Lo, in the Vale of Years beneath More hideous than their Queen: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, To each his sufferings: all are men, The' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, TO ADVERSITY. Znva Τον Φρίνειν Βροτους οδο Θεντα κυρίως εχειν. ESCHYLUS, in Agamemnone. DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to taste of pain, With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy sire to send on earth What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, Light they disperse; and with them go To her they vow their truth, and are again believ❜d. Wisdom in sable garb array'd, Immers'd in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid, With leaden eye that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend: Warm Charity, the general friend, With Justice, to herself severe, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Not circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien, Thy form benign, oh Goddess! wear, To soften, not to wound my heart. What others are to feel, and know myself a man. THE PROGRESS OF POESY. A PINDAKIC ODE. Φωναντα συνετοίσιν ες Δε το σαν ερμητων I. 1. PINDAR, Olymp. II. AWAKE, Æolian lyre, awake,* And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. A thousand rills their mazy progress take: Awake, my glory: awake, lute and harp-David's Psalms. Pindar styles his own poetry, with its musical accompaniments, Αιολι μολπη Αιολίδες χόρδας, Αιολίδων ωνται, αυλων, Folian song, Eolian strings, the breath of the Eolian flute. The subject and simile, as usual with Pindar, are here united. The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Now the rich stream of Music winds along, Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; Now rolling down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : [roar. The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the I. 2. Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul,* Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. On Thracia's hills the Lord of War Has curb'd the fury of his car, And drop'd his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king The various sources of poetry, which give life and lustre to all it touches, are here described; as well in its quiet majestic progress enriching every subject (otherwise dry and barren) with all the pomp of diction, and luxuriant harmony of numbers, as in its more rapid and irresistible course, when swoln and hurried away by the conflict of tumultuous passions. * Power of harmony to calm the turbulent passions of the soul. The thoughts are borrowed from the first Pythian of Pindar. + This is a weak imitation of some beautiful lines in the same ode, I. 3. Thee, the voice, the dance, obey,* The rosy-crowned Loves are seen With antic Sport, and blue-ey'd Pleasures, Now pursuing, now retreating, II. 1. Man's feeble race what ills await!§ Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! * Power of harmony to produce all the graces of motion in the body. † Μαρμαρυγας θηείτο πόδων θαύμαζε δε θυμω. * Δαμπει δ' επι πορφυρέησι Homer, Od.. Phrynicus apud Athenæum. To compensate the real or imaginary ills of life, the Muse was given us by the same Providence that sends the day, by its cheerful presence, to dispel the gloom and terrors of the night. |