Thou to Ullin's plains shalt go:
There shall rage the battle loud:
O'er the fall'n thy fame shall grow,
Like the gath'ring thunder-cloud.
There thy blood-stain'd sword shall gleam,
Till, around while danger roars,
Cloncath, the reflected beam,
Come from Moruth's sounding shores.
Somnia, quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris, &c.
REAMS, which, beneath the hov'ring shades of night, Sport with the ever-restless minds of men, Descend not from the gods. Each busy brain Creates its own. For when the chains of sleep Have bound the weary, and the lighten'd mind Unshackled plays, the actions of the light Become renew'd in darkness. Then the chief, Who shakes the world with war, who joys alone In blazing cities, and in wasted plains,
O'erthrown battalions sees, and dying kings,
And fields o'erflow'd with blood. The lawyer dreams
Of causes, of tribunals, judges, fees.
The trembling miser hides his ill-gain'd gold,
And oft with joy a buried treasure finds.
The eager hunter with his clam'rous dogs
Makes rocks and woods resound. The sailor brings
His vessel safe to port, or sees it whelm'd
Beneath the foaming waves. The anxious maid
Writes to her lover, or beholds him near.
The dog in dreams pursues the tim'rous hare.
The wretch, whom Fortune's iron hand has scourg'd,
Finds in his slumbers all his woes reviv'd.
PINDAR ON THE ECLIPSE OF THE SUN.
[Published in 1806.]
Ακτις αελιου πολυσκοπε, κτλ.
LL-ENLIGHT'NING, all-beholding,
All-transcending star of day!
Why, thy sacred orb enfolding,
Why does darkness veil thy ray?
On thy life-diffusing splendour
These portentous shades that rise,
Vain the strength of mortals render,
Vain the labours of the wise.
Late thy wheels, through ether burning,
Roll'd in unexampled light:
Mortals mourn thy change, returning |
In the sable garb of night.
Hear, oh Phoebus! we implore thee,
By Olympian Jove divine;
Phoebus! Thebans kneel before thee,
Still on Thebes propitious shine.
On thy darken'd course attending,
Dost thou signs of sorrow bring?
Shall the summer rains descending,
Blast the promise of the spring?
Or shall War, in evil season,
Spread unbounded ruin round?
Or the baleful hand of Treason
Our domestic joys confound?
By the bursting torrent's power,
Shall our rip'ning fields be lost?
Shall the air with snow-storms lower,
Or the soil be bound in frost?
Or shall ocean's waves stupendous,
Unresisted, unconfin'd,
Once again, with roar tremendous,
Hurl destruction on mankind?
TO A YOUNG LADY, NETTING.
HILE those bewitching hands combine,
With matchless grace, the silken line,
They also weave, with gentle art,
Those stronger nets that bind the heart.
But soon all earthly things decay:
That net in time must wear away:
E'en Beauty's silken meshes gay
No lasting hold can take :
But Beauty, Virtue, Sense, combin'd,
(And all these charms in thee are join'd)
Can throw that net upon the mind,
No human heart can e'er unbind,
No human pow'r can break.
Sed quò divitias hæc per tormenta coactas?
Cum furor haud dubius, cum sit manifesta phrenesis,
Ut locuples moriaris egenti vivere fato ?—Juv.
"A name'sh Levi Moshesh: I tink I vash born,
Dough I cannot exactly remember,
In Roshemary Lane, about tree in de morn,
Shome time in de mont of November.
Ma fader cried "clothesh," trough de shtreetsh ash he vent, Dough he now shleeping under de shtone ish,
He made by hish bargains two hundred per shent,
And dat vay he finger'd de monish.
Ma fader vash vise: very great vash hish shenshe:
De monish he alvaysh vash turning :
And early he taught me poundsh, shillingsh, and penshe; "For," shaysh he, "dat ish all dat'sh vorth learning.
Ash to Latin and Greek, 'tish all nonshenshe, I shay,"
Vhich occasion to shtudy dere none ish;
But shtick closhe to Cocker, for dat ish de vay,
To teach you to finger de monish."
To a shtock-broker den I apprentishe vash bound,
Who hish monish lov'd very shinsherely;
And, trough hish inshtructions, I very shoon found,
I ma bushinesh knew pretty clearly.
Shaysh he "cheat a little: 'tish no shuch great crime,
Provided it cleverly done ish :"
Sho I cleverly cheated him every time
I could manage to finger hish monish.
And den I shet up for a broker mashelf,
And Fortune hash shmil'd on ma laborsh;
I've minded de main-chanshe, and shcrap'd up de pelf,
And ruin'd von half of ma neighboursh.
If any von cash on goot bondsh vould obtain,
Very shoon ready for him de loan ish;
And about shent per shent ish de int'resht I gain,
And dat vay I finger de monish.
To part vit ma monish I alvaysh vash loth;
For ma table no daintiesh I dish up :
I dine on two eggsh, and I shup on de broth,
But I feasht vonsh a veek like a bishop!
Ev'ry Shaturday night, on a grishkin of pork
I regale bote mashelf and ma croneish;
And I play on de grishkin a goot knife and fork,
Dough dat runsh avay vit de monish!
To de presheptsh ma fader inshtill'd in ma mind
I have ever been conshtant and shteady :
To learning or pleasure I ne'er vash inclin'd,
For neider vould bring in de ready.
And into ma pocketsh de monish to bring
Ma perpetual shtudy alone ish,
For de monish indeed ish a very goot ting,
Oh, a very goot ting ish de monish!
OME, Polyhymnia, heav'nly maid!
Oh deign an humble bard to aid,
Whose heart in tenfold chains is laid,
In Cupid's cage:
To Anna's name I strike the string;
Thence all my pains and pleasures spring:
Yes, I aspire thy praise to sing,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
The lustre of thy soft blue eyes,
Thy lip that with the coral vies,
Might bid love's flames the breast surprise
Of stoic sage:
And cold indeed his heart must be,
Who could thy matchless features see,
And not at once exclaim with me,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
Wealth, pow'r, and splendour, I disown:
To them no real joys are known :
Thy unaffected charms alone
My heart engage:
Thou canst alone my bosom fire,
Thou canst alone my muse inspire,
To thee alone I tune the lyre,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
Against my passion's fond appeal
Should'st thou thy gentle bosom steel,
What pow'r the pangs I then should feel
Could e'er assuage?
To woods, to mountains would I fly;
Thy dear lov'd name unceasing sigh,
Till thousand echoes should reply:
Oh sweet Anne Page!
I cannot boast the art sublime,
Like some great poets of the time,
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