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Whose turf, whose shade, whose flow'rs among Ah, shew them where in ambush stand,
Wanders the boary Thames along
His silver-winding way!
Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
I feel the gales that from you blow
As, waving fresh their gladsome wing,
Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen
Who foremost now delight to cleave,
To chase the rolling circle's speed,
While some on earnest business bent
'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry:
Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
To seize their prey, the murd'rous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!
These shall the fury passions tear,
And shame that skulks behind;
Or pining love shall waste their youth,
The stings of falsehood those shall try,
Lo! in the vale of years, beneath,
A grisly troop are seen,
More hideous than their queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That ev'ry labouring sinew strains,
Lo! poverty, to fill the band,
That 'numbs the soul with icy hand:
To each his suff'rings: all are men,
The tender for another's pain,
Yet, ah! why should they know their fate?
THE BARD.-A PINDARIC ODE.
RUIN seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait! 'Tho' faun'd by conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state! 'Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor eveu thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 'From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!'
Snch were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
On a rock whose haughty brow
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air);
'Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, · To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.
Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 'That hush'd the stormy main :
'Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: 'Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whose magic song
'Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head.
'On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale; 'Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail : "The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 'Dear, as the light that visits these sad 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 grisly band, 'I see them sit: they linger yet, Avengers of their native land:
With me in dreadful harmony they join,
Mighty victor, mighty lord, "Low on his fun'ral couch he lies! "No pitying heart, no eye, afford "A tear to grace his obsequies. "Is the sable warrior fled?
"Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. "The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born?
"Gone to salute the rising morn. [blows,
"Fill high the sparkling bowl,
"Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: "Close by the regal chair
"Fell thirst and famine scowl
"A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. "Heard ye the din of battle bray,
"Edward, lo! to sudden fate
"(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) "Half of thy heart we consecrate. "(The web is wove. The work is done.") 6 Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn, 'Leave me unblest, unpit.ed, here to mourn: In yon bright track that fires the western skies, They meit, they vanish from my eyes.[height
'But oh! what solema scenes on Snowdon's 'Descending slow their glittring skirts unroll? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! 'Ye uuborn ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail.[hail! All-hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry frouts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old In bearded majesty, appear." 'lu the midst a form divine!
'Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; 'Her lion port, her awe-commanding face, 'Attemper'd sweet to virgin grace.
'What strings symphonious tremble in the air! 'What strains of vocal transport round her play! 'Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 'They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
'Bright rapture calls, and, soaring as she ́ siugs,
Waves in the eye of Heaven her manycolour'd wings.
'The verse adoru again
'Fierce war, and faithful love,
And truth severe, by fairy fiction dress'd.
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 distant warblings lessen on my ear,
Foud impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, [day! Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of 'To morrow he repairs the golden flood,
ODE ON THE SPRING.
Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd hours,
Fair Venus' train, appear;
Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch-
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
Beside some water's rushy brink
(At ease reclin'd in rustic state)
Still is the toiling hand of care;
And float amid the liquid noon : Some lightly o'er the current skim, Some shew their gaily-gilded trim Quick-glancing to the sun.
To contemplation's sober eye
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Alike the busy and the gay
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets,
AWAKE, Eolian lyre, awake,
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. || He gives to range the dreary sky:
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take :
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the
O sovereign of the willing soul,
And frantic passions hear thy soft controul.
And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command.
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.
Thee the voice, the dance obey,
Temper'd to thy warbled lay.
O'er Idalia's velvet green
The rosy-crowned loves are seen
Ou Cytherea's day,
With antic sports, and blue-eyed pleasures, Frisking light in frolic measures:
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops thy meet; To brisk notes in cadence beating,
Glance their many-twinkling feet.
Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of war.
In climes beyond the solar road, Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains
The muse has broke the twilight gloom,
Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep;
How do your tuneful echoes languish !
Slow melting strains their Queen's approach They sought, O Albion! next thy sea encircled
Nor second he, that rode sublime
Upon the seraph wings of ecstasy,
The secrets of th' abyss to spy.
Scatters from her pictur'd urn
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and O lyre divine! what daring spirit
The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car
With necks in thunder cloth'd and long resounding pace.
Hark, bis hands the lyre explore! Bright-eyed fancy, hov'ring o'er,
Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Beneath the good how far-but far above the great!
THE DESCENT OF ODIN-AN ODE.
UPROSE the king of men with speed,
And saddled straight his coal-black steed:
Right against the eastern gate,
What call unknown, what charms, presume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long on these mould'ring bones have beat The winter's snow, the summer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me sleep again. Who is he, with voice unblest, That calls me from the bed of rest?
A traveller to thee unknown
For whom you glittring board is spread,
Mantling in the goblet see
The pure bev'rage of the bee;
Once again my call obey; Prophetess, arise, and say What dangers Odin's child await, Who the author of his fate?
In Hoder's hand the hero's doom; His brother sends him to the tomb. Now my weary lips I close: Leave me, leave me to repose.
Prophetess, my spell obey; Once again arise, and say Who th' avenger of his guilt,
By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt!
In the caverns of the West, By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair,