Imatges de pÓgina
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Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy! And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,
This can unlock the gates of joy ;

Seruck the deep forrows of his lyre.
Of horror, that, and thrilling fears,

Hark, how each giant-oak and delert-care Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears. Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! III. 2.

• O'cr thce, o king! their hundred arms they

wave, Nor fecond he, that rode fublime

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Upon the seraph wings of ecstasy,

Vocal no more, fince Cainbria's fatal day, I. The secrets of th' abyss to fpy.

• To high-born Hael's harp, or foft Lleweliya's He pass’d the faming bounds of place and time. The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, "Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, He saw : but, blafted with excess of light, · That huth'd the stormy main : Clos’d his eyes in endless night.

• Brave Urien Aleeps upon his craggy bed : Behold, where Dryden's lefs presumptuous car · Mountains, ye mourn in vain Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

• Modred, whose magic song Two courfers of ethereal race, [rounding pace. Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp d With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long re- On dreary Arvon's fore they lie,

[head. "Smcard with gore, and ghastly pale ;

• Far, far aloof ih'affrighted ravens fail: Hark, his hands the lyre explore !

The famith'd eagle (creams, and palles by. Bright-eyed fancy, hov'ring o'er,

• Dear loft companions of my tuneful art, Scatters from her pictur'd urn

Dear, as the light that visits these fad eyes, Thoughts that brcathe, and words that burn.

Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, But, ah! tis heard no more

• Ye died amidit your dying country's criesO ivre divine! what daring spirit

• No more I weep. They do not sleep. Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit

• On yonder cliffs, a grilly band, Nor the pride nor ample pinion,

"I fce thein fit: they linger yet, That the Theban eagle bear,

Avengers of thicir native land: Sailing with suprenie dominion

* With me in dreadful harıony they join, [line.' Thro' the azure decp of air;

• And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray,

II. 1. With orient hues, unborrow'd of the fun:

“ Weave the warp, and weave the woof, Yer shall he mount, and keep his distant way

“ The winding. sheet of Edward's race. Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, (Great!" Give ample room, and verge enough Beneath the Good how far—but far above the “ The characters of hell to trace.

“ Mark the year, and mark the night,

" When Severn shall re-echo with afright $ 78. The Bard. A Pindaric Ode. GRAY.

“ The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that I.

“ Shricks of an agonizing king! (ringi

“ She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, : RUIN seize thec, ruthless king!

“ That tear'st the bowcls of thy mangled mare, Confusion on thy banners wait!

“ From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs • Tho' fann'd by conquest's crimson wing,

“ The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round They mock the air with idle state !

“ him wait! • Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,

“ Amazement in his van with light combin'd, Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, thall avail

" And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind, • To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, • From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !'

II. 2.
Such were the sounds that o'er tlic crested pride Mighty Vi&or, mighty Lord,
Of the first Edward featter'd wild dismay, “ Low on his fun'ral couch he lies!
As down the secp of Snowdon's Thaggy (de “ No pirying heart, no eye, afford
He wound with toiltome march his long array. “ A rear to grace his obfequies.
Stout Glo'ster stood aghalt in speechless trance :

" Is the fable warrior Aed?
To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his qui- Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.
vering lance.

“ The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were

“ Gone to falute the rising morn. [born? I.

“ Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, On a rock whose haughty lorow

" While proudly riding o'er the azure realm Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, “ In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; Rob'd in the fable garb of woe,

Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; With braggard eyes the poet stood

Regardless of the fiveeping whirlwind's Twar, (Loose his bcard, and hoary hair

That, hush'd in grim repole, expects his even. Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air);



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With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. “ Fill high the sparkling bowl,

A voice, as of the cherub-choir; « The rich repaft prepare,

Gales from blooming Eden bear; “ Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast :

And distant warblings lefsen on my ear, “ Close by the regal chair

· That loft in long futurity expire. (cloud, " Fell thirst and famine scowl

Fond impious man! think it thou yon fanguine “ A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.

Rais'd by thy breath, has quenchid the orb of “ Heard ye the din of battle bray,

· To-morrow he repairs the golden Hood, [day? “ Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

· And warms the nations with redoubled ray. “ Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, Enough for me : with joy I see “ And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their

• The diffrent doon our fates allign.

• Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care; “ Yc tow'rs of Julius, London's lasting thame,

*To triumph, and to die, are mine.' [height, “ With many a foul and midnight murder fed,

He spoke; and, headlong from the mountain's “ Revere his confort's faith, his father's fame,

Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night. “ And spare the meek ufurper's holy head. “ Above, below, the role of Inow, “ Twind with her blushing foe, we spread ;

§ 79. The Faral Siflers. An Ode. Gray. • The bristled boar in infant gore

NOW the storm begins to lower “ Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

(Haste, the loom of hell prepare);
“ Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, Iron ileet of arrowy show'r
“ Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his Hurtles in the darken'd air.
16 doom.

Glitt'ring lances are the loom

Where the dusky warp we strain, “ Fdward, lo! to sudden fate

Weaving many a foldier's doom, “ (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane. “ Half of thy heart we consecrate.

See the grilly texture grow! (The web is wove. The work is done.)" ('Tis of human entrails made) • Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn,

And the weights that play below, • Leave me unbleft, unpitied, here to mourn : Each a gasping warrior's head. • In yon bright track, that fires the western skics, Shafts for shuttles

, dipt in gore, They melt, they vanish from my eyes.

Shoot the trembling cords along: • But oh! what folemn scenes on Snowdon's

Sword, that once a monarch bore, height

Keep the tissue close and strong. • Descending slow their glitt'ring skirts unroll: • Visions of glory, spare my aching right!

Mista, black terrific maid,
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my foul! Sangrida, and Hilda, see !
• No more our long-loft Arthur we bewail. Join the wayward work to aid:
All-hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, 'Tis the woof of victory.
hail !

Ere the ruddy fun be fet,
III. 2.

Pikes must thiver, jav'lins fing, • Girt with many a baron bold

Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet, • Sublime their starry fronts they rear ;

Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. • And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old (Weave the crimson web of war.) • In bearded majeity, appear.

Let us go, and let us Aly, • In the midst a form divine !

Where our friends the conflict share, • Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;

Where they triumph, where they die. • Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,

As the patlas of fate we tread, Attemper'd sweet to virgin grace. • What Itrings fymphonious tremble in the air! Wading thro' th' ensanguin'd field,

Gondula, and Geira, spread • What strains of vocal transport round her play • Hear from the grave, grcat Talicilin, hear;

O'er the youthful king your field. • They breathe a foul to aniinate thy clay.

We the reins to Naughter give, • Bright Rapture calls, and, foaring as the fings, Ours to kill, and ours to spare: • Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd Spite of danger he shall live. · wings.

( Weave the crimson web of war.)

They, whom once the desert beach • The verse adorn again

Pent within its bleak domain, · Fierce War, and faithful Love,

Soon their ample (way shall stretch • And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction drelo'd.

O'er the plenty of the plain. • In bulkin'd mealures inove

Low the dauntless earl is laid, Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,

Gor'd with many a gaping wound:



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Fate demands a nobler head ;

ODIN. Soon a king fhall bite the ground.

A traveller to thee unknown Long his loss shall Eirin weep,

Is he that calls, a warrior's son. Ne'er again his likeness fee ;

Thou the deeds of light shalt know; Long her strains in forrow steep,

Tell me what is done below, Strains of immortality !

For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread,
Horror covers all the heath,

Drest for whom yon golden bed?
Clouds of carnage blot the sun.
Sisters, weave the web of death.

Mantling in the goblet fee
Sisters, ceale: the work is done.

The pure bev'rage of the bee; Hail the task, and hail the hands !

O'er it hangs the field of gold :

'Tis the drink of Balder bold. Songs of joy and triumph sing :

Balder's head to death is given. Joy to the victorious bands ;

Pain can reach the Sons of Heaven! Triumph to the younger king.

Onwilling I my lips unclofe :
Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,

Leave me, leave me to repose.
Learn the tenour of our song.
Scotland, thro' each winding vale,

Once again my call obey;
Far and wide the notes prolong.

Prophetess, arise, and fay Sisters, hence with spurs of speed!

What dangers Odin's child await, Each her thund'ring faulchion wield;

Who the author of his fate. Each bestride her fable steed.

Hurry, hurry, to the field !

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

$ 80. The Descent of Odin. An Ode. GRAY. my weary lips I close :

Leave me, leave me to repose. UPROSE the king of men with speed,

ODIN, And saddled straight his coal-black steed: Prophetess, my spell obey; Down the yawning itecp he rede,

Once again arile, and say That leads to Hela's drear abode.

Who th' avenger of his guilt,
Him the dog of darkness fpied :

By whom shall Hoder's blood be fpilt ?
His shaggy throat he open'd wide ;
While from his jaws, ivith carnage fill'd,
Foam and human

In the caverns of the West,

By Odin's fierce embrace comprest,
Iloarse he bays with hideous din,

A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin;

Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, And long pursues, with fruitless yell,

Nor wash his visage in the fiream, The father of the powerful spell.

Nor see thc fun's departing beam, Onward still his way he takes

Till he on Hoder's corse thall smile (The groaning earth beneath him shakes), Till full before his fearless eyes

Flaming on the funeral pile.

Now The portals nine of hell arise.

my weary lips I close :

Leave me, leave me to repose.
Right against the eastern gate,
By the moss-grown pile he fat,
Where long of yore to sleep was laid

Yet awhile my call obey ;
The dust of the prophetic Maid.

Prophetess, awake, and say Facing to the northern clime,

What Virgins thefe, in specchless wce, Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;

That bend to earth their solemn brow,
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,

That their faxen tresses tear,
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead; And snowy veils, that float in air.
Till from out the hollow ground

Tell me whence their forrows rose ;
Slowly breach'd a sullen found.

Then I leave thee to repose.


Ha! no traveller art thou,
What call unknown, what charms, presume
To break the quict of the tomb?

King of Men, I know thee now!

Mightiest of a mighty line-
Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite,
And drags me from the realms of night?
Long on these mould’ring bones have beat

No boding maid of skill divine
The winter's snow, the summer's heat,

Art thou, nor prophetess of good, The drenching dews, and driving rain! But mother of the giant-brood ! Let me, let me sleep again.

PROPHETESS. Who is he, with voice unblest,

Hie thce hence, and boast at home That calls me from the bed of rest :

That never shall enquirer come




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To break my iron sleep again,

From yonder realms of empyrean day Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain :

Bursts on my car th' indignant lay : Never, till substantial Night

There fit the fainted Sage, the Bard divine, Has re-affum'd her ancient right ;

The few whom Genius gave to shine Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd,

Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime. Sinks the fabric of the world.

Rapt in celestial transport they;
Yet hither oft a glance from high

They send of tender sympathy, 6 81. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment. To bless the place where on their op'ning soul

GRAY. First the genuine ardour stole.

'Twas Milton struck the deep-ton'd shell ; OWEN's praise demands my song, Owen Swift, and Owen firong;

And, as the choral warblings round him swell, Fairest How'r of Roderic's stem,

Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gem.

And nods his hoary head, and listens to the He nor hcaps his brooded stores,

rhyme. Nor on all profusely pours:

“ Ye brown o'er-arching groves, Lord of ev'ry regal art,

“ That contemplation loves, Liberal hand, and open heart.

- Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! Big with hosts of mighty name,

" Oft at the blush of dawn Squadrons three against him camc;

“ I trod your level lawn, This the force of Eirin hiding;

- Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia filver-bright Side by side as proudly riding,

- In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,. On her shadow long and gay

“ With Freedom by my side, and, soft-cyed Lochlin plows the wat’ry way;

“ Melancholy." There the Norman fails afar Carch the winds, and join the war:

But, hark ! the portals found, and pacing forth, Black and huge along they sweep,

With folemn steps and flow, Burthens of the angry deep.

High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth, Dauntless on his native lands

And mitred Fathers, in long order go: The dragon-fon of Mona stands;

Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow In glitt'ring arms and glory dreft,

From haughty Gallia torn; High he rears his ruby creít.

And fad Chatillon, on her bridal morn There the thund'ring strokes begin,

That wept her bleeding love; and princely Clare; There the press, and there the din;

And Anjou's heroine ; and the paler Rose, Talymalfra's rocky shore

The rival of her crown and of her woes; Echoing to the battle's roar.

And either Henry there, Where his glowing cye-balls turn,

The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord Thousand banners round him burn;

That broke the bonds of Rome Where he points his purple fpear,

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Hasty, hatly Rout is there ;

Their human pallions now no more, Marking with indignant eye

Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb). Fear to stop, and shame to Ay.

All that on Granta's fruitful plain There Confusion, Terror's child;

Rich Atreams of regal bounty pour'd, Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild ;

And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise, Agony, that pants for breath;

To hail their Fitzroy's feltal morning come ; Despair, and honourable Death.

And thus they speak in soft accord
The liquid language of the skies:

“ What is grandeur? what is pow'r?
$ 82. Ode on the Inflallation of the Duke of " Heavier toil, fuperior pain.
Grafton. Irregular.


“ What the bright reward we gain? HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground)! “ The grateful memory of the Good. Comus, and his midnight crew,

“ Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r, “ And Ignorance with looks profound,

" The bee's collected treasures fweet, “ And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,

• Sweet music's melting fall, but liceter yot “ Mad Sedition's cry profane,

" The still small voice of Gratitude." “ Servitude that hugs her chain;

Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud, « Nor in these consecrated bow'rs

The venerable Marg'ret sec ! “ Let painted Flatt’ry hide her serpent-train in “ Welcome, my noble Son (she cries aloud), 6 flow'rs.

" To this thy kindred train, and me : “ Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain,

“ Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace " Dare the Muse's walk to stain,

“ A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's gracc. " While bright-eyed Science watches round: Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye, “ Hence away, 'tis holy ground !"

" Thé How'r unheeded thall desery,

" And

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“ And bid it round heaven's altars shed At her approach, fee Hope, see Fear, “ The fragrance of its blushing head:

See Expectation fly; « Shall raisc from earth the latent gem

And Disappointment in the rear, “ To glitter on the diadem.

That blasts the promis'd joy. “ Lo, Granta waits to lvad her blooming band : The tear which pity taught to flow “ Not obvious, not obtrusive, The

The eye shall then disown ; " No vulgar praisc, no venal incense flings; The heart that melts for others' woc “ Nor dares with courtly tongue retin'd

Shall then scarce feel its ow “ Profane thy inborn royalty of mind :

The wounds which now each moment bleed, • She reverez herself and thte.

Each moment then thall clofe ; “ With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow And tranquil days shall still succeed “ The laurcate wreath, that Cecil wore, she brings,

To nights of calm repose. “ And to thy just, thy gentle hand “ Submits the fasces of her sway,

O fairy ef! but grant me this, “ While spirits bleft above, and men below,

This one kind comfort send; “ Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. And to may never-fading bliss • Thro' the wild waves, as they roar,

Thy fow'ry paths attend ! « With watchful eye and dauntless mien So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light Thy steady course of honour keep,

Thy tiny footsteps load “ Nor fear the rocks, nor seck the shore : To some new region of delight, • The Star of Brunfivick smiles serenc,

Unknown to mortal tread: “ And gilds the horrors of the deep."

And be thy acorn goblet fill'd

With heaven's ambrofial dew; $ 83. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE.

From sweetest, freiheit, flow'rs diftilla,
OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,

That shed fresh sweets for you!
And pray'd till I've been weary ;

And what of life remains for me
For once I'll try my wish to gain

I'll pass in sober eafo ; Of Oberon the Fairy.

Half-plcas'd, contented will I be,
Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,

Content but half to please.
That lurk'it in woods unseen,
And oft by Cynthia's silver light

1 § S4. The Fairy's Anfover to Mrs. Greole's Tripp'st gaily o’er the green;

Prayer for Indifference.
If e'er thy pitying heart was mov’d,

By tbe Countess of C
As ancient stories tell,
And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd

WITHOUT preamble, to my friend
Thou fought'ít a wondrous spell ;

These hasty lines I'm bid to send,
Oh deign once more t'exert thy pow'r!

Or give, if I am able :
I dare

not hesitate to say,
Haply some herb or tree,
Sov’reign as juice of western Aow'r,

Tho' I have trembled all the dayConccals a balm for me.

It looks so like a fable. I ask no kind return of love,

Last night's adventure is my theme; No tempting charm to please ;

And should it frike you as a dream, Far from the heart those gifts remove

Yet foon its high import That sighs for peace and easi :

Must make you own the matter fuch,

So delicate, it were too much
Nor peace nor case the heart can know,

To be compos'd in sport.
Which, like the needlc true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

The moon did thine ferenely brighe,

And ev'ry star did deck the night, But, turning, trembles too.

While Zephyr fann'd the trees; Far as distress the suul can wound,

No more allail'd my mind's repole, 'Tis pain in cach degree :

Save that yon stream, which murmuring flows, 'Tis bliss but to a certain buund;

Did echo to the breeze. Beyond, is agony.

Enwrapt in folemn thoughts I sate, Take then this treacherous sense of mine, Revolving o'er the turns of fate, Which dooms me still to smart;

Yet void of hope or fear; Which pleasure can to pain resme,

When, lo! behold an airy throng, To pains new pangs impart.

With lightest tteps, and jocund fong, Oh hafte to shed the sacred balm !

Surpris'd my eye and ear. My shatter'd nerves new string;

A form superior to the rest And for my guest, ferencly cabın,

His little voice to me address’d, The nymph Indifference bring.

And gently thus began:

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