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or Lyric The proffer'd joy I ne'er refuse ;
Thy breath to Eliza's no fragrance hath in't,
Of Lyric l'oetry. "Tis oft-times troublesome to chuse.
And but dull is thy bloom to her cheek's blushing tint. Poetry.
Yet, alas ! my fair flow'r, that bloom will decay,
Tho' plack'd by her hand, to whose touch we must own,
Harsh and rough is the cygnet's most delicate down :"
Thou too, snowy hand; nay, I mean not to preach ;
But the rose, lovely moralist, suffer to teach.
“ Extol not, fair maiden, thy beauties o'er mine;
They too are short-liv'd, and they too must decline ;
And small, in conclusion, the diff'rence appears,
In the bloom of few days, or the bloom of few years !
But remember a virtue the rose bath to boast,
We come now to those odes of the more florid and Odes more
figurative kind, of which we have many in our language forid and In some soft dream, with all her charms, The nymph belov'd should then surprise,
that deserve particular commendation. Mr Warton's figurative.
Ode to Fancy has been justly admired by the best judges;
for though it has a distant resemblance of Milton's
l'Allegro and Il Penseroso, yet the work is original; the
thoughts are mostly new and various, and the language
and numbers elegant, expressive, and harmonious.
O parent of each lovely muse,
Thy spirit o'er my soul diffuse !
To offer at thy turf-built shrine the elegant tenderness of Sappho.
In golden cups no costly wine,
No murder'd fatling of the flock,
But flow’rs and honey from the rock.
O nymph, with loosely flowing hair,
With buskin'd leg, and bosom bare ;
Thy waist with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd;
Waving in thy snowy hand
An all-commanding magic wand,
Of pow'r to bid fresh gardens blow
'Mid cheerless Lapland's barren snow:
Whose rapid wings tby flight convey,
Through air, and over earth and sea ;
While the vast various landscape lies
Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes.
O lover of the desert, hail !
Say, in what deep and pathles vale,
Or on what hoary mountain's side,
'Midst falls of water, you reside; There is much of the softness of Sappho, and the
Midst broken rocks, a rugged scene, sweetness of Anacreon and Prior, in the following ode,
With green and grassy dales between ; which is ascribed to the unfortunate Dr Dodd; and
'Midst forests dark of aged oak, was written in compliment to a lady, who, being sick,
Ne’er echoing with the woodman's stroke; had sent the author a moss rose-bud, instead of making
Where never human art appear'd, his family a visit. This piece is particularly to be
Nor ev'n one straw-roof'd cott was rear'd; esteemed for the just and striking moral with which it
Where Nature seems to sit alone,
Majestic on a craggy throne.
Tell me the path, sweet wand'rer! tell,
To tliy unknown sequester'd cell,
Where woodbines cluster round the door,
Where shells and moss o’erlay the floor,
Amid whose thickly-woven bouglas
Some nightingale still builds her nest,
Each ev’ning warbling thee to rest.
Wrapt in some wild poetic dream ;
In converse while methinks I rove
When young ey'd Spring profusely throws
Or Lyric With Spenser through a fairy grove ;
From her green lap the pink and rose ;
When the soft turtle of the dale
To Summer tells her tender tale ;
When Autumn cooling caverns seeks,
And stains with wine his jolly cheeks ;
When Winter, like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his silver beard with cold;
At ev'ry season let my ear
Thy solemn whispers, Fancy, bear.
O warm enthusiastic maid !
Without thy powerful, vital aid,
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a soul to ev'ry line,
Neer may I strive with lips profane,
To utter an unballow'd strain ;
Nor dare to touch the sacred string,
Save when with smiles thou bid'st me sing.
O hear our pray’r, 0 hither come
From thy lamented Shakespeare's tomb,
On which thou lov'st to sit at eve,
Musing o'er thy darling's grave.
0 queen of numbers, once again
Animate some chosen swain,
Who, fill'd with unexhausted fire,
May boldly smite the sounding lyre ;
Who with some new, unequall'd song,
May rise above the rhyming throng:
O'er all our list’ning passions reign,
O’erwhelm our souls with joy and pain ;
With terror shake, with pity move,
Rouze with revenge, or melt with love.
O deign t'attend bis evening walk,
With him in groves and grottoes talk ;
Teach him to scorn, with frigid art,
Feebly to touch th' enraptur'd heart;
Like lightning, let his mighty verse
The bosom's inmost foldings pierce ;
With native beauties win applause,
Beyond cold critics studied laws :
O let each muse's fame increase !
O bid Britannia rival Greece !
The following ode, written by Mr Smart on the 5th
of December (being the birth-day of a beautiful young
lady), is much to be admired for the variety and har-
mony of the numbers, as well as for the beauty of the
thoughts, and thie elegance and delicacy of the compli-
ment. It has great fire, and yet great sweetness, and is
the happy issue of genius and judgment united.
Ilail eldest of the monthly train,
Sire of the winter drear,
December! in whose iron reign
Expires the chequer'd year.
Hush all the blust'ring blasts that blow,
And proudly plum'd in silver snow,
Smile gladly on this blest of days ;
The livery'd clouds shall on thee wait,
And Phoebus shine in all his state
With more than summer rays.
Though jocund June may justly boast
Long days and happy honrs;
Though August be Pomona's host,
And May be crown’d with flow’rs :
Of Lyric Tell June his fire and crimson dies,
he seems to have had a psalm of David in his view, Of Lyric Poetry By Harriot's blush, and Harriot's eyes,
which says, that “the heavens declare the glory of God, Poetry. Eclips'd and vanquish’d, fade away;
and the firmament sheweth his handywork.”
The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame,
both picturesque and pathetic. To perceive all the beau- Does his Creator's pow'r display,
Soon as the ev’ning shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond'rous tale,
And nightly to the list'ning earth
Repeats the story of her birth:
While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll, of Æolus. That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What thio' in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ?
What tho' no real voice or sound
Amid their radiant orbs he found ?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
“ The band that made us is divine.”
The following pastoral hymn is a version of the 23d
Psalm by Mr Addison ; the peculiar beauties of which
have occasioned many translations ; but we have seen
none that is so poetical and perfect as this. And in mond And 'mid the varied landscape weep.
justice to Dr Boyce, we must observe, that the music church. But thou, who own'st that earthy bed,
he has adapted to it is so sweet and expressive, that we Ah! what will ev'ry dirge avail ?
know not which is to be most admired, the poet or the,
The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care ;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me
a watchful eye ;
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary wand'ring steps he lçads;
Where peaceful rivers soft and slow
Amid the verdant landscape flow.
Tho' in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy borrors overspread,
My stedfast heart shall fear no ill :
For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.
Tho' in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray, 128
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile : The hymn. Under this species of the ode, notice ought to be ta
The barren wilderness shall smile, ken of those written on divine subjects, and which are
With sudden greens and herbage crown'd; usually called hymns. Of these we have many in our
And streams shall murmur all around.
of Lyric frequent transitions and bold excursions with which they Smiles in the bud, and glistens in the flow'r of lyric Poetry. are enriched.
That crowns each vernal bow'r;
Or tells bis love in many a liquid note,
Till rocks and forests ring;
Or where the precious musk-deer playful rove;
Safe banks and verd'rous hills
Thy present influence fills :
Blue crystal vault, and elemental fires,
Hence! vanish from my sight
Delusive pictures ! unsubstantial shows ! This ode, or hymn, which some believe was composed My soul absorb’d one only Being knows, by Moses in Hebrew verse, is incomparably better than Of all perceptions one abundant source, any thing the heathen poets bave produced of the kind, Whence ev'ry object, ev'ry moment flows : and is by all good judges considered as a master-piece Suns hence derive their force, of ancient eloquence. The thoughts are noble and sub- Hence planets learn their course; lime: the style is magnificent and expressive: the figures But suns and fading worlds I view no more ; are bold and animated : the transitions and excursions God only I perceive; God only I adore (F). are sudden and frequent : but they are short, and the poet, having digressed for a moment, returns immedi- We come now to the Pindaric ode, which (if we ex- The Pinately to the great object that excited his wonder, and cept the hymns in the Old Testament, the psalms of daric ode, elevated bis soul with joy and gratitude. The images King David, and such hymns of the Hindoos as that fill the mind with their greatness, and strike the imagi- just quoted) is the most exalted part of lyric poetry; nation in a manner not to be expressed.
and was so called from Pindar, an ancient Greek poet, If there be any thing that in sublimity approaches to who is celebrated for the boldness of his flights, the imit, we must look for it in the east, where perhaps we petuosity of his style, and the seeming wildness and irshall find nothing superior to the following Hindoo regularity that runs through his compositions, and which hymn to Narrayna, or the spirit of God," taken, as are said to be the effect of the greatest art. See Pin · Sir William Jones informs us, from the writings of the DAR. ancient Bramins.
The odes of Pindar were held in such high estima
tion by the ancients, that it was fabled, in honour of Spirit of spirits, who, through every part
their sweetness, that the bees, while he was in the cradle,
brought boney to his lips : nor did the victors at the
reward for their merit, unless their achievements were
celebrated in Pindar's songs; most wisely presaging,
measure, or with the same intention with regard to their
being sung. For the ode inscribed to Diagoras (the Omniscient Spirit, whose all-ruling pow'r
concluding stanza of which we inserted at the beginning Bids from each sense bright emanations beam; of this section) is in heroic measure, and all the stanzas Glows in the rainbow, sparkles in the stream, are equal : there are others also, as Mr West observes,
(F) For the philosophy of this ode, which represents the Deity as the soul of the world, or rather as the only Being (the to sv of the Greeks), see METAPHYSICS, N° 269. and Philosophy, No 6.
Of Lurie made up of strophes aad antistrophes, without any epode; beauty, strength, courage, riches, and glory, resulting or Lyric Poetry and some composed of strophes only, of different lengths from his many victories in the games.
Lut lest he Poetry.
poet, I conclude he would have come off vic-
they sung in the middle, neither turning to one hand le not been restrained from engaging in those famous * Vid. Pref. nor the other. But Dr West's * friend is of opinion, lists by the too timid and cautious love of his parents. to Wesl so that the performers also danced one way while they were Upon which he falls into a moral reflection upon the Pindar. singing the strophe, and danced back as they sung the an- vanity of man's hopes and fears; by the former of which
tistrophe, till they came to the same place again, and then they are oftentimes excited to attempts beyond their
As the various measures of Pindar's odes bave been like to meet with, who both by father and mother was
more than the fields and trees are every year equally
fruitful; that the gods had not given mortals any cer-
tain tokens by which they might foreknow when the
Daughter of Rhea ! thou, whose holy fire
usual in all stagoras, Pindar turns himself in the next place to his And lo! with frequent of'rings, they adore solemn safather Arcesilas, whom he pronounces happy, as well Thee *, first invok'd in every solemn pray’r!
crifices and upon account of his son's merit and honour, as upon To thee unnux'd libations pour,
begin with his own great endowments and good fortune : such as And fill with od'rous fumes the fragrant air.
invoking Around Vesta.
* It was