mis / Carter.

O fend her fure, her fteady Ray
To regulate my doubtful Way,

Thro' Life's perplexing Road:
The Mifts of Error to controul,
And thro' it's Gloom direct my Soul
To Happiness and Good.

Beneath her clear discerning Eye
The vifionary Shadows fly
Of Folly's painted Show:
She fees, thro' ev'ry fair Disguise,
That all, but Virtue's folid Joys,
Is Vanity and Woe.

Col

Collins.

Collins.

E. B. I. S. 425. Von seinen dreizehn Oden, die fast alle moralischen Inhalts sind, ist die auf die Leidens schaften, welche zur musikalischen Komposition bestimmt war, eine der schönsten und berühmtesten. Auch ohne Beis hülfe der Musik ist ihr Eindruck ungemein wirksam und lebhaft; und wenn der Dichter gleich nicht sein Sylbenmaaß nach dem Charakter der verschiednen hier geschilderten Leis denschaften abgeändert hat; so ist doch das Kolorit dieser Schilderungen nichts weniger als matt und einförmig. Man vergleiche z. B. die Gemåhlde der Verzweifelung und Hoffe nung, der Schwermuth und Heiterkeit, die in ihrer Art vorzüglich meisterhaft sind. Auffallend ist übrigens, was auch fein Freund Langhorne, bei der Herausgabe seiner Gedichte, bemerkte, daß keines von seinen Gedichten der Liebe ges widmet, oder daß er, wie L. es ausdrückt, einer von den wes nigen Poeten ist, die nach Delphi schifften, ohne die Insel Cythere zu berühren. Selbst in dieser Ode, worin man es am wenigsten erwarten durfte, übergieng er die Leidenschaft der Liebe.

When Mufick, heavenly Maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece fhe fung,
The Paffions oft', to hear her fhell,
Throng'd around her magick cell;
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
- Poffefs'd beyond the Mule's painting,
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd;
Till once, it is faid, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, wrapt, inspir'd,

Collins. From the fupporting myrtles round
They fnatch'd her inftruments of found;
And as they oft' had heard apart
Sweet leffons of her forceful art,
Each, for Madness rul'd the hour,
Would prove his own expreffive power.
First Fear his hand, its fkill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Ev'n at the found himself had made.
Next Anger rufh'd, his eyes on fire
In light'nings own'd his fecret ftings;
In one rude clash he ftruck the lyre,
And swept with hurry'd hand the ftrings.
With woeful meafures wan Despair
Low fullen founds his grief beguil'd;
A folemn, ftrange and mingled air!
'Twas fad by fits, by ftarts it was wild.

But Thou, o Hope! with eyes fo fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely fcenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the ftrain prolong,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Fcho ftill thro' all the fong;
And where her fweeteft theme fhe chofe,

A foft refponfive voice was heard at ev'ry close;
And Hope enchanted fmil'd, and wav'd her golden
hair.

And longer had fhe fung - but with a frown

Revenge impatient rofe;

He threw his blood - ftain'd fword in thunder down,

And with a withering look

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast fo loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetick founds fo full of woe;

And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat;

And tho' fometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity at his fide

Her

Her foul-fubduing voice apply'd,

Yet ftill he kept his wild unalter'd mien,

Collins.

While each ftrain'd ball of fight feem'd burfting

from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealoufy! to nought were fix'd;

Sad proof of thy distressful state;

Of diff'ring themes the veering fong was mix'd,
And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate.

With eyes up-rais'd, as one infpir'd,

Pale Melancholy fat retir'd,

And from her wild fequefter'd feat,

In notes by distance made more weet,

Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her penfive, foul,

And dafhing foft from rocks around

Bubbling runnels join'd the found;

Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure ftole,
Or o'er fome haunted ftreams with fond delay,
Round an holy calm diffufing,

Love of peace and lonely mufing,

In hollow murmurs dy'd away,

But o how alter'd was its iprightlier tone!

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthieft hue,
Her bow acrofs her fhoulders flung,

Her bufkins gemm'd with morning dew,

Blew an infpiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known;

The oak-crown'd fifters, and their chafte-ey'd queen,
Satyrs and Sylvan boys were seen

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown Exercife rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leapt up, and feiz'd his beechen fpear.
Laft came Joy's ecftatick trial:

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addreft,

But foon he faw the brifk-awakening viol,

Whole fweet entrancing voice he lov'd the beft.
They would have thought, who heard the ftrain,
They faw in Tempe's vale her native maids
Amidst the feftal founding fhades

To fome unweary'd minstrel dancing,

Collins.

While, as his flying fingers kifs'd the ftrings,.
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastick round;
Loofe were her treffes feen, her Zone unbound,
And he, amidst his frolick play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Mufick! sphere-defcended maid,
Friend of Pleafure, Wifdom's aid,
Why, Goddefs! why to us deny'd?
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre afide?
As in that lov'd Athenian bow'r
You learn'd an all-commanding pow'r,
Thy mimick foul, o Nymph endear'd!
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native fimple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art?
Arife, as in that elder time,
Warm, energick, chafte, fublime!
Thy wonders in that god-like age
Fill thy recording fifter's page -
'Tis faid, and I believe the tale,
Thy humbleft reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age;
Ev'n all at once together found
Caecilia's mingled world of found
O bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the juft defigns of Greece;
Return in all thy fimple ftate;
Confirm the tales her fons relate!

Thomas