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‘Still on thy solemn steps attend ; Warm Charity, the general friend, With Justice, to herself severe, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand 1 Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art sec.) With thund'ring voice, and threat'ningmien, With screaming Horror's fun'ral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart; Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound, my heart. The gen'rous spark extinct revive; Teach me to love, and to forgive ; Exact my own defects to scan; What others are, to feel; and known myself a man

$75. The Progress of Poesy. A Pindaric Ode. GRAY.

- I. I. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. . From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take : The laughing flow'rs that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, l)eep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign : Now rolling down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous, see it pour; [roar. The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the

I. 2.

Osovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell the sullen cares And frantic passions hearthy soft control. On Thracia's hills the lord of War Has curh'd the fury of his car, And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command. Perching on the sceptred hand Qi Jove, thy magic lulls the featber'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing:

uench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie

'he terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.

I. 3. Thee the voice, the dance obey, Temper'd to o warbled lay. 9 cr Idalia's velvet green The rosy-crowned loves are seen 9n Cytherea's day, With antic sports, and blue-eyed pleasures, Friskling light in frolic measures; Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet, . TQbrisk notes in cadenee beating, Glance their many-twinkling feet.

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Man's feeble race what ills await !
Labor, and penury, the racks of pain,
Disease, and sorrow's weeping train :
And death, sad refuge from the storius of sate 1
The fond complaini, my song, disprove,
And justify the laws of Jove.
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse?
Night and all her sickly dews, -
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary sky:
Till down the castern cliffs afar
Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts

of war. -
II. 2.

In climes beyond the solar road, [roam.
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom,
To cheer the shiv'ring native's dull abode,
And oft, beneath the od’rous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,
In loose numbers, wildly sweet,
Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves,
Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Glory pursues, and gen'rous shame, flame.
Th'unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy

. 3.

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep ; Isles, that crown th' Egean deep; Fields, that cool llissus laves, Or where Maeander's amber waves In ling ring lab'rinths creep, How do your tuneful echo's languish : Mute but to the voice of anguish : Where each old poetic mountain lnspiration breath'd around; Ev'ry shade and hallow'd fountain Murmur'd deep a solemn sound: Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plainst Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant pow'r, And coward vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, [coast. They sought, O Albion next thy sca-encircled

III. 1.

Far from the sun and summer gale, In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid, What time, where lucid Avon stray'd. To him the mighty mother did unveil !ser awful face; the dauntless child Stretch'd forth his little arns and smil'd, This pencil take, (she said), whose colors clear Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy
This can unlock the gates of joy;
Of horror, that, and thrilling fears,
Orope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

III. 2.

Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph wings of ectasy, The secrets of th' abyss to spy. He pass'd the flaming bounds of space and time, - - - The living throne, the sapphire lo. t Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw : but, blasted with excess of light, Clos'd his eyes in endless night. Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, o: pace. With necks in thunder cloth'd, aud long re

III. 3.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore 1 Bright-eyed fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictur'd urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. But ah! tis heard no moreO lyre divine! what daring spirit Wakes thee now * Tho' he inherit Nor the pride nor ample pinion, That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air: Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray, With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun, Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, [Great! Beneath the Good how far–but far above the

$ 76. The Bard. A Pindaric Ode. GRAY. I. 1.

• Rui N seise thee, ruthless king! • Confusion on thy banners wait! • Tho' fann'd by conquest's crimson wing, • They mock the air with idle states • Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, • Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail • To save thy secret soul s. nightly fears, • From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!' Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his song array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance.

I. 2.

On a rock whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Rob'd in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streau'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air);

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“... Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding sheet of Edward's race: Five ample room, and verge enough The characters of hell to trace. “ Mark the year, and mark the night, “When Severn shall re-echo with affright “The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roosthit “Shrieks of an agonizing king: [ring: “She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, “That tear'st the bowers of thy mangled mate, “From thee beborn who o'er thy country hang, “The scourge of heaven. What terrors round “ him wait ! Amazement in his van with flight combin'd, Andsorrow's faded form, and §. behind II. 2. 4 - Mio mighty Lord, “ Low on his fun'ral couch he lies! “No pitying heart, no eye, afford “A tear to grace his obsequies. Is the sable warrior j “Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. “The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam wer “Gone to salute the rising morn. rn: “Fairlaughs the morn,and soft thezephyrblows, “While proudly riding o'er the azure realm “In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm, “Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, “That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his even“ing prey. II, 3

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II. 3.

* Fill high the sparkling bowl, “The rich repast prepare, “Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: “Close by the regal chair “ Fell thirst and famine scowl “A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. “Heard ye the din of battle bray, “Lance to lance, and horse to horse? “Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, “And thro' their kindred squadrons now their

** way. “Ye tow’rs of Julius, London's lasting shame, “With many a soul and midnight murder fed, “Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, “And spare the meek usurper's holy head. “Above, below, the rose of snow, "Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread; “The bristled boar in infant gore “Willows beneath the thorny shade. “Now,brothers,bending o'erth' accursedloom, “Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his “doom.

III. 1.

“Edward, lo! to sudden fate “Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) “Half of thy heart we consecrate. “ (The web is wove. The work is done.)” "Stay, oh stay ! nor thus forlorn, ‘Leave me unblest, unpitied, here to mourn: “In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, ‘They melt, they vanish from my eyes. “Butoh what solemn scenes on Snowdon's

‘ height

Descending slow their glitt'ring skirts unroll: ‘Visions of glory, spare my aching sight ! * Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! “No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. “All-hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue,

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' With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast, * A voice, as of the cherub-choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire. [cloud, Fond impious man! think'st thouyon sanguine liais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, [day? And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: with joy I see • The diff'rent doom our fates assign. “Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care : * To triumph, and to die, are mine. [height. He spoke : and, headlong from the mountain's Deep in the rearing tide he plung'd to endless night.

§ 77. The Fatal Sisters. An Ode. GRAY. Now the storm begins to low'r (Haste, the loom of hell prepare); Iron slect of arrowy show'r Hurtles in the darken'd air.

Glitt'ring lances are the loom
Where the dusky warp we strain,
Weaving many a soldier's doon,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
See the grisly texture grow !
('Tis of human entrails made)
And the weights that play below,
Each a gasping warrior's head.
Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,
Shoot the trembling cords along :
Sword, that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tissue close and strong.
Mista, black terrific maid,
Sangrida, and Hilda, see!
Join the wayward work to aid :
'Tis the woof of victory.
Ere the ruddy sun be set,
Pikes must shiver, jav'lings sing,
Blade with clatt'ring buckler incet,
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.

(Weave the crimson web of war.)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the confliet share,
Where they triumph, where they die.

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Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a king shall bite the ground.
Long his loss shall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeness sce;
Long her strains in sorrow sleep,
Strains of immortality
3 Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the sun.
Sisters, weave the web of death.
Sisters, cease! the work is done.
Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph sing:
Jov to the victorious bands ;
Triumph to the younger king.
Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,
Learn the tenor of our song.
Scotland, through each windino vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sisters, hence with spurs of speed'
Each her thund'ring falchion wicli;
Each bestride her sable steed.
Hurry, hurry, to the field :

$7s. The Descent of Odin. An Ode. GRAY.

UPRose the king of men with speed,
And saddled straight his coal-black steed:
Down the yawning steep he rode,
That leads to Hela's drear abode.
Hin the dog of darkness spied :
His shaggy throat he open'd wide;
While from his jaws, with carnage fill’d,
Foam and human gore distill'd.
Hoarse he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin:
And long pursues, with fruitless yell,
The father of the powerful spell.
Onward still his way he takes
(The groaning earth beneath him shakes),
Till full before his fearless eves
The portals nine of hell arise.
Right against the eastern gate,
§ the moss-grown pile he sat,
here long of yore to sleep was laid
The dust of the prophetic M.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread;
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a sullen sound.

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o in i N. A traveller to thee unknown Is he that calls, a warrior's son. Thou the deeds of light shall know: Tell me what is done below, For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, Drest for whom you goidea bed : P R O P H. E. T. F. S. S. Mantling in the goblet see The pure bev'rage of the bee; O'er it hangs the shield of gold : "Tis the drink of Balder bold. 13alder's head to death is given. Pain can reach the Soos of Ileaven! Unwilling I my lips unclose : Leave me, leave me to repose. O d 1 N. Once again my call obey; Prophetess, arise, and say What dangers Odin's child await, Who the author of his fate : Pro P if E. T. Es S. In Hoder's hand the hero's doona; His brother sends him to the tomb. Now my weary lips I close: Leave me, leave ule to repose. o di N. Prophetess, my spell obey;. Once again arise, and say Who th' avenger of his guilt, By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt? P R to P h et E. S. s. In the coverns of the West, By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, A wondrous bow shall Rinda bear, Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, Nor wash his visage in the steam, Nor see the sun's departing beam, Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile, Flaming on the funeral pile. Now muy weary lips I close: Leave me, leave ine to repose. O D. I n. Yet awhile my call obey; Prophetess, awake, and say What virgins these, in speechless woe. That bend to earth their solemn brow, That their flaxentresses tear. And snowy veils, that float in air. Tell use whence their sorrows rose; Then I leave thee to repose. P R O p H E T e S-S. IIa no traveller art thou, King of Men, I kuow thee now! Mightiest of a nighty line o di N. No boding maid of skill divine Art thou, nor prophetess of good, But mother of the giant brood: P R O P H. F. T. E. s.s. Ilie thee hence, and boast at home That never shall inquirer come

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To break my iron sleep again,
Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain i
Never, till substantial Night
Has re-assum'd her antient right;
Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl’d,
Sinks the fabric of the world.


$79. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment. GRAY.,

Owen's praise demands my song, Owen swift, and Owen strong; Fairest flow'r of Roderic's stem Gwyneth's shield, and Britain's gem. He nor heaps his brooded stores, Nor on all profusely pours; Lord of ev'ry regal art, Libral hand, and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name, Squadrons three against him came; This the force of Eirin hiding; Side by side as proudly riding, On her shadow long and gay locklin ploughs the wat'ry way; There the Norman sails afar Catch the winds, and join the war: Black and huge along they sweep, Burtheus of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands "The dragon-son of Mona stands; logitoring arms and glory drest, High he rears his ruby crost. There the thundring strokes begin, There the press, and there the din; Talymalsra s rocky shore losioing to the battle's roar. W her his glowing eye-balls turn, Thousand banners round him burn; Where he points his purple spear, Hasty, hasty Rout is there; Marking with indignant eye For to stop, and shame to fly: !her: Confusion, Terror's child; Conflict fierce, and ruin wild; Agony, that pants for breath;

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o === § 80, Ode on the Installation { the Duke of Grafton. Irregular." GRAY. “Hence, avaunt ('tis holy ground !) “Comus, and his midnight crew, "And Ignorance with looks profound, “And dreaming Sloth of palid hue, “Mad Sedition's cry profane, , , “Servitude that hugs her chain; “Nor in these consecrated bow'rs "Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in N t o: G “Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, "Dare the Muse's walk i. While bright-eyed Science watches round: “Hence away, 'tis holy ground!"

From yonder realms of empyrean day Bursts on my earth' indignant lay . . . There sit the sainted Sage, the Bard divine, The few whom Genius gave to shine Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime, Rapt in celestial transport they i. Yet hither of a glance from high They send of tender o: To bliss the place where on their op'ning soul First the genuine ardor stole. 'Twas Milton struck the deep-ton'd shell; And, as the choral warblings round him swell, "Meek Newton's self bends from his statesublime, And nods his hoary head, and listens to the . - rhyme. . . . “Ye brown o'er-arching groves, “That contemplation loves, - “Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! “Oft at the blush of dawn “I trod your level lawn, !. Oft wood the gleam of Cynthia silver bright • In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, “With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed ... is “ Melancholy.”

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The liquid language of the skies:

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