
Mad Sedition's cry profane,
Servitude that hugs her chain,
Nor in these consecrated bowers
Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in flowers.
Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain
Dare the Muse's walk to stain,
While bright-eyed Science watches round :
Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!”
• Shakspeare. p Milton q. The succession of poets after Milton's time. * This Ode was performed in the Senate-house at Cambridge, July 1, 1769, at the installation of his Grace Augustus-Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Grafton, chancellor of the University.
Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came ;
This the force of Eirin hiding,
+ Side by side as proudly riding,
On her shadow long and gay
Lochlin"ploughs the wat'ry way;
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war:
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.
Dauntless on his native sands
The dragon-son of Mona stands;
In glitt'ring arms and glory drest,
High he rears his ruby crest.
There the thund'ring strokes begin,
There the press, and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky shore
Echoing to the battle's roar.
.* *Check'd by the torrent tide of blood
Backward Meinai rolls his flood:
While, heap'd his master's feet around,
Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground.
Where his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thousand banners round him burn.
Where he points his purple spear,
Hasty, hasty Rout is there,
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to stop, and shame to fly.
There Confusion, Terror's child,
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild,
Agony, that pants for breath, f
Despair and honourable Death.
r ODE XI.
THE DEATH OF HO EL.
, , , from the welch."
Had I but the torrents might,
With headlong rage and wild affright
Upon Deira's squadrons hurl’d,
To rush, and sweep them from the world!
Too, too secure in youthful pride
By them my friend, my Hoel, died,
Great Cian's son: of Madoc old
He ask’d no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd,
He ask'd, and had the lovely maid.
To Cattraeth's vale in glitt'ring row,
Twice two hundred warriors go;
Every warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link:
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar, that the bees produce,
Or the grape's extatic juice.
Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn: , ,
But none from Cattraeth's vale return,
Save Aéron brave, and Conan strong,
(Bursting through the bloody throng) ,
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep, and sing their fall.
ON THE DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST.
In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
And redd'ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire:
The birds in vain their amorous descant join;
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire:
These ears, alas! for other notes repine,
A different object do these eyes require.
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.
Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men:
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear: .
To warm their little loves the birds complain:
I fruitless mourn to him, that cannot hear,
And weep the more, because I weep in vain.
In agony, in death resign'd
She felt the wound she left behind.
Her infant image, here below,
Sits smiling on a father's woe:
Whom what awaits, while yet he strays
Along the lonely vale of days?
A pang, to secret sorrow dear;
A sigh; an unavailing tear;
Till Time shall ev'ry grief remove,
With life, with memory, and with love.
ON SIR WILLIAM WILLIAMS.
HERE, foremost in the dangerous paths of fame,
Young Williams fought for England's fair renown;
His mind each muse, each grace adorned his frame,
Nor Envy dar'd to view him with a frown.
At Aix his voluntary sword he drew,
There first in blood his infant honour seal’d;
From fortune, pleasure, science, love he flew,
And scorned repose when Britain took the field.
With eyes of flame, and cool undaunted breast
Victor he stood on Bellisle's rocky steeps—
Ah! gallant youth ! this marble tells the rest,
Where melancholy Friendship bends, and weeps.