Elegant Extracts

He might perhaps his country's friend have prov'd; Both happy, generous, candid, and belov'd; Hemight have fav'd fome worth now doom'd to fall; And I perchance, in him, have murder'd all.

O fate of late repentance, always vain! Thy remedies but lull undying pain. Where shall my hope find reft -No Mother's care Shielded my infant innocence with prayer: No father's guardian hand my youth maintain'd, Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice reftrain'd. Is it not thine to fnatch fome pow'rful arm, First to advance, then screen from future harm? Am I return'd from death, to live in pain? Or would Imperial Pity fave in vain ? Diftruft it not-what blame can mercy find, Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind? Mother mifcall'd, farewel!-of foul fevere, This fad reflection yet may force one tear : All I was wretched by, to you I ow'd; Alone from strangers ev'ry comfort flow'd!

Loft to the life you gave, your fon no more, And now adopted, who was doom'd before, New-born, I may a nobler Mother claim, But dare not whifper her immortal name; Supremely lovely, and ferenely great! Majestic Mother of a kneeling State ! QUEEN of a people's heart who ne'er before Agreed-yet now with one confent adore! One contest yet remains in this defire, Who most shall give applause, where all admire.

LONG a lov'd fair had blefs'd her confort's fight

With amorous pride, and undisturb'd delight;
Till Death, grown envious, with repugnant aim
Frown'd at their joys, and urg'd a tyrant's claim.
He fummons each difeafe !-the noxious crew,
Writhing in dire diftortions, ftrike his view!
From various plagues, which various natures
know,

Forth rushes beauty's fear'd and fervent foe.
Fierce to the fair the miffile mifchief flies,
The fanguine ftreams in raging ferments rife!
It drives, ignipotent, through every vein,
Hangs on the heart, and burns around the brain!
Now a chill damp the charmer's luftre dims!
Sad o'er her eyes the livid languor swims!
Her eyes, that with a glance could joy infpire,
Like fetting stars, fcarce fhoot a glimmering fire.
Here ftands her confort, fore with anguifh
prefs'd,

Grief in his eye, and terror in his breast.
The Paphian Graces, fmit with anxious care,
In filent forrow weep the waning fair.
Eight funs, fucceffive, roll their fire away,
And eight flow nights fee their deep fhades decay.
While thefe revolve, tho' mute each Mufe ap-

pears,

Each speaking eye drops eloquence in tears.

§ 146. Ode to Pity. COLLINS.
THOU, the friend of man affign'd,
With balmy hands his wounds to bind,
And charm his frantic woe:

When first Diftrefs, with dagger keen,
Broke forth to wafte his deftin'd fcene,
His wild unfated foe!

By Pella's Bard, a magic name,
By all the griefs his thought could frame,
Receive my humble rite:
Thy fky-worn robes of tenderest blue,
Long, Pity, let the nations view
And eyes of dewy light!

But wherefore need I wander wide
To old Iliffus' diftant fide,

Deferted stream, and mute?
Wild Arun too has heard thy ftrains,
And Echo, 'midft my native plains,

Been footh'd by Pity's lute.
There firft the wren thy myrtles fhed
On gentleft Otway's infant head;

To him thy cell was fhewn:
And while he fung the female heart,
With youth's foft notes unspoil'd by art,
Thy turtles mix'd their own.
Come, Pity, come, by fancy's aid,
Ev'n now my thoughts, relenting maid,
Thy temple's pride design:
Its fouthern fite, its truth complete
Shall raife a wild enthufiaft heat,

In all who view the fhrine.
There Picture's toil fhall well relate
How chance, or hard involving fate,

O'er mortal blifs prevail :
The bufkin'd Mufe fhall near her stand,
And fighing prompt her tender hand,
With each difaftrous tale.
There let me oft, retir'd by day,
In dreams of paffion melt away,

A river in Suffex,

Allow'd

Allow'd with thee to dwell: There waste the mournful lanp of night, Till, Virgin, thou again delight

To hear a British fhell!

COLLINS.

$147. Ode to Fear. THOU, to whom the world unknown With all its hadowy fhapes is shown ; Who fecft appall'd th' unreal scene, While Fancy lifts the veil between; Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear!

I fee, I fee thee near.

I know thy hurried ftep, thy haggard eye!
Like thee I ftart, like thee diforder'd fly;
For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear!
Danger, whofe limbs of giant mould
What mortal eye can fix'd behold?
Who ftalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidst the midnight storm,
Or throws him on the rigid fteep
Of fome loofe hanging rock to fleep;
And with him thoufand phantoms join'd,
Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind:
And those, the fiends, who near allied,
O'er nature's wounds and wrecks prefide;
While Vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare:
On whom that ravening brood of fate,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait;
Who, Fear, this ghaftly train can fee,
And look not madly wild, like thee?

EPODE.

In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice, The grief-full Mufe addrefs'd her infant tongue; The maids and matrons, on her awful voice,

Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung. Yet he, the Bard*who first invok'd thy name, Difdain'd in Marathon its pow'r to feel: For not alone he nurs'd the poet's flame,

But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's fteel.

But who is he, whom later garlands grace,

Who left awhile o'er Hybla's dews to rove, With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace, Where thou and furies fhar'd the baleful grove: Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' incestuous Queen + Sigh'd the fad call her fon and husband heard,

When once alone it broke the filent fcene,
And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd.
O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart,
Thy withering pow'r infpir'd each mournful

line;
Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part,
Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine.

ANTISTROPHE.

Thou, who fuch weary length haft paft, Where wilt thou reft, mad nyinph, at last ? Say, wilt thou throwd in haunted cell, Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell ? * Æfchylus.

Or in fome hollow'd feat,

'Gainft which the big waves beat,

Hear drowning feamen's cries in tempefts brought! Dark pow'r, with fhuddering meek fubmitted thought,

Be mine, to read the vifions old,
Which thy awakening bards have told.

And, left thou meet my blafted view,
Hold each ftrange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'eraw'd,
In that thrice-hallow'd eve abroad;
When ghofts, as cottage-maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave,
And goblins haunt from fire, or fen,
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!

O thou, whofe fpirit moft poffefs'd
The facred feat of Shakspeare's breast!
By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions fpoke!
Hither again thy fury deal,

Teach me br once like him to feel;
His cyprefs w.cath my meed decree;
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee!

COLLINS.

148. Ode to Simplicity.
THOU, by Nature taught,
To breathe her genuine thought,

In numbers warmly pure, and fweetly strong:
Who firft on mountains wild,

In Fancy, lovelieft child,

Thy babe, and Picafure's, nurs'd the pow'rs of fong!

Thou, who with hermit heart
Difdain'ft the wealth of art,

And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall:
But com'ft a decent maid,

In attic robe array'd,

O chafte, unboaftful nymph, to thee I call!
By all the honey'd store

On Hybla's thymy fhore,

By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear, By her whofe love-lorn woe,

In evening mufings flow,

Sooth'd fweetly fad Electra's poet's ear:
By old Cephifus deep,

Who fpread his wavy fweep

In warbled wand'rings round thy green retreat,
On whofe enamell'd fide,

No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet.
When holy Freedom died,

O fifter meek of Truth,

To my admiring youth
Thy fober aid and native charms infufe I

The flow'rs that sweetest breathe,
Though beauty cull'd the wreath,
Still afk thy hand to range their order'd hues,
While Rome could none efteem,

But virtue's patriot theme,

You lov'd her hills, and led her laureate band; But ftaid to fing alone

To one diftinguish'd throne,

And turn'd thy face, and filed her alter'd land.

No more, in hall or bow'r,
The pallions own thy pow'r,

Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean:
For thou haft left her thrine,
Nor olive more, nor vine,

Shall gain thy feet to blefs the fervile scene.

Though tafte, though genius blefs
To fome divine excefs,

And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn,
And all thy fubject life was born.
The dangerous paflions kept aloof,
Far from the fainted growing woof:
But near it fat ecftatic Wonder,
Listening the deep applauding thunder:
And Truth, in funny veft array'd,
By whofe the Tarfol's eyes were made;

Faint's the cold work till thou infpire the whole; All the fhadowy tribes of mind,
What each, what all fupply,

May court, may charm our eye,
Thou, only thou, canft raise the meeting foul!
Of these let others ask,
To aid fome mighty task,
I only feek to find thy temperate vale ;
Where oft my reed might found
To maids and thepherds round,
And all thy fons, O Nature, learn my tale.

It left unbleft her loath'd difhonour'd fide;
Happier hopeless fair, if never

Her baffled hand with vain endeavour
Had touch'd that fatal zone to her denied!
Young Fancy thus, to me divineft name,

To whom, prepar'd and bath'd in heaven,
The ceft of ampleft pow'r is given,
To few the godlike gift affigns,
To gird their bleft prophetic loins,
And gaze her vifions wild, and feel unmix'd her
flame.

The band, as fairy legends fay,
Was wove on that creating day
When he, who call'd with thought to birth
Yon tented sky, this laughing earth,
And drefs'd with springs, and forests tall,
And pour'd the main engirting all,
Long by the lov'd enthusiast woo'd,
Himfelf in fome diviner mood,
Retiring, fate with her alone,
And plac'd her on his fapphire throne,
The whiles, the vaulted fhrine around,
Scraphic wires were heard to found,
Now fublimeft triumph fwelling;
Now on love and mercy dwelling;
And the from out the veiling cloud
Breath'd her magic notes aloud :

In braided dance their murmurs join'd,
And all the bright uncounted pow'rs,
Who feed on heaven's ambrofial flow'rs.
Where is the Bard whofe foul can now
Its high prefuming hopes avow?
Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,
This hallow'd work for him defign'd?
High on fome cliff to heaven up-pil'd,
Of rude accefs, of profpe&t wild,
Where, tangled round the jealous steep,
Strange fhades o'erbrow the vallies deep,
And holy Genii guard the rock,

Its glooms embrown, its fprings unlock;
While on its rich ambitious head
An Eden, like his own, lies fpread.

I view that oak, the fancied glades among,
By which a Milton lay; his evening ear,
From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew,
Nigh fpher'd in heaven its native strains could
hear:

On which that ancient trump he reach'd was
hung:

Thither oft his glory greeting,

From Wailer's myrtle fhades retreating,
With many a vow from Hope's afpiring tongue,
My trembling feet his guiding steps purfue;
In vain-fuch blifs to one alone

Of all the fons of foul was known,
And Heaven and Fancy, kindred pow'rs,
Have now o'erturn'd th' infpiring bow'rs,
Or curtain'd clofe fuch fcene from every future
view.

Gentleft of fky-born forms, and beft ador'd:
Who oft with fongs, divine to hear.
Winn'ft from his fatal grafp the fpear,
And hid'ft in wreaths of flowers his bloodlefs
fword!

Thou who, amidst the deathful field,
By godlike chiefs alone behold,
Oft with thy bofom bare art found,
Pleading for him the youth who finks to ground:
See Mercy, fee, with pure and loaded hands,
Before thy fhrine my country's genius ftands,
And decks thy altar ftill, tho' pierc'd with many

a wound!

ANTISTROPHE.

When he whom ev'n our joys provoke,
The fiend of Nature, join'd his yoke,
And rush'd in wrath to make our ile his prey;
Thy form, from out thy fweet abode,
O'ertook him on his blafted road,

And ftopp'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away.
I fee recoil his fable steeds,

That bore him fwift to favage deeds;
Thy tender melting eyes they own:
O Maid, for all thy love to Britain fhewn,
Where Juftice bars her iron tow'r
To thee we build a rofcate bow'r,'

With many a rude repeated stroke,
And many a barbarous yell, to thousand frag-
ments broke.

EPODE.

Yet, ev'n where'er the leaft appear'd,
Th' admiring world thy hand rever'd;
Still, 'midft the scatter'd states around,
They faw, by what efcap'd the storm,
Some remnants of her ftrength were found;
How wondrous rofe her perfect form;
Each mighty mafter pour'd his foul;
How in the great, the labour'd whole,
For funny Florence, seat of art,
Beneath her vines preferv'd a part,
Till they whom fcience lov'd to name
(O who could fear it?) quench'd her flame.
And, lo, an humbler relic laid
In jealous Pifa's olive fhade!
See finall Marino joins the theme,
Though leaft, not laft in thy efteem.
Strike, louder ftrike, th' ennobling strings
To those whofe merchant fons were kings;
To him who, deck'd with pearly pride,
In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride:
Hail, port of glory, wealth, and pleasure,
Ne'er let me change this Lydian meafure:

Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and fhare ou Nor e'er her former pride relate
monarch's throne !

To fad Liguria's bleeding state.

Ah, no! more pleas'd thy haunts I feek
On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak
(Where when the favour'd of thy choice,
The daring cher, heard thy voice;
Forth from his eyrie rous'd in dread,
The ravening eagle northward fled):
Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
With those to whom thy ftork is dear;
Those whom the rod of Alva bruis'd;
Whofe crown a British queen refus'd!
The magic works, thou feel'ft the ftrains,
One holier name alone remains :

The perfect fpeli fhall then avail,
Hail, Nymph, ador'd by Britain, hail !

ANTIS TROPHE.

Beyond the measure vaft of thought,
The works the wizard Time has wrought,
The Gaul. 'tis held of antique ftory,
saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand †,
No fea between, nor cliff fublime and hoary,
He pafs'd with unwet feet through all our land,
To the blown Baltic then, they fay,
The wild waves found another way,
Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains round-
ing;

Till all the banded weft at once 'gan rife,

A wide wild ftorm ev'n Nature's felf confounding, Withering her giant fons with strange uncouth furprife,

*The Dutch; among whom there are very fevere penalties for those who are convicted of killing this bird. They are kept time in almost all their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the arms of which they make a part. The common people of Holland are faid to entertain a fuperftitious fentiment, that if the whole species of them fhould become extinct, they fhould lofe their liberties.

This tradition is mentioned by feveral of our old hiftorians. Some naturalifts too have endeavoured to fupport the probability of the fact, by arguments drawn from the correfpondent difpofition of the two oppofite .ft.do not remember that any poetical ufe has been hitherto made of it.

This pillar'd earth fo firm and wide,

By winds and inward labours torn, In thunders dread was pufh'd afide,

And down the fhouldering billows borne.
And fee, like gems, her laughing train,
The little ifles on every fide-

Mona ‡, once hid from those who search'd the main,
Where thousand elfin fhapes abide,
And Wight, who checks the westering tide-
For thee confenting heaven has each beftow'd,
A fair attendant on her fovereign pride:

To thee this bleft divorce fhe ow'd,

Now footh her, to her blifsful train
Blithe Concord's focial form to gain
Concord, whofe myrtle wand can steep
Ev'n Anger's blood-fhot eyes in fleep:
Before whose breathing bofom's balm
Rage drops his fteel, and ftorms grow calm;
Her let our fires and matrons hoar
Welcome to Britain's ravag'd fhore;
Our youths, enamour'd of the fair,
Play with the tangles of her hair;
Till, in one loud applauding found,
The nations fhout to her around-

For thou haft made her vales thy lov'd, thy laft O, how fupremely art thou bleft!

abode.

SECOND EPODE.

Then too, 'tis faid, an hoary pile,
'Midft the green navel of our isle,
Thy fhrine in fome religious wood,
O foul-enforcing Goddess, stood!
There oft the painted natives feet
Were wont thy form celeftial meet:
Though now with hopeless toil we trace
Time's backward rolls, to find its place;
Whether the fiery-treffed Dane,

Or Roman's felf o'er-turn'd the fane,
Or in what heaven-left age it fell,
'Twere hard for modern fong to tell.
Yet ftill, if truth those beams infufe,
Which guide at once and charm the Muse,
Beyond yon braided cloud that lie,
Paving the light embroider'd fky:
Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains,
The beauteous model ftill remains.
There happier than in islands bleft,
Or bowers by Spring or Hebe dreft,
The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,
In warlike weeds, retir'd in glory,
Here their conforted Druids fing
Their triumphs to th' immortal ftring.
How may the poet now unfold
What never tongue or numbers told?
How learn, delighted and amaz'd,
What hands unknown that fabric rais'd?
Ev'n now, before his favour'd eyes,
In Gothic pride it seems to rife!
Yet Grecia's graceful orders join,
Majeftic, through the mix'd defign;
The fecret builder knew to choose
Each sphere-found gem of richest hues:
Whate'er heaven's purer mould contains,
When nearer funs emblaze its veins;
There on the walls the Patriot's fight
May ever hang with fresh delight,
And grav'd with fome prophetic rage
Read Albion's fame through every age.
Ye forms divine, ye laureate band,
That near her inmoft altar ftand!

Thou, Lady, thou fhalt rule the west!

§ 153. Ode to a Lady, on the Death of Colonel Charles Rofs, in the Action at Fontenoy. Written in May 1745. COLLINS.

WHILE, loft to all his former mirth,

Britannia's genius bends to earth,

And mourns the fatal day;

While ftain'd with blood he ftrives to tear
Unfeemly from his fea-green hair

The wreaths of cheerful May;
The thoughts which mufing pity pays,
And fond remembrance loves to raise,
Your faithful hours attend:
Still Fancy, to herself unkind,
Awakes to grief the foften'd mind,
And points the bleeding friend.
By rapid Scheld's defcending wave,
His country's vows fhall blefs the grave
Where'er the youth is laid:
That facred fpot the village hind
With every fweeteft turf fhall bind,

And Peace protect the shade.

O'er him, whofe doom thy virtues grieve,
Aerial forms fhall fit at eve,

And bend the penfive head;
And, fallen to fave his injur'd land,
Imperial Honour's awful hand

Shall point his lonely bed!

The warlike dead of every age,
Who fill the fair recording page,

Shall leave the fainted rett;
And, half reclining on his fpcar,
Each wond'ring chief by turns appear,
To hail the blooming guest.

Old Edward's fons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Creffy's laurel'd field,

And gaze with fix'd delight:
Again for Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they fnatch the gleamy fteel,
And with th' avenging fight.

But, lo! where funk, in deep despair,
Her garments torn, her bofom bare,

There is a tradition in the Isle of Man, that a Mermaid becoming enamoured of a young man of ex traordinary beauty, took an opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked on the fhore, and opened her paffion to him, but was received with a coldness, occafioned by his horror and furprise at her appearance. This, however, was fo mifconftrued by the fea-lady, that, in revenge for his treatment of her, fhe puntfhed the whole island, by covering it with a mift, fo that all who attempted to carry on any commerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up and down the fea, or were on a fudden wrecked upon its cliffs. 3 C 2

Impatient

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Elegant Extracts: Or, Useful and Entertaining Pieces of Poetry, Selected for ...