I feel the gales that from ye blow As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen To chase the rolling circle's speed, While some on earnest business bent Their murmuring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy. Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, And lively cheer, of vigour born; Alas! regardless of their doom No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see, how all around them wait And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, To sieze their prey, the murderous band! Ah, tell them, they are men! These shall the fury Passions tear, And Shame that skulks behind; That inly gnaws the secret heart; And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' altered eye, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo! in the vale of years beneath The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring sinew strains, To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan ; The tender for another's pain, The unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, HYMN TO ADVERSITY. Daughter of Jove, relentless power, With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy sire to send on earth With patience many a year she bore: What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe VOL. III. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb arrayed, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, With leaden eye that loves the ground, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Not circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty: Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound, my heart. The generous spark extinct revive What others are to feel, and know myself a Man THE PROGRESS OF POESY. I. I. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings A thousand rills their mazy progress take : Now the rich stream of music winds along, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Headlong, impetuous, see it pour; The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roa 1. 2. Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye I. 3. Thee the voice, the dance, obey, Temper'd to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet-green The rosy-crowned Loves are scen |