ODE VII.

ON THE USE OF POETRY.

1 Not for themselves did human kind Contrive the parts by heaven assign'd On life's wide scene to play: Not Scipio's force nor Caesar's skill Can conquer Glory's arduous hill, If Fortune close the way.

2 Yet still the self-depending soul, Though last and least in Fortune's roll, His proper sphere commands; And knows what Nature's seal bestow'd, And sees, before the throne of God, The rank in which he stands.

3 Who train'd by laws the future age, Who rescued nations from the rage Of partial, factious power, My heart with distant homage views; Content, if thou, celestial Muse, Didst rule my natal hour.

4 Not far beneath the hero's feet, Nor from the legislator's seat Stands far remote the bard. Though not with public terrors crown'd. Yet wider shall his rule be found, More lasting his award.

5 Lycurgus fashion'd Sparta's fame, And Pompey to the Roman name Gave universal sway: Where are they?—Homer's reverend page Holds empire to the thirtieth age, And tongues and climes obey.

6 And thus when William's acts divine No longer shall from Bourbon's line Draw one vindictive vow; When Sydney shall with Cato rest, And Russel move the patriot's breast No more than Brutus now;

7 Yet then shall Shakspeare's powerful art O'er every passion, every heart, Confirm his awful throne: Tyrants shall bow before his laws; And Freedom's, Glory's, Virtue's cause, Their dread assertor own.



ODE VIII.

ON LEAVING HOLLAND.

I.—1.

Farewell to Leyden's lonely bound. The Belgian Muse's sober seat; Where, dealing frugal gifts around To all the favourites at her feet, She trains the body's bulky frame For passive persevering toils; And lest, from any prouder aim, The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils, She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless flame.

I.—2.

Farewell the grave, pacific air, Where never mountain zephyr blew: The marshy levels lank and bare, Which Pan, which Ceres never knew: The Naiads, with obscene attire, Urging in vain their urns to flow; While round them chant the croaking choir, And haply soothe some lover's prudent woe, Or prompt some restive bard and modulate his lyre.

I.—3.

Farewell, ye nymphs, whom sober care of gain Snatch'd in your cradles from the god of Love: She render'd all his boasted arrows vain; And all his gifts did he in spite remove. Ye too, the slow-eyed fathers of the land, With whom dominion steals from hand to hand, Unown'd, undignified by public choice, I go where Liberty to all is known, And tells a monarch on his throne, He reigns not but by her preserving voice.

II.—1

O my loved England, when with thee Shall I sit down, to part no more? Far from this pale, discolour'd sea, That sleeps upon the reedy shore: When shall I plough thy azure tide? When on thy hills the flocks admire, Like mountain snows; till down their side I trace the village and the sacred spire, While bowers and copses green the golden slope divide?

II.—2.

Ye nymphs who guard the pathless grove, Ye blue-eyed sisters of the streams, With whom I wont at morn to rove, With whom at noon I talk'd in dreams; Oh! take me to your haunts again, The rocky spring, the greenwood glade; To guide my lonely footsteps deign, To prompt my slumbers in the murmuring shade, And soothe my vacant ear with many an airy strain.

II.—3.

And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn Thy drooping master's inauspicious hand: Now brighter skies and fresher gales return, Now fairer maids thy melody demand. Daughters of Albion, listen to my lyre! O Phoebus, guardian of the Aonian choir, Why sounds not mine harmonious as thy own, When all the virgin deities above With Venus and with Juno move In concert round the Olympian father's throne?

III.—1.

Thee too, protectress of my lays, Elate with whose majestic call Above degenerate Latium's praise, Above the slavish boast of Gaul, I dare from impious thrones reclaim, And wanton sloth's ignoble charms, The honours of a poet's name To Somers' counsels, or to Hampden's arms, Thee, Freedom, I rejoin, and bless thy genuine flame.

III.—2.

Great citizen of Albion! Thee Heroic Valour still attends, And useful Science, pleased to see How Art her studious toil extends: While Truth, diffusing from on high A lustre unconfined as day, Fills and commands the public eye; Till, pierced and sinking by her powerful ray, Tame Faith and monkish Awe, like nightly demons, fly.

III.—3.

Hence the whole land the patriot's ardour shares: Hence dread Religion dwells with social Joy; And holy passions and unsullied cares, In youth, in age, domestic life employ. O fair Britannia, hail!—With partial love The tribes of men their native seats approve, Unjust and hostile to each foreign fame: But when for generous minds and manly laws A nation holds her prime applause, There public zeal shall all reproof disclaim.



ODE IX.

TO CURIO. [1] 1744.

1 Thrice hath the spring beheld thy faded fame Since I exulting grasp'd the tuneful shell: Eager through endless years to sound thy name, Proud that my memory with thine should dwell. How hast thou stain'd the splendour of my choice! Those godlike forms which hover'd round thy voice, Laws, freedom, glory, whither are they flown? What can I now of thee to Time report, Save thy fond country made thy impious sport, Her fortune and her hope the victims of thy own?

2 There are, with eyes unmoved and reckless heart Who saw thee from thy summit fall thus low, Who deem'd thy arm extended but to dart The public vengeance on thy private foe. But, spite of every gloss of envious minds, The owl-eyed race whom virtue's lustre blinds, Who sagely prove that each man hath his price, I still believed thy aim from blemish free, I yet, even yet, believe it, spite of thee, And all thy painted pleas to greatness and to vice.

3 'Thou didst not dream of liberty decay'd, Nor wish to make her guardian laws more strong: But the rash many, first by thee misled, Bore thee at length unwillingly along.' Rise from your sad abodes, ye cursed of old For faith deserted or for cities sold, Own here one untried, unexampled, deed; One mystery of shame from Curio learn, To beg the infamy he did not earn, And scape in Guilt's disguise from Virtue's offer'd meed.

4 For saw we not that dangerous power avow'd Whom Freedom oft hath found her mortal bane, Whom public Wisdom ever strove to exclude, And but with blushes suffereth in her train? Corruption vaunted her bewitching spoils, O'er court, o'er senate, spread in pomp her toils, And call'd herself the state's directing soul: Till Curio, like a good magician, tried With Eloquence and Reason at his side, By strength of holier spells the enchantress to control.

5 Soon with thy country's hope thy fame extends: The rescued merchant oft thy words resounds: Thee and thy cause the rural hearth defends: His bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns: The learn'd recluse, with awful zeal who read Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead, Now with like awe doth living merit scan: While he, whom virtue in his bless'd retreat Bade social ease and public passions meet, Ascends the civil scene, and knows to be a man.

6 At length in view the glorious end appear'd: We saw thy spirit through the senate reign; And Freedom's friends thy instant omen heard Of laws for which their fathers bled in vain. Waked in the strife the public Genius rose More keen, more ardent from his long repose; Deep through her bounds the city felt his call; Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power, And murmuring challenged the deciding hour Or that too vast event, the hope and dread of all.

7 O ye good powers who look on human kind, Instruct the mighty moments as they roll; And watch the fleeting shapes in Curio's mind, And steer his passions steady to the goal. O Alfred, father of the English name, O valiant Edward, first in civil fame, O William, height of public virtue pure, Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, Behold the sum of all your labours nigh, Your plans of law complete, your ends of rule secure.

8 'Twas then—O shame! O soul from faith estranged! O Albion, oft to flattering vows a prey! 'Twas then—Thy thought what sudden frenzy changed? What rushing palsy took thy strength away? Is this the man in Freedom's cause approved— The man so great, so honour'd, so beloved— Whom the dead envied and the living bless'd— This patient slave by tinsel bonds allured— This wretched suitor for a boon abjured— Whom those that fear'd him scorn; that trusted him, detest?

9 O lost alike to action and repose! With all that habit of familiar fame, Sold to the mockery of relentless foes, And doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame, To act with burning brow and throbbing heart A poor deserter's dull exploded part, To slight the favour thou canst hope no more, Renounce the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind, Charge thy own lightness on thy country's mind, And from her voice appeal to each tame foreign shore.

10 But England's sons, to purchase thence applause, Shall ne'er the loyalty of slaves pretend, By courtly passions try the public cause; Nor to the forms of rule betray the end. O race erect! by manliest passions moved, The labours which to Virtue stand approved, Prompt with a lover's fondness to survey; Yet, where Injustice works her wilful claim, Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame, Impatient to confront, and dreadful to repay.

11 These thy heart owns no longer. In their room See the grave queen of pageants, Honour, dwell Couch'd in thy bosom's deep tempestuous gloom, Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell. Before her rites thy sickening reason flew, Divine Persuasion from thy tongue withdrew, While Laughter mock'd, or Pity stole a sigh: Can Wit her tender movements rightly frame Where the prime function of the soul is lame? Can Fancy's feeble springs the force of Truth supply?

12 But come: 'tis time: strong Destiny impends To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd: With princes fill'd, the solemn fane ascends, By Infamy, the mindful demon sway'd. There vengeful vows for guardian laws effaced, From nations fetter'd, and from towns laid waste, For ever through the spacious courts resound: There long posterity's united groan, And the sad charge of horrors not their own, Assail the giant chiefs, and press them to the ground.

13 In sight, old Time, imperious judge, awaits: Above revenge, or fear, or pity, just, He urgeth onward to those guilty gates The great, the sage, the happy, and august. And still he asks them of the hidden plan Whence every treaty, every war began, Evolves their secrets and their guilt proclaims: And still his hands despoil them on the road Of each vain wreath by lying bards bestow'd, And crush their trophies huge, and raze their sculptured names.

14 Ye mighty shades, arise, give place, attend: Here his eternal mansion Curio seeks. Low doth proud Wentworth to the stranger bend, And his dire welcome hardy Clifford speaks:— 'He comes, whom fate with surer arts prepared To accomplish all which we but vainly dared; Whom o'er the stubborn herd she taught to reign: Who soothed with gaudy dreams their raging power Even to its last irrevocable hour; Then baffled their rude strength, and broke them to the chain.'

15 But ye, whom yet wise Liberty inspires, Whom for her champions o'er the world she claims (That household godhead whom of old your sires Sought in the woods of Elbe and bore to Thames), Drive ye this hostile omen far away; Their own fell efforts on her foes repay; Your wealth, your arts, your fame, be hers alone: Still gird your swords to combat on her side; Still frame your laws her generous test to abide; And win to her defence the altar and the throne.

16 Protect her from yourselves, ere yet the flood Of golden Luxury, which Commerce pours, Hath spread that selfish fierceness through your blood, Which not her lightest discipline endures: Snatch from fantastic demagogues her cause: Dream not of Numa's manners, Plato's laws: A wiser founder, and a nobler plan, O sons of Alfred, were for you assign'd: Bring to that birthright but an equal mind, And no sublimer lot will fate reserve for man.

[Footnote 1: 'To Curio:' see Life.]

ODE X.

TO THE MUSE.

1 Queen of my songs, harmonious maid, Ah! why hast thou withdrawn thy aid? Ah! why forsaken thus my breast With inauspicious damps oppress'd? Where is the dread prophetic heat With which my bosom wont to beat? Where all the bright mysterious dreams Of haunted groves and tuneful streams, That woo'd my genius to divinest themes?

2 Say, goddess, can the festal board, Or young Olympia's form adored; Say, can the pomp of promised fame Relume thy faint, thy dying flame? Or have melodious airs the power To give one free, poetic hour? Or, from amid the Elysian train, The soul of Milton shall I gain, To win thee back with some celestial strain?

3 O powerful strain! O sacred soul! His numbers every sense control: And now again my bosom burns; The Muse, the Muse herself returns. Such on the banks of Tyne, confess'd, I hail'd the fair immortal guest, When first she seal'd me for her own, Made all her blissful treasures known, And bade me swear to follow Her alone.



ODE XI.

ON LOVE. TO A FRIEND.

1 No, foolish youth—to virtuous fame If now thy early hopes be vow'd, If true ambition's nobler flame Command thy footsteps from the crowd, Lean not to Love's enchanting snare; His songs, his words, his looks beware, Nor join his votaries, the young and fair.

2 By thought, by dangers, and by toils, The wreath of just renown is worn; Nor will ambition's awful spoils The flowery pomp of ease adorn; But Love unbends the force of thought; By Love unmanly fears are taught; And Love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought.

3 Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays, And heard from many a zealous breast, The pleasing tale of beauty's praise In wisdom's lofty language dress'd; Of beauty powerful to impart Each finer sense, each comelier art, And soothe and polish man's ungentle heart.

4 If then, from Love's deceit secure, Thus far alone thy wishes tend, Go; see the white-wing'd evening hour On Delia's vernal walk descend: Go, while the golden light serene, The grove, the lawn, the soften'd scene Becomes the presence of the rural queen.

5 Attend, while that harmonious tongue Each bosom, each desire commands: Apollo's lute by Hermes strung, And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands, Attend. I feel a force divine, O Delia, win my thoughts to thine; That half the colour of thy life is mine.

6 Yet conscious of the dangerous charm, Soon would I turn my steps away; Nor oft provoke the lovely harm, Nor lull my reason's watchful sway. But thou, my friend—I hear thy sighs: Alas, I read thy downcast eyes; And thy tongue falters, and thy colour flies.

7 So soon again to meet the fair? So pensive all this absent hour?— O yet, unlucky youth, beware, While yet to think is in thy power. In vain with friendship's flattering name Thy passion veils its inward shame; Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy flame!

8 Once, I remember, new to Love, And dreading his tyrannic chain, I sought a gentle maid to prove What peaceful joys in friendship reign: Whence we forsooth might safely stand, And pitying view the love-sick band, And mock the winged boy's malicious hand.

9 Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day, To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd; While I exulted to survey One generous woman's real mind: Till friendship soon my languid breast Each night with unknown cares possess'd, Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distress'd.

10 Fool that I was—And now, even now While thus I preach the Stoic strain, Unless I shun Olympia's view, An hour unsays it all again. O friend!—when Love directs her eyes To pierce where every passion lies, Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise?



ODE XII.

TO SIR FRANCIS HENRY DRAKE, BARONET.

1 Behold, the Balance in the sky Swift on the wintry scale inclines: To earthy caves the Dryads fly, And the bare pastures Pan resigns. Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread With recent soil the twice-mown mead, Tainting the bloom which Autumn knows: He whets the rusty coulter now, He binds his oxen to the plough, And wide his future harvest throws.

2 Now, London's busy confines round, By Kensington's imperial towers, From Highgate's rough descent profound, Essexian heaths, or Kentish bowers, Where'er I pass, I see approach Some rural statesman's eager coach, Hurried by senatorial cares: While rural nymphs (alike, within, Aspiring courtly praise to win) Debate their dress, reform their airs.

3 Say, what can now the country boast, O Drake, thy footsteps to detain, When peevish winds and gloomy frost The sunshine of the temper stain? Say, are the priests of Devon grown Friends to this tolerating throne, Champions for George's legal right? Have general freedom, equal law, Won to the glory of Nassau Each bold Wessexian squire and knight?

4 I doubt it much; and guess at least That when the day, which made us free, Shall next return, that sacred feast Thou better may'st observe with me. With me the sulphurous treason old A far inferior part shall hold In that glad day's triumphal strain; And generous William be revered, Nor one untimely accent heard Of James, or his ignoble reign.

5 Then, while the Gascon's fragrant wine With modest cups our joy supplies, We'll truly thank the power divine Who bade the chief, the patriot rise; Rise from heroic ease (the spoil Due, for his youth's Herculean toil, From Belgium to her saviour son), Rise with the same unconquer'd zeal For our Britannia's injured weal, Her laws defaced, her shrines o'erthrown.

6 He came. The tyrant from our shore, Like a forbidden demon, fled; And to eternal exile bore Pontific rage and vassal dread. There sunk the mouldering Gothic reign: New years came forth, a liberal train, Call'd by the people's great decree. That day, my friend, let blessings crown;— Fill, to the demigod's renown From whom thou hast that thou art free.

7 Then, Drake, (for wherefore should we part The public and the private weal?) In vows to her who sways thy heart, Fair health, glad fortune, will we deal. Whether Aglaia's blooming cheek, Or the soft ornaments that speak So eloquent in Daphne's smile, Whether the piercing lights that fly From the dark heaven of Myrto's eye, Haply thy fancy then beguile.

8 For so it is:—thy stubborn breast, Though touch'd by many a slighter wound, Hath no full conquest yet confess'd, Nor the one fatal charmer found; While I, a true and loyal swain, My fair Olympia's gentle reign Through all the varying seasons own. Her genius still my bosom warms: No other maid for me hath charms, Or I have eyes for her alone.



ODE XIII.

ON LYRIC POETRY.

I.—1.

Once more I join the Thespian choir, And taste the inspiring fount again: O parent of the Grecian lyre, Admit me to thy powerful strain— And lo, with ease my step invades The pathless vale and opening shades, Till now I spy her verdant seat; And now at large I drink the sound, While these her offspring, listening round. By turns her melody repeat.

I.—2.

I see Anacreon smile and sing, His silver tresses breathe perfume: His cheek displays a second spring Of roses, taught by wine to bloom. Away, deceitful cares, away, And let me listen to his lay; Let me the wanton pomp enjoy, While in smooth dance the light-wing'd Hours Lead round his lyre its patron powers, Kind Laughter and Convivial Joy.

I.—3.

Broke from the fetters of his native land, Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords, With louder impulse and a threatening hand The Lesbian patriot [1] smites the sounding chords: Ye wretches, ye perfidious train, Ye cursed of gods and free-born men, Ye murderers of the laws, Though now ye glory in your lust, Though now ye tread the feeble neck in dust, Yet Time and righteous Jove will judge your dreadful cause.

II.—1.

But lo, to Sappho's melting airs Descends the radiant queen of love: She smiles, and asks what fonder cares Her suppliant's plaintive measures move: Why is my faithful maid distress'd? Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast? Say, flies he?—Soon he shall pursue: Shuns he thy gifts?—He soon shall give: Slights he thy sorrows?—He shall grieve, And soon to all thy wishes bow.

II.—2.

But, O Melpomene, for whom Awakes thy golden shell again? What mortal breath shall e'er presume To echo that unbounded strain? Majestic in the frown of years, Behold, the man of Thebes [2] appears: For some there are, whose mighty frame The hand of Jove at birth endow'd With hopes that mock the gazing crowd; As eagles drink the noontide flame;

II.—3.

While the dim raven beats her weary wings, And clamours far below.—Propitious Muse, While I so late unlock thy purer springs, And breathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse, Wilt thou for Albion's sons around (Ne'er hadst thou audience more renown'd) Thy charming arts employ, As when the winds from shore to shore Through Greece thy lyre's persuasive language bore, Till towns, and isles, and seas return'd the vocal joy?

III.—1.

Yet then did Pleasure's lawless throng, Oft rushing forth in loose attire, Thy virgin dance, thy graceful song Pollute with impious revels dire. O fair, O chaste, thy echoing shade May no foul discord here invade: Nor let thy strings one accent move, Except what earth's untroubled ear 'Mid all her social tribes may hear, And heaven's unerring throne approve.

III.—2.

Queen of the lyre, in thy retreat The fairest flowers of Pindus glow; The vine aspires to crown thy seat, And myrtles round thy laurel grow. Thy strings adapt their varied strain To every pleasure, every pain, Which mortal tribes were born to prove; And straight our passions rise or fall, As at the wind's imperious call The ocean swells, the billows move.

III.—3.

When midnight listens o'er the slumbering earth, Let me, O Muse, thy solemn whispers hear: When morning sends her fragrant breezes forth, With airy murmurs touch my opening ear. And ever watchful at thy side, Let Wisdom's awful suffrage guide The tenor of thy lay: To her of old by Jove was given To judge the various deeds of earth and heaven; 'Twas thine by gentle arts to win us to her sway.

IV.—1.

Oft as, to well-earn'd ease resign'd, I quit the maze where Science toils, Do thou refresh my yielding mind With all thy gay, delusive spoils. But, O indulgent, come not nigh The busy steps, the jealous eye Of wealthy care or gainful age; Whose barren souls thy joys disdain, And hold as foes to reason's reign Whome'er thy lovely works engage.

IV.—2.

When friendship and when letter'd mirth Haply partake my simple board, Then let thy blameless hand call forth The music of the Teian chord. Or if invoked at softer hours, Oh! seek with me the happy bowers That hear Olympia's gentle tongue; To beauty link'd with virtue's train, To love devoid of jealous pain, There let the Sapphic lute be strung.

IV.—3.

But when from envy and from death to claim A hero bleeding for his native land; When to throw incense on the vestal flame Of Liberty my genius gives command, Nor Theban voice nor Lesbian lyre From thee, O Muse, do I require; While my presaging mind, Conscious of powers she never knew, Astonish'd, grasps at things beyond her view, Nor by another's fate submits to be confined.

[Footnote 1: 'The Lesbian patriot:' Alcaeus.]

[Footnote 2: 'The man of Thebes:' Pindar.]



ODE XIV.

TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND; FROM THE COUNTRY.

1 Say, Townshend, what can London boast To pay thee for the pleasures lost, The health to-day resign'd, When Spring from this her favourite seat Bade Winter hasten his retreat, And met the western wind.

2 Oh, knew'st thou how the balmy air, The sun, the azure heavens prepare To heal thy languid frame, No more would noisy courts engage; In vain would lying Faction's rage Thy sacred leisure claim.

3 Oft I look'd forth, and oft admired; Till with the studious volume tired I sought the open day; And sure, I cried, the rural gods Expect me in their green abodes, And chide my tardy lay.

4 But ah, in vain my restless feet Traced every silent shady seat Which knew their forms of old: Nor Naiad by her fountain laid, Nor Wood-nymph tripping through her glade, Did now their rites unfold:

5 Whether to nurse some infant oak They turn—the slowly tinkling brook, And catch the pearly showers, Or brush the mildew from the woods, Or paint with noontide beams the buds, Or breathe on opening flowers.

6 Such rites, which they with Spring renew, The eyes of care can never view; And care hath long been mine: And hence offended with their guest, Since grief of love my soul oppress'd, They hide their toils divine.

7 But soon shall thy enlivening tongue This heart, by dear affliction wrung, With noble hope inspire: Then will the sylvan powers again Receive me in their genial train, And listen to my lyre.

8 Beneath yon Dryad's lonely shade A rustic altar shall be paid, Of turf with laurel framed; And thou the inscription wilt approve: 'This for the peace which, lost by love, By friendship was reclaim'd'



ODE XV.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

1 To-night retired, the queen of heaven With young Endymion stays: And now to Hesper it is given A while to rule the vacant sky, Till she shall to her lamp supply A stream of brighter rays.

2 O Hesper, while the starry throng With awe thy path surrounds, Oh, listen to my suppliant song, If haply now the vocal sphere Can suffer thy delighted ear To stoop to mortal sounds.

3 So may the bridegroom's genial strain Thee still invoke to shine: So may the bride's unmarried train To Hymen chant their flattering vow, Still that his lucky torch may glow With lustre pure as thine.

4 Far other vows must I prefer To thy indulgent power. Alas, but now I paid my tear On fair Olympia's virgin tomb: And lo, from thence, in quest I roam Of Philomela's bower.

5 Propitious send thy golden ray, Thou purest light above: Let no false flame seduce to stray Where gulf or steep lie hid for harm: But lead where music's healing charm May soothe afflicted love.

6 To them, by many a grateful song In happier seasons vow'd, These lawns, Olympia's haunt, belong: Oft by yon silver stream we walk'd, Or fix'd, while Philomela talk'd, Beneath yon copses stood.

7 Nor seldom, where the beechen boughs That roofless tower invade, We came while her enchanting Muse The radiant moon above us held: Till by a clamorous owl compell'd She fled the solemn shade.

8 But hark; I hear her liquid tone. Now, Hesper, guide my feet Down the red marl with moss o'ergrown, Through yon wild thicket next the plain, Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane, Which leads to her retreat.

9 See the green space; on either hand Enlarged it spreads around: See, in the midst she takes her stand, Where one old oak his awful shade Extends o'er half the level mead Enclosed in woods profound.

10 Hark, through many a melting note She now prolongs her lays: How sweetly down the void they float! The breeze their magic path attends, The stars shine out, the forest bends, The wakeful heifers gaze.

11 Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring To this sequester'd spot, If then the plaintive Syren sing, Oh! softly tread beneath her bower, And think of heaven's disposing power, Of man's uncertain lot.

12 Oh! think, o'er all this mortal stage, What mournful scenes arise: What ruin waits on kingly rage, How often virtue dwells with woe, How many griefs from knowledge flow, How swiftly pleasure flies.

13 O sacred bird, let me at eve, Thus wandering all alone, Thy tender counsel oft receive, Bear witness to thy pensive airs, And pity Nature's common cares, Till I forget my own.



ODE XVI.

TO CALEB HARDINGE, M. D.

1 With sordid floods the wintry Urn [1] Hath stain'd fair Richmond's level green; Her naked hill the Dryads mourn, No longer a poetic scene. No longer there the raptured eye The beauteous forms of earth or sky Surveys as in their Author's mind; And London shelters from the year Those whom thy social hours to share The Attic Muse design'd.

2 From Hampstead's airy summit me Her guest the city shall behold, What day the people's stern decree To unbelieving kings is told, When common men (the dread of fame) Adjudged as one of evil name, Before the sun, the anointed head. Then seek thou too the pious town, With no unworthy cares to crown That evening's awful shade.

3 Deem not I call thee to deplore The sacred martyr of the day, By fast, and penitential lore To purge our ancient guilt away. For this, on humble faith I rest That still our advocate, the priest, From heavenly wrath will save the land; Nor ask what rites our pardon gain, Nor how his potent sounds restrain The thunderer's lifted hand.

4 No, Hardinge; peace to church and state! That evening, let the Muse give law; While I anew the theme relate Which my first youth enamour'd saw. Then will I oft explore thy thought, What to reject which Locke hath taught, What to pursue in Virgil's lay; Till hope ascends to loftiest things, Nor envies demagogues or kings Their frail and vulgar sway.

5 O versed in all the human frame, Lead thou where'er my labour lies, And English fancy's eager flame To Grecian purity chastise; While hand in hand, at Wisdom's shrine, Beauty with truth I strive to join, And grave assent with glad applause; To paint the story of the soul, And Plato's visions to control By Verulamian laws.

[Footnote 1: 'The wintry Urn:' Aquarius.]



ODE XVII.

ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY. 1747.

1 Come then, tell me, sage divine, Is it an offence to own That our bosoms e'er incline Toward immortal Glory's throne? For with me, nor pomp, nor pleasure, Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure, So can Fancy's dream rejoice, So conciliate Reason's choice, As one approving word of her impartial voice.

2 If to spurn at noble praise Be the passport to thy heaven, Follow thou those gloomy ways; No such law to me was given, Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, Faring like my friends before me; Nor an holier place desire Than Timoleon's arms acquire, And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.



ODE XVIII.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FRANCIS, EARL OF HUNTINGDON, 1747.

I.—1.

The wise and great of every clime, Through all the spacious walks of time, Where'er the Muse her power display'd, With joy have listen'd and obey'd. For, taught of heaven, the sacred Nine Persuasive numbers, forms divine, To mortal sense impart: They best the soul with glory fire; They noblest counsels, boldest deeds inspire; And high o'er Fortune's rage enthrone the fixed heart.

I.—2.

Nor less prevailing is their charm The vengeful bosom to disarm; To melt the proud with human woe, And prompt unwilling tears to flow. Can wealth a power like this afford? Can Cromwell's arts or Marlborough's sword, An equal empire claim? No, Hastings. Thou my words wilt own: Thy breast the gifts of every Muse hath known; Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy noble name.

I.—3.

The Muse's awful art, And the blest function of the poet's tongue, Ne'er shalt thou blush to honour; to assert From all that scorned vice or slavish fear hath sung. Nor shall the blandishment of Tuscan strings Warbling at will in Pleasure's myrtle bower; Nor shall the servile notes to Celtic kings By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour, Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign. A different strain, And other themes From her prophetic shades and hallow'd streams (Thou well canst witness), meet the purged ear: Such, as when Greece to her immortal shell Rejoicing listen'd, godlike sounds to hear; To hear the sweet instructress tell (While men and heroes throng'd around) How life its noblest use may find, How well for freedom be resign'd; And how, by glory, virtue shall be crown'd.

II.—1.

Such was the Chian father's strain To many a kind domestic train, Whose pious hearth and genial bowl Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's soul: When, every hospitable rite With equal bounty to requite, He struck his magic strings, And pour'd spontaneous numbers forth, And seized their ears with tales of ancient worth, And fill'd their musing hearts with vast heroic things.

II.—2.

Now oft, where happy spirits dwell, Where yet he tunes his charming shell, Oft near him, with applauding hands, The Genius of his country stands. To listening gods he makes him known, That man divine, by whom were sown The seeds of Grecian fame: Who first the race with freedom fired; From whom Lycurgus Sparta's sons inspired; From whom Plataean palms and Cyprian trophies came.

II.—3.

O noblest, happiest age! When Aristides ruled, and Cimon fought; When all the generous fruits of Homer's page Exulting Pindar saw to full perfection brought. O Pindar, oft shalt thou be hail'd of me: Not that Apollo fed thee from his shrine; Not that thy lips drank sweetness from the bee; Nor yet that, studious of thy notes divine, Pan danced their measure with the sylvan throng: But that thy song Was proud to unfold What thy base rulers trembled to behold; Amid corrupted Thebes was proud to tell The deeds of Athens and the Persian shame: Hence on thy head their impious vengeance fell. But thou, O faithful to thy fame, The Muse's law didst rightly know; That who would animate his lays, And other minds to virtue raise, Must feel his own with all her spirit glow.

III.—1.

Are there, approved of later times, Whose verse adorn'd a tyrant's [1] crimes? Who saw majestic Rome betray'd, And lent the imperial ruffian aid? Alas! not one polluted bard, No, not the strains that Mincius heard, Or Tibur's hills replied, Dare to the Muse's ear aspire; Save that, instructed by the Grecian lyre, With Freedom's ancient notes their shameful task they hide.

III.—2.

Mark, how the dread Pantheon stands, Amid the domes of modern hands: Amid the toys of idle state, How simply, how severely great! Then turn, and, while each western clime Presents her tuneful sons to Time, So mark thou Milton's name; And add, 'Thus differs from the throng The spirit which inform'd thy awful song, Which bade thy potent voice protect thy country's fame.'

III.—3.

Yet hence barbaric zeal His memory with unholy rage pursues; While from these arduous cares of public weal She bids each bard begone, and rest him with his Muse. O fool! to think the man, whose ample mind Must grasp at all that yonder stars survey; Must join the noblest forms of every kind, The world's most perfect image to display, Can e'er his country's majesty behold, Unmoved or cold! O fool! to deem That he, whose thought must visit every theme, Whose heart must every strong emotion know Inspired by Nature, or by Fortune taught; That he, if haply some presumptuous foe, With false ignoble science fraught, Shall spurn at Freedom's faithful band: That he their dear defence will shun, Or hide their glories from the sun, Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand!

IV.—1.

I care not that in Arno's plain, Or on the sportive banks of Seine, From public themes the Muse's choir Content with polish'd ease retire. Where priests the studious head command, Where tyrants bow the warlike hand To vile ambition's aim, Say, what can public themes afford, Save venal honours to a hateful lord, Reserved for angry heaven and scorn'd of honest fame?

IV.—2.

But here, where Freedom's equal throne To all her valiant sons is known; Where all are conscious of her cares, And each the power, that rules him, shares; Here let the bard, whose dastard tongue Leaves public arguments unsung, Bid public praise farewell: Let him to fitter climes remove, Far from the hero's and the patriot's love, And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell.

IV.—3.

O Hastings, not to all Can ruling Heaven the same endowments lend: Yet still doth Nature to her offspring call, That to one general weal their different powers they bend, Unenvious. Thus alone, though strains divine Inform the bosom of the Muse's son; Though with new honours the patrician's line Advance from age to age; yet thus alone They win the suffrage of impartial fame.

The poet's name He best shall prove, Whose lays the soul with noblest passions move. But thee, O progeny of heroes old, Thee to severer toils thy fate requires: The fate which form'd thee in a chosen mould, The grateful country of thy sires, Thee to sublimer paths demand; Sublimer than thy sires could trace, Or thy own Edward teach his race, Though Gaul's proud genius sank beneath his hand.

V.—1.

From rich domains, and subject farms, They led the rustic youth to arms; And kings their stern achievements fear'd, While private strife their banners rear'd. But loftier scenes to thee are shown, Where empire's wide establish'd throne No private master fills: Where, long foretold, the People reigns; Where each a vassal's humble heart disdains; And judgeth what he sees; and, as he judgeth, wills.

V.—2.

Here be it thine to calm and guide The swelling democratic tide; To watch the state's uncertain frame, And baffle Faction's partial aim: But chiefly, with determined zeal, To quell that servile band, who kneel To Freedom's banish'd foes; That monster, which is daily found Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound; Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows.

V.—3.

'Tis highest Heaven's command, That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue; That what ensnares the heart should maim the hand, And Virtue's worthless foes be false to glory too. But look on Freedom;—see, through every age, What labours, perils, griefs, hath she disdain'd! What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage, Have her dread offspring conquer'd or sustain'd! For Albion well have conquer'd. Let the strains Of happy swains, Which now resound Where Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures bound, Bear witness;—there, oft let the farmer hail The sacred orchard which embowers his gate, And show to strangers passing down the vale, Where Candish, Booth, and Osborne sate; When, bursting from their country's chain, Even in the midst of deadly harms, Of papal snares and lawless arms, They plann'd for Freedom this her noblest reign.

VI.—1.

This reign, these laws, this public care, Which Nassau gave us all to share, Had ne'er adorn'd the English name, Could Fear have silenced Freedom's claim. But Fear in vain attempts to bind Those lofty efforts of the mind Which social good inspires; Where men, for this, assault a throne, Each adds the common welfare to his own; And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all acquires.

VI.—2.

Say, was it thus, when late we view'd Our fields in civil blood imbrued? When fortune crown'd the barbarous host, And half the astonish'd isle was lost? Did one of all that vaunting train, Who dare affront a peaceful reign, Durst one in arms appear? Durst one in counsels pledge his life? Stake his luxurious fortunes in the strife? Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to cheer?

VI.—3.

Yet, Hastings, these are they Who challenge to themselves thy country's love; The true; the constant: who alone can weigh, What glory should demand, or liberty approve! But let their works declare them. Thy free powers, The generous powers of thy prevailing mind, Not for the tasks of their confederate hours, Lewd brawls and lurking slander, were design'd. Be thou thy own approver. Honest praise Oft nobly sways Ingenuous youth; But, sought from cowards and the lying mouth, Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone For mortals fixeth that sublime award. He, from the faithful records of his throne, Bids the historian and the bard Dispose of honour and of scorn; Discern the patriot from the slave; And write the good, the wise, the brave, For lessons to the multitude unborn.

[Footnote 1: 'A tyrant:' Octavianus Caesar.]



BOOK II.

ODE I.

THE REMONSTRANCE OF SHAKSPEARE:

SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, WHILE THE FRENCH COMEDIANS WERE ACTING BY SUBSCRIPTION. 1749.

If, yet regardful of your native land, Old Shakspeare's tongue you deign to understand, Lo, from the blissful bowers where heaven rewards Instructive sages and unblemish'd bards, I come, the ancient founder of the stage, Intent to learn, in this discerning age, What form of wit your fancies have embraced, And whither tends your elegance of taste, That thus at length our homely toils you spurn, That thus to foreign scenes you proudly turn, 10 That from my brow the laurel wreath you claim To crown the rivals of your country's fame.

What though the footsteps of my devious Muse The measured walks of Grecian art refuse? Or though the frankness of my hardy style Mock the nice touches of the critic's file? Yet, what my age and climate held to view, Impartial I survey'd and fearless drew. And say, ye skilful in the human heart, Who know to prize a poet's noblest part, 20 What age, what clime, could e'er an ampler field For lofty thought, for daring fancy, yield? I saw this England break the shameful bands Forged for the souls of men by sacred hands: I saw each groaning realm her aid implore; Her sons the heroes of each warlike shore: Her naval standard (the dire Spaniard's bane) Obey'd through all the circuit of the main. Then, too, great Commerce, for a late found world, Around your coast her eager sails unfurl'd! 30 New hopes, new passions, thence the bosom fired; New plans, new arts, the genius thence inspired; Thence every scene, which private fortune knows, In stronger life, with bolder spirit, rose.

Disgraced I this full prospect which I drew, My colours languid, or my strokes untrue? Have not your sages, warriors, swains, and kings, Confess'd the living draught of men and things? What other bard in any clime appears Alike the master of your smiles and tears? 40 Yet have I deign'd your audience to entice With wretched bribes to luxury and vice? Or have my various scenes a purpose known Which freedom, virtue, glory, might not own?

Such from the first was my dramatic plan; It should be yours to crown what I began: And now that England spurns her Gothic chain, And equal laws and social science reign, I thought, Now surely shall my zealous eyes View nobler bards and juster critics rise, 50 Intent with learned labour to refine The copious ore of Albion's native mine, Our stately Muse more graceful airs to teach, And form her tongue to more attractive speech, Till rival nations listen at her feet, And own her polish'd as they own her great.

But do you thus my favourite hopes fulfil? Is France at last the standard of your skill? Alas for you! that so betray a mind Of art unconscious and to beauty blind. 60 Say, does her language your ambition raise, Her barren, trivial, unharmonious phrase, Which fetters eloquence to scantiest bounds, And maims the cadence of poetic sounds? Say, does your humble admiration choose The gentle prattle of her Comic Muse, While wits, plain-dealers, fops, and fools appear, Charged to say nought but what the king may hear? Or rather melt your sympathising hearts Won by her tragic scene's romantic arts, 70 Where old and young declaim on soft desire, And heroes never, but for love, expire?

No. Though the charms of novelty, a while, Perhaps too fondly win your thoughtless smile, Yet not for you design'd indulgent fate The modes or manners of the Bourbon state. And ill your minds my partial judgment reads, And many an augury my hope misleads, If the fair maids of yonder blooming train To their light courtship would an audience deign, 80 Or those chaste matrons a Parisian wife Choose for the model of domestic life; Or if one youth of all that generous band, The strength and splendour of their native land, Would yield his portion of his country's fame, And quit old freedom's patrimonial claim, With lying smiles oppression's pomp to see, And judge of glory by a king's decree.

O bless'd at home with justly-envied laws, O long the chiefs of Europe's general cause, 90 Whom heaven hath chosen at each dangerous hour To check the inroads of barbaric power, The rights of trampled nations to reclaim, And guard the social world from bonds and shame; Oh! let not luxury's fantastic charms Thus give the lie to your heroic arms: Nor for the ornaments of life embrace Dishonest lessons from that vaunting race, Whom fate's dread laws (for, in eternal fate Despotic rule was heir to freedom's hate), 100 Whom in each warlike, each commercial part, In civil council, and in pleasing art, The judge of earth predestined for your foes, And made it fame and virtue to oppose.



ODE II.

TO SLEEP.

1 Thou silent power, whose welcome sway Charms every anxious thought away; In whose divine oblivion drown'd, Sore pain and weary toil grow mild, Love is with kinder looks beguiled, And grief forgets her fondly cherish'd wound; Oh, whither hast thou flown, indulgent god? God of kind shadows and of healing dews, Whom dost thou touch with thy Lethaean rod? Around whose temples now thy opiate airs diffuse?

2 Lo, Midnight from her starry reign Looks awful down on earth and main. The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep, With all that crop the verdant food, With all that skim the crystal flood, Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep. No rushing winds disturb the tufted bowers; No wakeful sound the moonlight valley knows, Save where the brook its liquid murmur pours, And lulls the waving scene to more profound repose.

3 Oh, let not me alone complain, Alone invoke thy power in vain! Descend, propitious, on my eyes; Not from the couch that bears a crown, Not from the courtly statesman's down, Nor where the miser and his treasure lies: Bring not the shapes that break the murderer's rest, Nor those the hireling soldier loves to see, Nor those which haunt the bigot's gloomy breast: Far be their guilty nights, and far their dreams from me!

4 Nor yet those awful forms present, For chiefs and heroes only meant: The figured brass, the choral song, The rescued people's glad applause, The listening senate, and the laws Fix'd by the counsels of Timoleon's [1] tongue, Are scenes too grand for fortune's private ways; And though they shine in youth's ingenuous view, The sober gainful arts of modern days To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu.

5 I ask not, god of dreams, thy care To banish Love's presentments fair: Nor rosy cheek nor radiant eye Can arm him with such strong command That the young sorcerer's fatal hand Should round my soul his pleasing fetters tie. Nor yet the courtier's hope, the giving smile (A lighter phantom, and a baser chain) Did e'er in slumber my proud lyre beguile To lend the pomp of thrones her ill-according strain.

6 But, Morpheus, on thy balmy wing Such honourable visions bring, As soothed great Milton's injured age, When in prophetic dreams he saw The race unborn with pious awe Imbibe each virtue from his heavenly page: Or such as Mead's benignant fancy knows When health's deep treasures, by his art explored, Have saved the infant from an orphan's woes, Or to the trembling sire his age's hope restored.

[Footnote: 1: After Timoleon had delivered Syracuse from the tyranny of Dionysius, the people on every important deliberation sent for him into the public assembly, asked his advice, and voted according to it. —Plutarch.]



ODE III.

TO THE CUCKOO.

1 O rustic herald of the spring, At length in yonder woody vale Fast by the brook I hear thee sing; And, studious of thy homely tale, Amid the vespers of the grove, Amid the chanting choir of love, Thy sage responses hail.

2 The time has been when I have frown'd To hear thy voice the woods invade; And while thy solemn accent drown'd Some sweeter poet of the shade, Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care Some constant youth or generous fair With dull advice upbraid.

3 I said, 'While Philomela's song Proclaims the passion of the grove, It ill beseems a cuckoo's tongue Her charming language to reprove'— Alas, how much a lover's ear Hates all the sober truth to hear, The sober truth of love!

4 When hearts are in each other bless'd, When nought but lofty faith can rule The nymph's and swain's consenting breast, How cuckoo-like in Cupid's school, With store of grave prudential saws On fortune's power and custom's laws, Appears each friendly fool!

5 Yet think betimes, ye gentle train Whom love, and hope, and fancy sway, Who every harsher care disdain, Who by the morning judge the day, Think that, in April's fairest hours, To warbling shades and painted flowers The cuckoo joins his lay.



ODE IV.

TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND; IN THE COUNTRY. 1750.

I.—1.

How oft shall I survey This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade, The vale with sheaves o'erspread, The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray? When will thy cheerful mind Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem? Or, tell me, dost thou deem No more to join in glory's toilsome race, But here content embrace That happy leisure which thou hadst resign'd?

I.—2.

Alas, ye happy hours, When books and youthful sport the soul could share, Ere one ambitious care Of civil life had awed her simpler powers; Oft as your winged, train Revisit here my friend in white array, Oh, fail not to display Each fairer scene where I perchance had part, That so his generous heart The abode of even friendship may remain.

I.—3.

For not imprudent of my loss to come, I saw from Contemplation's quiet cell His feet ascending to another home, Where public praise and envied greatness dwell. But shall we therefore, O my lyre, Reprove ambition's best desire,— Extinguish glory's flame? Far other was the task enjoin'd When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd: Far other faith belongs to friendship's honour'd name.

II.—1.

Thee, Townshend, not the arms Of slumbering Ease, nor Pleasure's rosy chain, Were destined to detain; No, nor bright Science, nor the Muse's charms. For them high heaven prepares Their proper votaries, an humbler band: And ne'er would Spenser's hand Have deign'd to strike the warbling Tuscan shell, Nor Harrington to tell What habit an immortal city wears;

II.—2.

Had this been born to shield The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betray'd, Or that, like Vere, display'd His redcross banner o'er the Belgian field; Yet where the will divine Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains, With reason clad in strains Of harmony, selected minds to inspire, And virtue's living fire To feed and eternise in hearts like thine.

II.—3.

For never shall the herd, whom envy sways, So quell my purpose or my tongue control, That I should fear illustrious worth to praise, Because its master's friendship moved my soul. Yet, if this undissembling strain Should now perhaps thine ear detain With any pleasing sound, Remember thou that righteous Fame From hoary age a strict account will claim Of each auspicious palm with which thy youth was crown'd.

III.—1.

Nor obvious is the way Where heaven expects thee nor the traveller leads; Through flowers or fragrant meads, Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay. The impartial laws of fate To nobler virtues wed severer cares. Is there a man who shares The summit next where heavenly natures dwell? Ask him (for he can tell) What storms beat round that rough laborious height.

III.—2.

Ye heroes, who of old Did generous England Freedom's throne ordain; From Alfred's parent reign To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold; I know your perils hard, Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas, The night estranged from ease, The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd, The head with doubt perplex'd, The indignant heart disdaining the reward,

III.—3.

Which envy hardly grants. But, O renown, O praise from judging heaven and virtuous men, If thus they purchased thy divinest crown, Say, who shall hesitate, or who complain? And now they sit on thrones above: And when among the gods they move Before the Sovereign Mind, 'Lo, these,' he saith, 'lo, these are they Who to the laws of mine eternal sway From violence and fear asserted human kind.'

IV.—1.

Thus honour'd while the train Of legislators in his presence dwell; If I may aught foretell, The statesman shall the second palm obtain. For dreadful deeds of arms Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise, More glittering trophies raise: But wisest Heaven what deeds may chiefly move To favour and to love? What, save wide blessings, or averted harms?

IV.—2.

Nor to the embattled field Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown, The green immortal crown Of valour, or the songs of conquest, yield. Not Fairfax wildly bold, While bare of crest he hew'd his fatal way Through Naseby's firm array, To heavier dangers did his breast oppose Than Pym's free virtue chose, When the proud force of Strafford he controll'd.

IV.—3.

But what is man at enmity with truth? What were the fruits of Wentworth's copious mind, When (blighted all the promise of his youth) The patriot in a tyrant's league had join'd? Let Ireland's loud-lamenting plains, Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swains, Let menaced London tell How impious guile made wisdom base; How generous zeal to cruel rage gave place; And how unbless'd he lived and how dishonour'd fell.

V.—1.

Thence never hath the Muse Around his tomb Pierian roses flung: Nor shall one poet's tongue His name for music's pleasing labour choose. And sure, when Nature kind Hath deck'd some favour'd breast above the throng, That man with grievous wrong Affronts and wounds his genius, if he bends To guilt's ignoble ends The functions of his ill-submitting mind.

V.—2.

For worthy of the wise Nothing can seem but virtue; nor earth yield Their fame an equal field, Save where impartial freedom gives the prize. There Somers fix'd his name, Enroll'd the next to William. There shall Time To every wondering clime Point out that Somers, who from faction's crowd, The slanderous and the loud, Could fair assent and modest reverence claim.

V.—3.

Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire, Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire, Without his guidance, his superior hand. And rightly shall the Muse's care Wreaths like her own for him prepare, Whose mind's enamour'd aim Could forms of civil beauty draw Sublime as ever sage or poet saw, Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame.

VI.—1.

Let none profane be near! The Muse was never foreign to his breast: On power's grave seat confess'd, Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear. And if the blessed know Their ancient cares, even now the unfading groves, Where haply Milton roves With Spenser, hear the enchanted echoes round Through farthest heaven resound Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below.

VI.—2.

He knew, the patriot knew, That letters and the Muse's powerful art Exalt the ingenuous heart, And brighten every form of just and true. They lend a nobler sway To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure Could ever yet procure: They, too, from envy's pale malignant light Conduct her forth to sight, Clothed in the fairest colours of the day.

VI.—3.

O Townshend, thus may Time, the judge severe, Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell: And when I speak of one to Freedom dear For planning wisely and for acting well, Of one whom Glory loves to own, Who still by liberal means alone Hath liberal ends pursued; Then, for the guerdon of my lay, 'This man with faithful friendship,' will I say, 'From youth to honour'd age my arts and me hath view'd.'



ODE V.

ON LOVE OF PRAISE.

1 Of all the springs within the mind Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze, From none more pleasing aid we find Than from the genuine love of praise.

2 Nor any partial, private end Such reverence to the public bears; Nor any passion, virtue's friend, So like to virtue's self appears.

3 For who in glory can delight Without delight in glorious deeds? What man a charming voice can slight, Who courts the echo that succeeds?

4 But not the echo on the voice More than on virtue praise depends; To which, of course, its real price The judgment of the praiser lends.

5 If praise, then, with religious awe From the sole perfect judge be sought, A nobler aim, a purer law, Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage hath taught.

6 With which in character the same, Though in an humbler sphere it lies, I count that soul of human fame, The suffrage of the good and wise.



ODE VI.

TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQUIRE; WITH THE WORKS OF CHAULIEU.

1 Attend to Chaulieu's wanton lyre; While, fluent as the skylark sings When first the morn allures its wings, The epicure his theme pursues: And tell me if, among the choir Whose music charms the banks of Seine, So full, so free, so rich a strain E'er dictated the warbling Muse.

2 Yet, Hall, while thy judicious ear Admires the well-dissembled art That can such harmony impart To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes; While wit from affectation clear, Bright images, and passions true, Recall to thy assenting view The envied bards of nobler times;

3 Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong? This priest of Pleasure, who aspires To lead us to her sacred fires, Knows he the ritual of her shrine? Say (her sweet influence to thy song So may the goddess still afford), Doth she consent to be adored With shameless love and frantic wine?

4 Nor Cato, nor Chrysippus here Need we in high indignant phrase From their Elysian quiet raise: But Pleasure's oracle alone Consult; attentive, not severe. O Pleasure, we blaspheme not thee; Nor emulate the rigid knee Which bends but at the Stoic throne.

5 We own, had fate to man assign'd Nor sense, nor wish but what obey, Or Venus soft, or Bacchus gay, Then might our bard's voluptuous creed Most aptly govern human kind: Unless perchance what he hath sung Of tortured joints and nerves unstrung, Some wrangling heretic should plead.

6 But now, with all these proud desires For dauntless truth and honest fame; With that strong master of our frame, The inexorable judge within, What can be done? Alas, ye fires Of love; alas, ye rosy smiles, Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils,— Ye have no bribe his grace to win.



ODE VII.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND BENJAMIN, LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 1754.

I.—l.

For toils which patriots have endured, For treason quell'd and laws secured, In every nation Time displays The palm of honourable praise. Envy may rail, and Faction fierce May strive; but what, alas, can those (Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes) To Gratitude and Love oppose, To faithful story and persuasive verse?

I.—2.

O nurse of freedom, Albion, say, Thou tamer of despotic sway, What man, among thy sons around, Thus heir to glory hast thou found? What page, in all thy annals bright, Hast thou with purer joy survey'd Than that where truth, by Hoadly's aid, Shines through imposture's solemn shade, Through kingly and through sacerdotal night?

I.—3.

To him the Teacher bless'd, Who sent religion, from the palmy field By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west, And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth conceal'd, To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd: 'Go thou, and rescue my dishonour'd law From hands rapacious, and from tongues impure: Let not my peaceful name be made a lure, Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid: Let not my words be impious chains to draw The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe, To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid.'

II.—1.

No cold or unperforming hand Was arm'd by Heaven with this command. The world soon felt it; and, on high, To William's ear with welcome joy Did Locke among the blest unfold The rising hope of Hoadly's name; Godolphin then confirm'd the fame; And Somers, when from earth he came, And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told.

II.—2.

Then drew the lawgivers around (Sires of the Grecian name renown'd), And listening ask'd, and wondering knew, What private force could thus subdue The vulgar and the great combined; Could war with sacred folly wage; Could a whole nation disengage From the dread bonds of many an age, And to new habits mould the public mind.

II.-3.

For not a conqueror's sword, Nor the strong powers to civil founders known, Were his; but truth by faithful search explored, And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown. Wherever it took root, the soul (restored To freedom) freedom too for others sought. Not monkish craft, the tyrant's claim divine, Not regal zeal, the bigot's cruel shrine, Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage; Nor the wild rabble to sedition wrought, Nor synods by the papal Genius taught, Nor St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage.

III.—1.

But where shall recompense be found? Or how such arduous merit crown'd? For look on life's laborious scene: What rugged spaces lie between Adventurous Virtue's early toils And her triumphal throne! The shade Of death, meantime, does oft invade Her progress; nor, to us display'd, Wears the bright heroine her expected spoils.

III.—2.

Yet born to conquer is her power;— O Hoadly, if that favourite hour On earth arrive, with thankful awe We own just Heaven's indulgent law, And proudly thy success behold; We attend thy reverend length of days With benediction and with praise, And hail thee in our public ways Like some great spirit famed in ages old.

III.—3.

While thus our vows prolong Thy steps on earth, and when by us resign'd Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng Who rescued or preserved the rights of human kind, Oh! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue Thee still, her friend and benefactor, name: Oh! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes, May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize, Make public virtue, public freedom, vile; Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame, Which thou hast kept entire from force and factious guile.



ODE VIII.

1 If rightly tuneful bards decide, If it be fix'd in Love's decrees, That Beauty ought not to be tried But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell, What fair can Amoret excel?

2 Behold that bright unsullied smile, And wisdom speaking in her mien: Yet (she so artless all the while, So little studious to be seen) We nought but instant gladness know, Nor think to whom the gift we owe.

3 But neither music, nor the powers Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, Add half that sunshine to the hours, Or make life's prospect half so clear, As memory brings it to the eye From scenes where Amoret was by.

4 Yet not a satirist could there Or fault or indiscretion find; Nor any prouder sage declare One virtue, pictured in his mind, Whose form with lovelier colours glows Than Amoret's demeanour shows.

5 This sure is Beauty's happiest part: This gives the most unbounded sway: This shall enchant the subject heart When rose and lily fade away; And she be still, in spite of time, Sweet Amoret in all her prime.



ODE IX.

AT STUDY.

1 Whither did my fancy stray? By what magic drawn away Have I left my studious theme, From this philosophic page, From the problems of the sage, Wandering through a pleasing dream?

2 'Tis in vain, alas! I find, Much in vain, my zealous mind Would to learned Wisdom's throne Dedicate each thoughtful hour: Nature bids a softer power Claim some minutes for his own.

3 Let the busy or the wise View him with contemptuous eyes; Love is native to the heart: Guide its wishes as you will; Without Love you'll find it still Void in one essential part.

4 Me though no peculiar fair Touches with a lover's care; Though the pride of my desire Asks immortal friendship's name, Asks the palm of honest fame, And the old heroic lyre;

5 Though the day have smoothly gone, Or to letter'd leisure known, Or in social duty spent; Yet at eve my lonely breast Seeks in vain for perfect rest; Languishes for true content.



ODE X.

TO THOMAS EDWARDS, ESQ.; ON THE LATE EDITION OF MR. POPE'S WORKS. 1751.

1 Believe me, Edwards, to restrain The licence of a railer's tongue Is what but seldom men obtain By sense or wit, by prose or song: A task for more Herculean powers, Nor suited to the sacred hours Of leisure in the Muse's bowers.

2 In bowers where laurel weds with palm, The Muse, the blameless queen, resides: Fair Fame attends, and Wisdom calm Her eloquence harmonious guides: While, shut for ever from her gate, Oft trying, still repining, wait Fierce Envy and calumnious Hate.

3 Who, then, from her delightful bounds Would step one moment forth to heed What impotent and savage sounds From their unhappy mouths proceed? No: rather Spenser's lyre again Prepare, and let thy pious strain For Pope's dishonour'd shade complain.

4 Tell how displeased was every bard, When lately in the Elysian grove They of his Muse's guardian heard, His delegate to fame above; And what with one accord they said Of wit in drooping age misled, And Warburton's officious aid:

5 How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate To that melodious lyre assign'd, Beneath a tutor who so late With Midas and his rout combined By spiteful clamour to confound That very lyre's enchanting sound, Though listening realms admired around:

6 How Horace own'd he thought the fire Of his friend Pope's satiric line Did further fuel scarce require From such a militant divine: How Milton scorn'd the sophist vain, Who durst approach his hallow'd strain With unwash'd hands and lips profane.

7 Then Shakspeare debonair and mild Brought that strange comment forth to view; Conceits more deep, he said and smiled, Than his own fools or madmen knew: But thank'd a generous friend above, Who did with free adventurous love Such pageants from his tomb remove.

8 And if to Pope, in equal need, The same kind office thou wouldst pay, Then, Edwards, all the band decreed That future bards with frequent lay Should call on thy auspicious name, From each absurd intruder's claim To keep inviolate their fame.



ODE XI.

TO THE COUNTRY GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND. 1758.

1 Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled? Where are those valiant tenants of her shore, Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped, Or with firm hand the rapid pole-axe bore? Freeman and soldier was their common name, Who late with reapers to the furrow came, Now in the front of battle charged the foe: Who taught the steer the wintry plough to endure, Now in full councils check'd encroaching power, And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know.

2 But who are ye? from Ebro's loitering sons To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine; From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones And cities looking on the Cimbric main, Ye lost, ye self-deserted? whose proud lords Have baffled your tame hands, and given your swords To slavish ruffians, hired for their command: These, at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod, See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod: These are the Public Will, the Reason of the land.

3 Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms, Yet vain of Freedom, how dost thou beguile, With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms? Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd, The praise and envy of the nations round, What care hast thou to guard from Fortune's sway? Amid the storms of war, how soon may all The lofty pile from its foundations fall, Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day!

4 No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales Add Industry's wise gifts to Nature's store, And every port is crowded with thy sails, And every wave throws treasure on thy shore. What boots it? If luxurious Plenty charm Thy selfish heart from Glory, if thy arm Shrink at the frowns of Danger and of Pain, Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine. Oh, rather far be poor! Thy gold will shine Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy bane.

5 But what hath Force or War to do with thee? Girt by the azure tide, and throned sublime Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see, With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe Are thy fair fields: athwart thy guardian prow No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand— Yet say, my country, will the waves and wind Obey thee? Hast thou all thy hopes resign'd To the sky's fickle faith, the pilot's wavering hand?

6 For, oh! may neither Fear nor stronger Love (Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won) Thee, last of many wretched nations, move, With mighty armies station'd round the throne To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims Of Freedom! Her proud records to the flames Then bear, an offering at Ambition's shrine; Whate'er thy ancient patriots dared demand From furious John's, or faithless Charles' hand, Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line.

7 But if thy sons be worthy of their name, If liberal laws with liberal arts they prize, Let them from conquest, and from servile shame, In War's glad school their own protectors rise. Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultured plains, Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains, Now not unequal to your birth be found; The public voice bids arm your rural state, Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait, And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around.

8 Why are ye tardy? what inglorious care Detains you from their head, your native post? Who most their country's fame and fortune share, 'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most. Each man his task in social life sustains. With partial labours, with domestic gains, Let others dwell: to you indulgent Heaven By counsel and by arms the public cause To serve for public love and love's applause, The first employment far, the noblest hire, hath given.

9 Have ye not heard of Lacedemon's fame? Of Attic chiefs in Freedom's war divine? Of Rome's dread generals? the Valerian name? The Fabian sons? the Scipios, matchless line? Your lot was theirs: the farmer and the swain Met his loved patron's summons from the plain; The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew: Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd; The conquerors to their household gods return'd, And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.

10 Shall, then, this glory of the antique age, This pride of men, be lost among mankind? Shall war's heroic arts no more engage The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind? Doth valour to the race no more belong? No more with scorn of violence and wrong Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire, That, like some mystery to few reveal'd, The skill of arms abash'd and awed they yield, And from their own defence with hopeless hearts retire?

11 O shame to human life, to human laws! The loose adventurer, hireling of a day, Who his fell sword without affection draws, Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay, This man the lessons of the field can learn; Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn, And every pledge of conquest: while in vain, To guard your altars, your paternal lands, Are social arms held out to your free hands: Too arduous is the lore: too irksome were the pain.

12 Meantime by Pleasure's lying tales allured, From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray; And deep in London's gloomy haunts immured, Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay. O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue! The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields renew, The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend; While he doth riot's orgies haply share, Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare, Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend.

13 And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng; That the rude village inmates now disdain Those homely ties which ruled their fathers long. Alas, your fathers did by other arts Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts, And led in other paths their ductile will; By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, Won them the ancient manners to revere, To prize their country's peace and heaven's due rites fulfil.

14 But mark the judgment of experienced Time, Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear A state, and impotent sedition's crime? The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there; The powers who to command and to obey, Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway The rising race to manly concord tame? Oft let the marshall'd field their steps unite, And in glad splendour bring before their sight One common cause and one hereditary fame.

15 Nor yet be awed, nor yet your task disown, Though war's proud votaries look on severe; Though secrets, taught erewhile to them alone, They deem profaned by your intruding ear. Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell, Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell, And mock the old simplicity, in vain: To the time's warfare, simple or refined, The time itself adapts the warrior's mind: And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain.

16 Say then, if England's youth, in earlier days, On glory's field with well-train'd armies vied, Why shall they now renounce that generous praise? Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride? Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand, And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn band, With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd, Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd, Nor Audley's squires, nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd: They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.

17 Such were the laurels which your fathers won: Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast;— Is there no voice that speaks to every son? No nobler, holier call to you address'd? Oh! by majestic Freedom, righteous Laws, By heavenly Truth's, by manly Reason's cause, Awake; attend; be indolent no more: By friendship, social peace, domestic love, Rise; arm; your country's living safety prove; And train her valiant youth, and watch around her shore.



ODE XII.

ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS; IN THE COUNTRY. 1758.

1 Thy verdant scenes, O Goulder's Hill, Once more I seek, a languid guest: With throbbing temples and with burden'd breast Once more I climb thy steep aerial way. O faithful cure of oft-returning ill, Now call thy sprightly breezes round, Dissolve this rigid cough profound, And bid the springs of life with gentler movement play.

2 How gladly, 'mid the dews of dawn, My weary lungs thy healing gale, The balmy west or the fresh north, inhale! How gladly, while my musing footsteps rove Round the cool orchard or the sunny lawn, Awaked I stop, and look to find What shrub perfumes the pleasant wind, Or what wild songster charms the Dryads of the grove!

3 Now, ere the morning walk is done, The distant voice of Health I hear, Welcome as beauty's to the lover's ear. 'Droop not, nor doubt of my return,' she cries; 'Here will I, 'mid the radiant calm of noon, Meet thee beneath yon chestnut bower, And lenient on thy bosom pour That indolence divine which lulls the earth and skies.'

4 The goddess promised not in vain. I found her at my favourite time. Nor wish'd to breathe in any softer clime, While (half-reclined, half-slumbering as I lay) She hover'd o'er me. Then, among her train Of Nymphs and Zephyrs, to my view Thy gracious form appear'd anew, Then first, O heavenly Muse, unseen for many a day.

5 In that soft pomp the tuneful maid Shone like the golden star of love. I saw her hand in careless measures move; I heard sweet preludes dancing on her lyre, While my whole frame the sacred sound obey'd. New sunshine o'er my fancy springs, New colours clothe external things, And the last glooms of pain and sickly plaint retire.

6 O Goulder's Hill, by thee restored Once more to this enliven'd hand, My harp, which late resounded o'er the land The voice of glory, solemn and severe, My Dorian harp shall now with mild accord To thee her joyful tribute pay, And send a less ambitious lay Of friendship and of love to greet thy master's ear.

7 For when within thy shady seat First from the sultry town he chose, And the tired senate's cares, his wish'd repose, Then wast thou mine; to me a happier home For social leisure: where my welcome feet, Estranged from all the entangling ways In which the restless vulgar strays, Through Nature's simple paths with ancient Faith might roam.

8 And while around his sylvan scene My Dyson led the white-wing'd hours, Oft from the Athenian Academic bowers Their sages came: oft heard our lingering walk The Mantuan music warbling o'er the green: And oft did Tully's reverend shade, Though much for liberty afraid, With us of letter'd ease or virtuous glory talk.

9 But other guests were on their way, And reach'd ere long this favour'd grove; Even the celestial progeny of Jove, Bright Venus, with her all-subduing son, Whose golden shaft most willingly obey The best and wisest. As they came, Glad Hymen waved his genial flame, And sang their happy gifts, and praised their spotless throne.

10 I saw when through yon festive gate He led along his chosen maid, And to my friend with smiles presenting said:— 'Receive that fairest wealth which Heaven assign'd To human fortune. Did thy lonely state One wish, one utmost hope, confess? Behold, she comes, to adorn and bless: Comes, worthy of thy heart, and equal to thy mind.'



ODE XIII.

TO THE AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF THE HOUSE OF BRANDENBURG. 1751.

1 The men renown'd as chiefs of human race, And born to lead in counsels or in arms, Have seldom turn'd their feet from glory's chase To dwell with books, or court the Muse's charms. Yet, to our eyes if haply time hath brought Some genuine transcript of their calmer thought, There still we own the wise, the great, or good; And Caesar there and Xenophon are seen, As clear in spirit and sublime of mien, As on Pharsalian plains, or by the Assyrian flood.

2 Say thou too, Frederic, was not this thy aim? Thy vigils could the student's lamp engage, Except for this, except that future Fame Might read thy genius in the faithful page? That if hereafter Envy shall presume With words irreverent to inscribe thy tomb, And baser weeds upon thy palms to fling, That hence posterity may try thy reign, Assert thy treaties, and thy wars explain, And view in native lights the hero and the king.

3 O evil foresight and pernicious care! Wilt thou indeed abide by this appeal? Shall we the lessons of thy pen compare With private honour or with public zeal? Whence, then, at things divine those darts of scorn? Why are the woes, which virtuous men have borne For sacred truth, a prey to laughter given? What fiend, what foe of Nature urged thy arm The Almighty of his sceptre to disarm, To push this earth adrift and leave it loose from Heaven?

4 Ye godlike shades of legislators old, Ye who made Rome victorious, Athens wise, Ye first of mortals with the bless'd enroll'd, Say, did not horror in your bosoms rise, When thus, by impious vanity impell'd, A magistrate, a monarch, ye beheld Affronting civil order's holiest bands, Those bands which ye so labour'd to improve, Those hopes and fears of justice from above, Which tamed the savage world to your divine commands?



ODE XIV.

THE COMPLAINT.

1 Away! away! Tempt me no more, insidious love: Thy soothing sway Long did my youthful bosom prove: At length thy treason is discern'd, At length some dear-bought caution earn'd: Away! nor hope my riper age to move.

2 I know, I see Her merit. Needs it now be shown, Alas, to me? How often, to myself unknown, The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid Have I admired! How often said, What joy to call a heart like hers one's own!

3 But, flattering god, O squanderer of content and ease, In thy abode Will care's rude lesson learn to please? O say, deceiver, hast thou won Proud Fortune to attend thy throne, Or placed thy friends above her stern decrees?



ODE XV.

ON DOMESTIC MANNERS.

(UNFINISHED.)

1 Meek Honour, female shame, Oh! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky, From Albion dost thou fly, Of Albion's daughters once the favourite fame? O beauty's only friend, Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire; Who selfish, bold desire Dost to esteem and dear affection turn; Alas, of thee forlorn What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend?

2 Behold, our youths in vain Concerning nuptial happiness inquire: Our maids no more aspire The arts of bashful Hymen to attain; But with triumphant eyes And cheeks impassive, as they move along, Ask homage of the throng. The lover swears that in a harlot's arms Are found the self-same charms, And worthless and deserted lives and dies.

3 Behold, unbless'd at home, The father of the cheerless household mourns: The night in vain returns, For Love and glad Content at distance roam; While she, in whom his mind Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares, To meet him she prepares, Through noise and spleen and all the gamester's art, A listless, harass'd heart, Where not one tender thought can welcome find.

4 'Twas thus, along the shore Of Thames, Britannia's guardian Genius heard, From many a tongue preferr'd, Of strife and grief the fond invective lore: At which the queen divine Indignant, with her adamantine spear Like thunder sounding near, Smote the red cross upon her silver shield, And thus her wrath reveal'd; (I watch'd her awful words, and made them mine.)

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NOTES.

BOOK FIRST.

ODE XVIII, STANZA II.—2.

Lycurgus the Lacedemonian lawgiver brought into Greece from Asia Minor the first complete copy of Homer's works. At Plataea was fought the decisive battle between the Persian army and the united militia of Greece under Pausanias and Aristides. Cimon the Athenian erected a trophy in Cyprus for two great victories gained on the same day over the Persians by sea and land. Diodorus Siculus has preserved the inscription which the Athenians affixed to the consecrated spoils, after this great success; in which it is very remarkable that the greatness of the occasion has raised the manner of expression above the usual simplicity and modesty of all other ancient inscriptions. It is this:—

[Greek: EX. OU. G. EUROPAeN. ASIAS. DIChA. PONTOS. ENEIME. KAI. POLEAS. ONAeTON. ThOUROS. ARAeS. EPEChEI. OUDEN. PO. TOIOUTON. EPIChThONION. GENET. ANDRON. ERGON. EN. AePEIROI. KAI. KATA. PONOTON. AMA. OIAE. GAR. EN. KUPROI. MAeDOUS. POLLOUS. OLESANTES. PhOINIKON. EKATON. NAUS. ELON. EN. PELAGEI. ANDRON. PLAeThOUSAS. META. D. ESENEN. ASIS. UP. AUTON. PLAeGEIS. AMPhOTERAIS. ChERSI. KRATEI. POLEMOU.]

The following translation is almost literal:—

Since first the sea from Asia's hostile coast Divided Europe, and the god of war Assail'd imperious cities; never yet, At once among the waves and on the shore, Hath such a labour been achieved by men Who earth inhabit. They, whose arms the Medes In Cyprus felt pernicious, they, the same, Have won from skilful Tyre an hundred ships Crowded with warriors. Asia groans, in both Her hands sore smitten, by the might of war.



STANZA II.—3.

Pindar was contemporary with Aristides and Cimon, in whom the glory of ancient Greece was at its height. When Xerxes invaded Greece, Pindar was true to the common interest of his country; though his fellow-citizens, the Thebans, had sold themselves to the Persian king. In one of his odes he expresses the great distress and anxiety of his mind, occasioned by the vast preparations of Xerxes against Greece (Isthm. 8). In another he celebrates the victories of Salamis, Plataea, and Himera (Pyth. 1). It will be necessary to add two or three other particulars of his life, real or fabulous, in order to explain what follows in the text concerning him. First, then, he was thought to be so great a favourite of Apollo, that the priests of that deity allotted him a constant share of their offerings. It was said of him, as of some other illustrious men, that at his birth a swarm of bees lighted on his lips, and fed him with their honey. It was also a tradition concerning him, that Pan was heard to recite his poetry, and seen dancing to one of his hymns on the mountains near Thebes. But a real historical fact in his life is, that the Thebans imposed a large fine upon him on account of the veneration which he expressed in his poems for that heroic spirit shown by the people of Athens in defence of the common liberty, which his own fellow-citizens had shamefully betrayed. And as the argument of this ode implies, that great poetical talents and high sentiments of liberty do reciprocally produce and assist each other, so Pindar is perhaps the most exemplary proof of this connexion which occurs in history. The Thebans were remarkable, in general, for a slavish disposition through all the fortunes of their commonwealth; at the time of its ruin by Philip; and even in its best state, under the administration of Pelopidas and Epaminondas: and every one knows they were no less remarkable for great dulness and want of all genius. That Pindar should have equally distinguished himself from the rest of his fellow-citizens in both these respects seems somewhat extraordinary, and is scarce to be accounted for but by the preceding observation.

STANZA III.—3.

Alluding to his defence of the people of England against Salmasins. See particularly the manner in which he himself speaks of that undertaking, in the introduction to his reply to Morus.

STANZA IV.—3.

Edward the Third; from whom descended Henry Hastings, third Earl of Huntingdon, by the daughter of the Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward the Fourth.

STANZA V.—3.

At Whittington, a village on the edge of Scarsdale in Derbyshire, the Earls of Devonshire and Danby, with the Lord Delamere, privately concerted the plan of the Revolution. The house in which they met is at present a farmhouse, and the country people distinguish the room where they sat by the name of the plotting parlour.

* * * * *



BOOK SECOND.

ODE VII. STANZA II.—1.

Mr. Locke died in 1704, when Mr. Hoadly was beginning to distinguish himself in the cause of civil and religious liberty: Lord Godolphin in 1712, when the doctrines of the Jacobite faction were chiefly favoured by those in power: Lord Somers in 1716, amid the practices of the nonjoining clergy against the Protestant establishment; and Lord Stanhope in 1721, during the controversy with the lower house of convocation.

ODE X. STANZA V.

During Mr. Pope's war with Theobald, Concanen, and the rest of their tribe, Mr. Warburton, the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester, did with great zeal cultivate their friendship, having been introduced, forsooth, at the meetings of that respectable confederacy—a favour which he afterwards spoke of in very high terms of complacency and thankfulness. At the same time, in his intercourse with them, he treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous manner, and as a writer without genius. Of the truth of these assertions his lordship can have no doubt, if he recollects his own correspondence with Concanen, a part of which is still in being, and will probably be remembered as long as any of this prelate's writings.

ODE XIII.

In the year 1751 appeared a very splendid edition, in quarto, of 'Memoires pour servir a l'Histoire de la Maison de Brandebourg, a Berlin et a la Haye,' with a privilege, signed Frederic, the same being engraved in imitation of handwriting. In this edition, among other extraordinary passages, are the two following, to which the third stanza of this ode more particularly refers:—

'Il se fit une migration' (the author is speaking of what happened at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes), 'dont on n'avoit guere vu d'exemples dans l'histoire: un peuple entier sortit du royaume par l'esprit de parti en haine du pape, et pour recevoir sous un autre ciel la communion sous les deux especes: quatre cens mille ames s'expatrierent ainsi et abandonnerent tous leur biens pour detonner dans d'autres temples les vieux pseaumes de Clement Marot.'—Page 163.

'La crainte donna le jour a la credulite, et l'amour propre interessa bientot le ciel au destin des hommes.'—Page 242.



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 1746.

ARGUMENT.

The Nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, are addressed at daybreak, in honour of their several functions, and of the relations which they bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, or powers of nature, according to the doctrine of the old mythological poets, concerning the generation of the gods and the rise of things. They are then successively considered, as giving motion to the air and exciting summer breezes; as nourishing and beautifying the vegetable creation; as contributing to the fulness of navigable rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of commerce; and by that means to the maritime part of military power. Next is represented their favourable influence upon health when assisted by rural exercise, which introduces their connexion with the art of physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal springs. Lastly, they are celebrated for the friendship which the Muses bear them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can receive, in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets.

O'er yonder eastern bill the twilight pale Walks forth from darkness; and the God of day, With bright Astraea seated by his side, Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs, Ye Nymphs, ye blue-eyed progeny of Thames, Who now the mazes of this rugged heath Trace with your fleeting steps; who all night long Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air, Your lonely murmurs, tarry, and receive My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due, 10 I leave the gates of sleep; nor shall my lyre Too far into the splendid hours of morn Engage your audience; my observant hand Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam Approach you. To your subterranean haunts Ye then may timely steal; to pace with care The humid sands; to loosen from the soil The bubbling sources; to direct the rills To meet in wider channels; or beneath Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon 20 To slumber, shelter'd from the burning heaven.

Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs, or end? Wide is your praise and copious—first of things, First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose, Were Love and Chaos. Love,[A] the sire of Fate; [B] Elder than Chaos. [C] Born of Fate was Time, [D] Who many sons and many comely births Devour'd, [E] relentless father; till the child Of Rhea [F] drove him from the upper sky, [G] And quell'd his deadly might. Then social reign'd 30 The kindred powers, [H] Tethys, and reverend Ops, And spotless Vesta; while supreme of sway Remain'd the Cloud-Compeller. From the couch Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race, [I] Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime, Send tribute to their parent; and from them Are ye, O Naiads: [J] Arethusa fair, And tuneful Aganippe; that sweet name, Bandusia; that soft family which dwelt With Syrian Daphne; [K] and the honour'd tribes 40 Beloved of Paeon. [L] Listen to my strain, Daughters of Tethys: listen to your praise.

You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, [M] which of old Aurora to divine Astraeus bore, Owns, and your aid beseecheth. When the might Of Hyperion, [N] from his noontide throne, Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you They ask; Pavonius and the mild South-west Prom you relief implore. Your sallying streams [O] Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. 50 Again they fly, disporting; from the mead Half-ripen'd and the tender blades of corn, To sweep the noxious mildew; or dispel Contagious steams, which oft the parched earth Breathes on her fainting sons. From noon to eve. Along the river and the paved brook, Ascend the cheerful breezes: hail'd of bards Who, fast by learned Cam, the AEolian lyre Solicit; nor unwelcome to the youth Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclined 60 O'er rushing Arno, with a pious hand The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes, Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp Of ancient Time; and haply, while he scans The ruins, with a silent tear revolves The fame and fortune of imperious Rome.

You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid The rural powers confess, and still prepare For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands, Oft as the Delian king [P] with Sirius holds 70 The central heavens, the father of the grove Commands his Dryads over your abodes To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime.

Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray, Pursues your steps, delighted; and the path With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts The laughing Chloris, [Q] with profusest hand, Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with you 80 Pomona seeks to dwell; and o'er the lawns, And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames Ye love to wander, Amalthea [R] pours, Well-pleased, the wealth of that Ammonian horn, Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant isles Nysaean or Atlantic. Nor canst thou (Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn, O Bromius, O Lenaean), nor canst thou Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid, 90 With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me, Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre, Accept the rites your bounty well may claim, Nor heed the scoffings of the Edonian band. [S]

For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire, As down the verdant slope your duteous rills Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives, Delighted; and your piety applauds; And bids his copious tide roll on secure, For faithful are his daughters; and with words 100 Auspicious gratulates the bark which, now His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn, When Hermes, [T] from Olympus bent o'er earth To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill Stoops lightly sailing; oft intent your springs He views: and waving o'er some new-born stream His bless'd pacific wand, 'And yet,' he cries, 'Yet,' cries the son of Maia, 'though recluse 110 And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs, Flows wealth and kind society to men. By you my function and my honour'd name Do I possess; while o'er the Boetic rale, Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms By sacred Ganges water'd, I conduct The English merchant; with the buxom fleece Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe Sarmatian kings; or to the household gods Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore, 120 Dispense the mineral treasure [U] which of old Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land Was yet unconscious of those generous arts, Which wise Phoenicia from their native clime Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven.'

Such are the words of Hermes: such the praise, O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power: And those who, sedulous in prudent works, Relieve the wants of nature, Jove repays 130 With noble wealth, and his own seat on earth, Pit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns Not vainly to the hospitable arts Of Hermes yield their store. For, O ye Nymphs, Hath he not won [V] the unconquerable queen Of arms to court your friendship You she owns The fair associates who extend her sway Wide o'er the mighty deep; and grateful things Of you she littereth, oft as from the shore 140 Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks Of Vecta, she her thundering navy leads To Calpe's [W] foaming channel, or the rough Cantabrian surge; her auspices divine Imparting to the senate and the prince Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings, The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings Was ever scorn'd by Pallas; and of old Rejoiced the virgin, from the brazen prow Of Athens o'er AEgina's gloomy surge, [X] 150 To drive her clouds and storms; o'erwhelming all The Persian's promised glory, when the realms Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime, When Libya's torrid champaign and the rocks Of cold Imaues join'd their servile bands, To sweep the sons of Liberty from earth. In vain; Minerva on the bounding prow Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice Denounced her terrors on their impious heads, And shook her burning aegis. Xerxes saw; [Y] 160 From Heracleum, on the mountain's height Throned in his golden car, he knew the sign Celestial; felt unrighteous hope forsake His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with shame.

Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power; Who arm the hand of Liberty for war, And give to the renown'd Britannic name To awe contending monarchs: yet benign, Yet mild of nature, to the works of peace More prone, and lenient of the many ills 170 Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid Hygeia well can witness; she who saves, From poisonous dates and cups of pleasing bane, The wretch, devoted to the entangling snares Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him she leads To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils, To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds, She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams, And where his breast may drink the mountain breeze, 180 And where the fervour of the sunny vale May beat upon his brow, through devious paths Beckons his rapid courser. Nor when ease, Cool ease and welcome slumbers have becalm'd His eager bosom, does the queen of health Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board She guards, presiding, and the frugal powers With joy sedate leads in; and while the brown Ennaean dame with Pan presents her stores, While changing still, and comely in the change, 190 Vertumnus and the Hours before him spread The garden's banquet, you to crown his feast, To crown his feast, O Naiads, you the fair Hygeia calls; and from your shelving seats, And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring, To slake his veins, till soon a purer tide Flows down those loaded channels, washeth off The dregs of luxury, the lurking seeds Of crude disease, and through the abodes of life Sends vigour, sends repose. Hail, Naiads, hail! 200 Who give to labour, health; to stooping age, The joys which youth had squander'd. Oft your urns Will I invoke; and frequent in your praise, Abash the frantic thyrsus [Z] with my song.