THOU, ODE TO PITY. the friend of man assign'd, With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe: Wild Arund too has heard thy strains, с Been sooth'd by Pity's lute. Euripides, of whom Aristotle pronounces, on a comparison of him with Sophocles, that he was the greater master of the tender passions, ἦν τραγικώτερος. [Καὶ ὁ Εὐριπίδης, εἰ καὶ τὰ ἄλλα μὴ εὖ οἰκονομεῖ, ἀλλα τραγικώτατός γε τῶν ποιητῶν paíveral. Aristot. de Poet. p. 44. ed. Tyrwhitt, 1794. D.] a The river Arun runs by the village in Sussex where Otway had his birth. There first the wren thy myrtles shed To him thy cell was shown; And while he sung the female heart, With youth's soft notes unspoil'd by art, Thy turtles mix'd their own. 20 There Picture's toils shall well relate, ODE TO FEAR. THOU, to whom the world unknown, I see, I see thee near. I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye! 5 10 15 And those, the fiends, who, near allied, Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee! 25 e Alluding to the Kúvac apvктove of Sophocles. See the Electra. E PODE. In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice, The grief-full Muse addrest 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, 30 Disdain'd in Marathon its power to feel: For not alone he nurs'd the poet's flame, But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's steel. But who is he whom later garlands grace, Who left a while o'er Hybla's dews to rove, 35 With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace, Where thou and furies shar'd the baleful grove g Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, th' incestuous & queen Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband hear'd, When once alone it broke the silent scene, 40 And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd. O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart: Thy withering power inspir'd each mournful line : Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part, f Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine! 45 h οὐδ ̓ ἔτ ̓ ὠρώρει βοή, Ην μὲν σιωπή φθέγμα δ ̓ ἐξαίφνης τινὸς θώϋξεν αὐτόν, ὥστε πάντας ὀρθίας Στῆσαι φόβω δείσαντας ἐξαίφνης τρίχας. See the dip. Colon. of Sophocles. ANTISTROPHE. Thou who such weary lengths hast past, Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell? 'Gainst which the big waves beat, 50 Hear drowning seamen's cries, in tempests brought? Dark power, with shuddering meek submitted thought, Be mine to read the visions old Which thy awakening bards have told : 55 And, lest thou meet my blasted view, 60 O thou whose spirit most possest The sacred seat of Shakspeare's breast! 65 By all that from thy prophet broke, In thy divine emotions spoke; Hither again thy fury deal, Teach me but once like him to feel: 70 |