ODIN.

No boding maid of skill divine Art thou, nor prophctefs of good, But mother of the giant-brood!

PROPHETESS.

Hie thee hence, and boaft at home That never fhall enquirer come To break my iron fleep again, Till Lok has burft his tenfold chain: Never, ull fubftantial Night Has re-affum'd her ancient right; Till wrapt in flames; in ruin hurl'd, Sinks the fabric of the world.

"Mad Sedition's cry profane,

"Servitude that hugs her chain; "Nor in thefe confecrated bow'rs

"Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent-train in
"flow'rs.

"Nor Envy bafe, nor creeping Gain,
"Dare the Mufe's walk to ftain,

"While bright-eyed Science watches round:
66 Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!"
From yonder realms of empyrean day
Burfts on my ear th' indignant lay:
There fit the fainted Sage, the Bard divine,
The few whom Genius gave to fhine
Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undifcover'd clime.
Rapt in celeftial transport they;
Yet hither oft a glance from high
GRAY. They fend of tender fympathy,

OWEN's praife demands my fong,

Owen fwift, and Owen strong; Faireft flow'r of Roderic's ftem, Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gema He nor heaps his brooded ftores, Nor on all profufely pours: Lord of ev'ry regal art, Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hofts of mighty name, Squadrons three against him came; This the force of Eirin hiding; Side by fide as proudly riding, On her fhadow long and gay Lochlin plows the wat'ry way; There the Norman fails afar Catch the winds, and join the war: Black and huge along they fweep, Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntlefs on his native fands The dragon-fon of Mona ftands; In glittring arms and glory dreft, High he rears his ruby creft. There the thund'ring ftrokes begin, There the prefs, and there the din; Talymalfra's rocky thore Echoing to the battle's roar. Where his glowing eye-balls turn, Thoufand banners round him burn: Where he points his purple fpear, Hafty, hafty Rout is there; Marking with indignant eye Fear to ftop, and fhame to fly. There Confufion, Terror's child; Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild; Agony, that pants for breath; Defpair, and honourable Death.

To blefs the place where on their op'ning foul
First the genuine ardour stole:

'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd shell;
And, as the choral warblings round him fwell,
Meek Newton's felf bends from his state sublime,
And nods his hoary head, and liftens to the rhyme.

"Ye brown o'er-arching groves, "That contemplation loves,

"Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! "Oft at the blush of dawn

"I trod your level lawn,

"Oft woo'd the glean of Cynthia filver-bright "In cloifters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, "With Freedom by my fide, and foft-eyed "Melancholy."

But, hark! the portals found, and pacing forth,
With folemn fteps and flow,

High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth,
And mitred Fathers, in long order go:
Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow
From haughty Gallia torn;

And fad Chatillon, on her bridal morn
That wept her bleeding love; and princely Clare;
And Anjou's heroine; and the paler Rofe,
The rival of her crown and of her woes;
And either Henry there,

The murder'd Saint, and the majeftic Lord
That broke the bonds of Rome

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human paffions now no more,
Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb).
All that on Granta's fruitful plain
Rich ftreams of regal bounty pour'd,
And bade thefe awful fanes and turrets rife,
To hail their Fitzroy's feftal morning come;
And thus they fpeak in foft accord
The liquid language of the fkies:
"What is grandeur? what is pow'r?
"Heavier toil, fuperior pain.
"What the bright reward we gain?
"The grateful memory of the Good
"Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r,
"The bee's collected treasures sweet;
"Sweet mufic's melting fall, but fweeter yet
"The ftill fmall voice of Gratitude."

Foremost,

Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud, The venerable Marg ret fee! "Welcome, my noble Son (fhe cries aloud), "To this thy kindred train, and me: "Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace "A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace. "Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye, "The flow'r unheeded fhall defcry, "And bid it round heaven's altars thed "The fragrance of its blushing head : "Shall raife from earth the latent gem "To glitter on the diadem.

Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band, "Not obvious, not obtrufive, fhe

"No vulgar praife, no venal incenfe flings;
"Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd
"Profane thy inborn royalty of mind:
"She reveres herfelf and thee.

"With modeft pride to grace thy youthful brow
"The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, fhe brings,
"And to thy juft, thy gentle hand
"Submits the fafces of her fway,

"While fpirits bleft above, and men below, "Join with glad voice the loud fymphonious lay. "Thro' the wild waves, as they roar, "With watchful eye and dauntless mien "Thy fteady courfe of honour keep, "Nor fear the rocks, nor feek the shore: "The Star of Brunfwick fmiles ferene, "And gilds the horrors of the deep."

$78. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE. OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,

And pray'd till I've been weary;
For once I'll try my wish to gain
Of Oberon the Fairy.
Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,
That lurk'ft in woods unfeen,
And oft by Cynthia's filver light
Tripp'ft gaily o'er the green;
If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,
As ancient ftories tell,

And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd

Thou fought'st a wondrous spell;

Oh deign once more t'exert thy pow'r!
Haply fome herb or tree,
Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r,
Conceals a balm for me,

I ask no kind return of love,

No tempting charm to please ;
Far from the heart thofe gifts remove
That fighs for peace and ease:

Nor peace nor eafe the heart can know,

Which, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But, turning, trembles too.

Far as diftrefs the foul can wound,
'Tis pain in each degree:
Tis blifs but to a certain bound;
Beyond, is agony.

Take then this treacherous fenfe of mine,
Which dooms me ftill to fmart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine,
To pains new pangs impart.

Oh hafte to fhed the facred balm!
My fhatter'd nerves new string;
And for my gueft, ferenely calm,
The nymph Indifference bring.
At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear,
See Expectation fly;
And Difappointment in the rear,
That blafts the promis'd joy.

The tear which pity taught to flow
The eye fhall then difown;
The heart that melts for others woe
Shall then scarce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then fhall clofe;
And tranquil days fhall ftill fucceed
To nights of calm repofe.

O fairy elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort fend;
And fo may never-fading plifs
Thy flow'ry paths attend!

So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light
Thy tiny footsteps lead

To fome new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread.

And be thy acorn goblet fill'd

With heaven's ambrofial dew;
From fweeteft, fresheft, flow'rs diftill'd,
That fhed fresh fweets for you.
And what of life remains for me
I'll pafs in fober cafe ;
Half-pleas'd, contented will I be,
Content but half to please.

§ 79. The Fairy's Answer to Mrs. Greville's Prayer for Indifference.

By the Countess of C.

WITHOUT preamble, to my friend
These hafty lines I'm bid to fend,
Or give, if I am able:

I dare not hesitate to fay,

Tho' I have trembled all the day

It looks fo like a fable.

Laft night's adventure is my, theme;
And fhould it ftrike you as a dream,
Yet foon its high import
Muft make you own the matter fuch,
So delicate, it were too much

To be compos'd in sport.

The moon did fhine ferenely bright,
And ev'ry ftar did deck the night,

While Zephyr fann'd the trees;
No more affail'd my mind's repofe,
Save that yon ftream, which murmuring flows,
Did echo to the breeze.

Enwrapt in folemn thoughts I fate,
Revolving o'er the turns of fate,

Ee 3

Yet

Yet void of hope or fear
When, lo! behold an airy throng,
With lightest steps, and jocund iong,
Surpris'd my eye and ear.

A form fuperior to the rest
His little voice to me addrefs'd,
And gently thus began:

"I've heard ftrange things from one of you, "Pray tell me if you think 'tis true;

66

Explain it if you can.

"Such incenfe has perfum'd my throne! "Such cloquence my heart has won !

"I think I guess the hand: "I know her wit and beauty too, "But why the fends a pray'r fo new "I cannot understand.

"To light fome flames, and fome revive, "To keep fome others just alive,

"Full oft I am implor'd;

"But, with peculiar pow'r to please, "To fupplicate for nought but ease! "'Tis odd, upon my word!

"Tell her, with fruitlefs care I've fought; "And tho' my realms, with wonders fraught, "In remedies abound, "No grain of cold Indifference "Was ever yet allied to fenfe

"In all my fairy round.

"The regions of the sky I'd trace,
"I'd raníack every earthly place,
"Each leaf, each herb, each flow'r,
"To mitigate the pangs of fear,
"Difpel the clouds of black despair,
"Or lull the reftlefs hour.

"I would be generous as I'm just;
"But I obey, as others muft,

"Thofe laws which fate has made. "My tiny kingdom how defend, "And what might be the horrid end, "Should man my state invade?

'Twould put your mind into a rage,
"And fuch unequal war to wage
"Suits not my regal duty!
"I dare not change a firft decrec :
"She's doom'd to pleafe, nor can be free;
"Such is the lot of Beauty !"

This faid, he darted o'er the plain,
And after follow'd all his train;
No glimpse of him I find:
But fure I am, the little fprite
These words, before he took his flight,
Imprinted on my mind.

Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty befpeak,
Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengthien'd years;
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.
Yon houfe, erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting afpect drew me from my road;
For Plenty there a refidence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door
To feek a fhelter in an humbler shed.

Oh take me to your hofpitable dome!
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor, and miferably old.
Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breaft,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be reprefs'd.
Heaven fends misfortunes; why fhould we re-

pine?

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you fee; And your condition may be foon like mine, The Child of Sorrow and of Mifery.

A little farm was my paternal lot,
Then like the lark I fprightly hail'd the morn;
But, ah! oppreffion forc'd me from my cot;
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with fad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchednefs and me.
Pity the forrows of a poor old man, [door,
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your
Whofe days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Oh give relief, and Heaven will blefs your ftore!

height,

The filver emprefs of the night appears! Yon limpid pool reflects a stream of light,

And faintly in its breaft the woodland bears.

The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed,

Solemn and conftant, from yon dell refound; The lonely hearths blaze o'er the distant glade; The bat, low-wheeling, fkims the dusky ground.

Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale,

The Gothic abbey rears its fculptur'd tow'rs ; Dull through the roofs refounds the whistling gale, Dark folitude among the pillars low'rs.

Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves, And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains, Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window

waves,

And, twining round, the hoary arch fuftains; There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,

Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his staff reclin'd,

Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken pray'r. High o'er the pines, that with their dark'ning fhade Surround yon craggy bank, the caftle rears Its crumbling turrets; ftill its tow'ry head

A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears. So, 'midft the fnow of age, a boastful air

Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare, Tho' trembling o'er the feeble crutch he bends. Wild round the gates the dufky wall-flow'rs creep, Where oft the knights the beauteous dames have led,

Gone is the bow'r, the grot a ruin'd heap,
Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments fpread.
'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight,
Great in their bloody arms, march'do'er the lea,
Eying their refcued fields with proud delight!
Now loft to them! and, ah! how chang'd

to me!

This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,

The dear idea of my Pollio bring; So fhone the moon thro' these foft nodding trees, When here we wander'd in the eves of fpring. When April's fmiles the flow'ry lawn adorn,

And modeft cowflips deck the streamlet's fide; When fragrant orchards to the roseate morn Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours dyed:

So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio wore,

Thefe were the emblems of his healthful mind; To him the letter'd page difplay'd its lore,

To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; Him with her pureft flames the Mufe endow'd, Flames never to th' illiberal thought allied: The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd

In all her charms; he faw, he felt, and died.

Big with the fcenes now paft, my h yheart o'erflows; Bids each endearment, fair as once, to rife, And dwells luxurious on her melting woes. Oft with the rifing fun, when life was new,

Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee; Oft by the moon have brufh'd the evening dew, When all was fearlefs innocence and glee. The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines, Has oft been confcious of thofe happy hours; But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines, And fainted well have loft their cheering pow'rs;

For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh where,

Where haft thou fled, and left me here behind? My tend'reft with, my heart to thee was bare;

Oh now cut off each paffage to my mind! How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void, The tracklefs fhores that never were repafs'd! Dread feparation! on the depth untried,

Hope faulters, and the foul recoils aghast! Wide round the fpacious heavens I caft my eyes: And fhall thefe ftars glow with immortal fire? Still fhine the lifelefs glories of the skies?

And could thy bright, thy living foul expire? Far be the thought! The pleafures moft fublime,

The glow of friendship, and the virtuous tear, The tow'ring with that fcorns the bounds of time,

Chill'd in this vale of death, but languish here. So plant the vine on Norway's wint'ry land,

The languid ftranger feebly buds, and dies: Yet there's a clime where Viitue fhall expand With godlike ftrength beneath her native

fkies!

Oh that fome kind, fome pitying kindred fhade,

Who now perhaps frequents this folemn grove, Would tell the awful fecrets of the dead,

And from my eyes the mortal film remove! Vain is the wifh-yet furely not in vain

Man's bofom glows with that celestial fire Which fcorns carth's luxuries, which fmiles at pain,

And wings his fpirit with fublime defire! To fan this fpark of heaven, this ray divine,

Still, O my foul! ftil be thy dear employ; Still thus to wander thro' the fhades be thine, And fwell thy breaft with vifionary joy! EC 4

So

So to the dark-brow'd wood, or facred mount,
In ancient days, the holy feers retir'd;
And, led in vifion, drank at Siloe's fount,
While rifing ecftafies their bofoms fir'd.
Reftor'd creation bright before them rofe,

The burning defarts fmil'd as Eden's plains: One friendly fhade the wolf and lambkin chofe; The flow'ry mountain fung, Meffiah reigns!' Tho' fainter raptures my cold breast inspire,

Yet let me oft frequent this folemn fcene; Oft to the abbey's fhatter'd walls retire, What time the moonshine dimly gleams between. There, where the crofs in hoary ruin nods,

And weeping yews o'erfhade the letter'd stones; While midnight filence wraps thefe drear abodes, And foothes me wandering o'er my kindred bones;

Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn,
When from the bursting graves the juft fhall rife,
All Nature fmiling; and, by angels borne,
Melliah's crofs far blazing o'er the skies!
82. The Tears of Scotland. SMOLLET.
MOURN, hapleís Caledonia, mourn

Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!
Thy fons, for valour long renown'd,
Lie flaughter'd on their native ground;
Thy hofpitable roofs no more
Invite the ftranger to the door;
In smoky ruins funk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.
The wretched owner fees, afar,
His all become the prey of war:
Bethinks him of his babes and wife;
Then fmites his breaft, and curfes life.
Thy fwains are famifh'd on the rocks,
Where once they fed their wanton flocks:
Thy ravish'd virgins thrick in vain;
Thy infants perith on the plain.
What boots it, then, in ev'ry clime,
Thro' the wide-fpreading wafte of time,
Thy martial glory; crown'd with praise,
Still fhone with undiminish'd blaze?
Thy tow'ring fpirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke :
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancour fell.
The rural pipe, and merry lay,
No more fhall cheer the happy day:
No focial scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night:
No ftrains but thofe of forrow flow,
And nought be heard but founds of woe;
While the pale phantoms of the flain
Glide nightly o'er the filent plain.
Oh baneful caufe, oh fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!
The fons against their fathers ftood;
The parent fhed his children's blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victor's foul was not appeas'd:
The naked and forlorn muft feel
Devouring flames, and murd'ring fteel!

The pious mother doom'd to death,
Forfaken, wanders o'er the heath;
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,
She views the thades of night defcend;
And, ftretch'd beneath th' inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.
Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns;
Refentment of my country's fate
Within my filial breaft fhall beat;
And, fpite of her infulting foe,
My fympathizing verfe fhall flow:
"Mourn, haplefs Caledonia, mourn
“ Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn !”
SMOLLET.

$83. Ode to Mirth.
PARENT of joy! heart-cafing Mirth!

Whether of Venus or Aurora born!
Yet Goddess fure of heavenly birth,
Vifit benign a fon of Grief forlorn :
Thy glitt'ring colours gay
Around him, Mirth, display;
And o'er his raptur'd fenfe
Diffufe thy living influence:

So fhall each hill, in purer green array'd,
And flower-adorn'd in new-born beauty glow;
The grove fhall fmooth the horrors of the

fhade,

And streams in murmurs fhall forget to flow.
Shine, Goddefs, fhine with unremitted ray, [day.
And gild (a fecond fun) with brighter beam our
Labour with thee forgets his pain,
And aged Poverty can fmile with thee;

If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain,
And weak th' uplifted arm of tyranny.
The morning opes on high
His univerfal eye;

And on the world doth pour
His glories in a golden fhow'r.
Lo! Darknefs trembling 'fore the hoftileray,
Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn:
The brood obfcene, that own her gloomy

fway,

Troop in her rear, and fly th' approach of morn. Pale fhiv'ring ghofts, that dread th' all-cheering

light,

[night. Quick as the lightning's flash glide to fepulchiral

But whence the gladd'ning beam
That pours his purple stream
O'er the long profpect wide?
'Tis Mirth. I fee her fit
In majefty of light,

With Laughter at her fide.
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering near
Wide waves her glancing wing in air;
And young Wit flings his pointed dart,
That guiltless ftrikes the willing heart.
Fear not now Affliction's pow'r,
Fear not now wild Paffion's rage;

Nor fear ye aught, in evil hour,,
Save the tardy hand of Age.

Κοιν