From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one falfe ftep is ne'er retriev'd,
And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes,
And heedlefs hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glitters, gold.

Yet fee, how all around 'em wait
The minifters of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah, fhew them where in ambush stand,
To feize their prey, the murd'rous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!

These shall the fury paffions tear,

Her Henry's holy fhade;

And ye, that from the ftately brow

Of Windfor's heights th' expanfe below Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey,

GRAY.

Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flow'rs among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His filver-winding way.

Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!
Ah fields belov'd in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A ftranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from you blow
A momentary blifs bestow;

As waving fresh their glad fome wing,
My weary foul they feem to footh,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a fecond fpring.

Say, father Thames, for thou haft feen
Full many a fprightly race,
Difporting on thy margene green,
The paths of pleasure trace;
Who foremoft now delight to cleave,
With pliant arms, thy glaffy wave ?
The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny fucceed
To chafe the rolling circle's fpeed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While fome on earnest business bent
Their murmuring labours ply

'Gainft graver hours that bring constraint
To fweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers difdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare defcry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Lefs pleafing when poffeft;
The tear forgot as foon as shed,
The funshine of the breaft:
Theirs buxom health of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the eafy night,
The fpirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th'approach of morn..
Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!

No fenfe have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day :

Disdainful anger, pallid fear,
And fhame that skulks behind;
Or pining love fhall waste their youth,
Or jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the fecret heart;
And envy wan, and faded care,
Grim-vifag'd comfortless defpair,
And forrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this fhall tempt to rife;
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter fcorn a facrifice,
And grinning infamy.

The ftings of falfehood thofe fhall try,
And hard unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen remorfe with blood defil'd,
And moody madnefs laughing wild
Amid fevereft woe.

Lo! in the vale of years, beneath,
A grifly troop are feen,

The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their queen :

This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That ev'ry labouring finew strains,
Thofe in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo! poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming age.

To each his fuff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate?
Since forrow never comes too late,
And happiness too fwiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more-where ignorance is blifs,
'Tis folly to be wife.

§ 71. Ode to Adverfity. GRAY. DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,.

Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain;
And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone,
When first thy Sire to fend on earth
Virtue, his darling child, defign'd,
To thee he gave the heavenly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurse thy rigid lore
With patience many a year the bore;

What

When Latium had her lofty fpirit loft, [coaft. They fought, O Albion! next thy fea-encircled

III. 1.

Far from the fun and fummer gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon ftray'd,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntless child
Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smil'd.
This pencil take (fhe faid) whose colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine too thefe golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy;

Of horror that, and thrilling fears,

Or ope the facred fource of fympathetic tears.

III. 2.

Nor fecond he, that rode fublime

Upon the feraph-wings of ecftafy,

The fecrets of th' abyss to spy.

Revenge on thee in hoarfer murmurs breathe; Vocal no more, fmce Cambria's fatal day, [lay. To high-born Hoel's harp, or foft Llewellyn's I. 3. 'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,

That hufh'd the ftormy main:

The living throne, the fapphire blaze,

Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He faw; but, blafted with excefs of light,
Clos'd his eyes in endless night,

Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

Two courfers of ethereal race, [founding pace. With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long re

III. 3.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-eyed fancy, hov'ring o'er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But, ah! tis heard no more-

O lyre divine! what daring fpirit
Wakes thee now? tho' he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with fupreme dominion
Thro' the azure deep of air;

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms as glitter in the Mufe's ray,
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the fun:
Yet fhall he mount, and keep his diftant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, [Great!
Beneath the Good how far-but far above the

RUIN feize thee, ruthless king!

Confufion on thy banners wait!

'Tho' fann'd by conqueft's crimfon wing, They mock the air with idle ftate!

Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail,

Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, fhall avail To fave thy fecret foul from nightly fears, 'From Cambria's curfe, from Cambria's tears !' Such were the founds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild difmay, As down the fteep of Snowdon's fhaggy fide He wound with toilfome march his long array. Stout Glo'fter ftood aghaft in fpeechlefs trance! o arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance.

Το

'Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whofe magic fong

[head.

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd 'On dreary Arvon's fhore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghaftly pale; Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens fail: The famish'd eagle fcreams, and paffes by. Dear loft companions of my tuneful art, 'Dear, as the light that vifits thefe fad eyes, Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries'No more I weep. They do not sleep. 'On yonder cliffs, a grifly band,

I fee them fit: they linger yet,

Avengers of their native land:

With me in dreadful harmony they join, [line. And weave with bloody hands the tiffue of thy II. I.

"Weave the warp, and weave the woof, "The winding-fheet of Edward's race. "Give ample room, and verge enough "The characters of hell to trace. "Mark the year, and mark the night, "When Severn fhall re-echo with affright The fhrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that "Shrieks of an agonizing king! [ring; "She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, "That tear'ft the bowels of thy mangled mate, "From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs "The fcourge of Heaven. What terrors round "him wait!

"Amazement in his van with flight combin'd, "And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. II. 2.

"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, "Low on his funeral couch he lies! afford eye, "No pitying heart, no "A tear to grace his obfequies. "Is the fable warrior fled?

Thy fon is gone. He refts among the dead. "The fwarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born? "Gone to falute the rifing morn.

"Fair laughs the morn, and foft the zephyr blows, "While

E&

"Fill high the sparkling bowl, "The ich repast prepare,

"'Reft of a crown, he yet may fhare the feast: "Clofe by the regal chair

"Fell thirst and famine fcowl

"A baleful fmile upon their baffled gueft.
"Heard ye the din of battle bray,
"Lance to lance, and horfe to horse?

"Long years of havoc urge their deftin'd course, "And thro' the kindred fquadrons mow their "way.

"Ye tow'rs of Julius, London's lafting fhame, "With many a foul and midnight murder fed, "Revere his confort's faith, his father's fame, "And spare the meek ufurper's holy head. "Above, below, the rofe of fnow, "Twin'd with her blufhing foe, we spread; "The bristled boar in infant gore "Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

"Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accurfed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his

doom.

Girt with many a baron bold

• Sublime their ftarry fronts they rear;
And gorgeous dames, and ftatefmen old
In bearded majesty, appear.
In the midft a form divine!

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attemper'd fweet to virgin grace.

What itrings fymphonious tremble in the air! • What ftrains of vocal tranport round her play! Hear from the grave, great Talicffin, hear; They breathe a foul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and, foaring as the fings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd ⚫ wings.

་

III. 3.

Fierce War, and faithful Love, The verfe adorn again

And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction drefs'd. In bufkin'd measures move

Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,

With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice, as of the cherub-choir,

• Gales from blooming Eden bear;
And diftant warblings leffen on my ear,
That loft in long futurity expire. [cloud,
Fond impious man! think'ft thou yon fanguine
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of
Tc-morrow he repairs the golden flood, [day?
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
'Enough for me: with joy I fee

The diff'rent doom our fates affign.
Be thine Despair, and fceptred Care;
To triumph, and to die, are mine.' [height,
He fpoke; and, headlong from the mountain's
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.

$74. The Fatal Sifters. An Ode. GRAY. NOW the form begins to low'r

(Hafte, the loom of hell prepare);
Iron fleet of arrowy fhow'r
Hurtles in the darken'd air.
Glitt'ring lances are the loom
Where the dufky warp we ftrain,
Weaving many a foldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
See the grifly texture grow!
('Tis of human entrails made)
And the weights that play below,
Each a gafping warrior's head.
Shafts for fhuttles, dipt in gore,
Shoot the trembling cords along:
Sword, that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tiffue clofe and strong.
Mifta, black terrific maid,
Sangrida, and Hilda, fee!
Join the wayward work to aid:
'Tis the woof of victory.
Ere the ruddy fun be fet,
Pikes must fhiver, jav'lins fing,
Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet,
Hauberk crafh, and helmet ring.
(Weave the crimfon web of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the conflict fhare,
Where they triumph, where they die.
As the paths of fate we tread,
Wading thro' th' enfanguin'd field,
O'er the youthful king your fhield.
Gondula, and Geira, fpread
We the reins to flaughter give,
Ours to kill, and ours to fpare:
Spite of danger he fhall live.
(Weave the crimfon web of war.)

The

They, whom once the defart beach
Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample fway fhall ftretch
O'er the plenty of the plain.
Low the dauntless earl is laid,
Gor'd with many a gaping wound:
Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a king fhall bite the ground.
Long his lofs fhall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeness fee;
Long her strains in forrow steep,
Strains of immortality!
Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the fun.
Sifters, weave the web of death.
Sifters, ceafe: the work is done.
Hail the task, and hail the hands !
Songs of joy and triumph fing:
Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger king.
Mortal, thou that hear'ft the tale,
Learn the tenour of our fong.
Scotland, thro' each winding vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sifters, hence with fpurs of speed!
Each her thund'ring faulchion wield;
Each beftride her fable fteed.
Hurry, hurry, to the field!

§ 75. The Descent of Odin. An Ode. UPROSE the king of men with speed,

GRAY.

And faddled ftraight his coal-black steed:
Down the yawning steep he rode,
That leads to Hela's drear abode.
Him the dog of darkness fpied:
His fhaggy throat he open'd wide;
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,
Foam and human gore diftill'd.
Hoarfe he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin;
And long purfues, with fruitlefs yell,
The father of the powerful fpell.
Onward still his way he takes

(The groaning earth beneath him shakes),
Till full before his fearless eyes
The portals nine of hell arife.

Right against the eastern gate,
By the mofs-grown pile he fat,
Where long of yore to fleep was laid
The duft of the prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead;
Till from out the hollow ground.
Slowly breath'd a fullen found.

Long on these mould'ring bones have beat
The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat,
The drenching dews, and driving rain 1
Let me, let me fleep again.

Who is he, with voice unbleft,
That calls me from the bed of reft?
ODIN.

A traveller to thee unknown
Is he that calls, a warrior's fon.
Thou the deeds of light fhalt know;
Tell me what is done below,

For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread,
Dreft for whom yon golden bed?
PROPHETES S.

Mantling in the goblet fee
The pure bev'rage of the bees
O'er it hangs the fhield of gold:
'Tis the drink of Balder bold.
Balder's head to death is given.
Pain can reach the Sons of Heaven!
Unwilling I my lips unclose :
Leave me, leave me to repofe.
ODIN.

Once again my call obey;
Prophetefs, arife, and fay
What dangers Odin's child await,
Who the author of his fate.

PROPHETESS.

In Hoder's hand the hero's, doom;
His brother fends him to the tomb.

Now my weary lips I clofe:
Leave me, leave me to repose.
ODIN.

Prophetefs, my spell obey;
Once again arife, and fay
Who th' avenger of his guilt,
By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt?
PROPHETESS.

In the caverns of the Weft,
By Odin's fierce embrace compreft,
A wondrous boy fhall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er fhall comb his raven hair,
Nor wash his visage in the stream,
Nor fee the fun's departing beam,
Till he on Hoder's corfe fhall fmile
Flaming on the funeral pile.
Now my weary lips I clofe :
Leave me, leave me to repose.
ODIN.

Yet awhile my call obey;
Prophetefs, awake, and fay
What Virgins thefe, in fpeechlefs woe,
That bend to earth their folemn brow,
That their flaxen treffes tear,
And fnowy veils, that float in air.
Tell me whence their forrows rofe;
Then I leave thee to repofe.

PROPHETES S.

Ha! no traveller art thou,
King of Men, I know thee now !
Mightieft of a mighty line-

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