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These shall the fury paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Difdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that skulks behind;

Or pining Love fhall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-vifag'd comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this fhall tempt to rife,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter fcorn a facrifice,
And grinning infamy.

The ftings of falfehood thofe fhall
try,
And hard unkindnefs' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen remorfe with blood defil'd,
And moody madnefs, laughing wild
Amid feverest woe.

Lo! in the vale of years, beneath

A grifly troop, are feen
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their queen:

This racks the joints, this fires the veins;

That ev'ry lab'ring finew strains,
Thofe in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo! poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming age.

To each his fuff'rings; all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th'unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why fhould they know their fate!
Since forrow never comes too late,
And happiness too fwiftly flies.
Thought would deftroy their paradife.
No more where ignorance is blifs,
'Tis folly to be wife.

§76. Ode to Adverfity. GRAY. DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,

Thou tamer of the human breast, Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to tafte of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone. When first thy Sire to fend on earth Virtue, his darling child, defign'd, To thee he gave the heav'nly birth, And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurfe! thy rigid lore With patience many a year the bore; What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know: And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others

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Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,
Wild laughter, noise, and though less jo,
And leave us leifure to be good.
Light they difperfe; and with them go
The fummer-friend, the flatt'ring foe;
By vain profperity receiv'd,
[liev'd

To her they vow their truth, and are again be-
Wisdom in fable garb array'd,

Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, filent maid,

With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
Still on thy folemn steps attend:
Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend,
With Juftice, to herself fevere,

And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.

Oh, gently on thy fuppliant's head,
Dread Goddefs, lay thy chaft'ning hand!
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art feen)

With thund'ring voice, and threat ning mien,
With fereaming Horror's fun'ral cry,

Defpair, and fell Difeafe, and ghaftly Poverty.
Thy form benign, oh Goddefs, wear;
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philofophic train be there
To foften, not to wound my heart.
The gen'rous fpark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to fean,

[man.

What others are to feel; and know myself a

$77. The Progress of Poefy. A Pindaric Ode.

I. 1.

AWAKE, Eolian lyre, awake,

GRAY.

And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. Frem Helicon's harmonious fprings A thoufand rills their mazy progrefs take: The laughing flow'rs that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of mufic winds along, Deep, majestic, fmooth, and strong, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Now rolling down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous, fee it pour: The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the I. 2.

Oh! Sovereign of the willing foul,
Parent of fweet and folemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting fhell! the fullen cares

And frantic pallions hear thy fort control.
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his car,

[roar.

And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the scepter'd hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled pluies and flagging wing:
Que ch'd

Dd 3

Quench'd in dark clouds of flumber lie

Till the fad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,

The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. Left their Parnaffus for the Latian plains;

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Man's feeble race what ills await!
Labour, and penury, the racks of pain,
Dileate, and forrow's weeping train,
And death, fad refuge from the ftorms of Fate
The fond complaint my fong difprove,
And juftify the laws of Jove.

Say, as he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Mufe?
Night, and all her fickly dews,

Her fpectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary fky:
Till down the caftern cliffs afar
Hyperion's march they ipy, and glitt'ring
thafts of war.

11. 2.

In climes beyond the folar road,
Where fhaggy forins o'er ice-built mountains
The Mule has broke the twilight gloom, roam,
To cheer the fhiv'ring native's dull abode,
And oft, beneath the od'rous thade
Of Chili's boundlefs forefts laid,
She deigns to hear the favage youth repeat
In loofe numbers wildly fweet

Their feather-cinftur'd chiefs and dufky loves.
Her track, where'er the Goddefs roves,
Glory purfue, and gen'rous fhame,
Th'unconquerable mind, and freedom's

II. 3.

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's ftcep;
Ifles, that crown th'Egcan deep;
Fields, that cool iffus laves;
Or where Maander's amber waves
In ling'ring lab'rinths creep,

How do your tuneful echoes languish !
Mute, but to the voice of anguifh!
Where each old poetic mountain
Infpiration breath'd around;
Ev'ry fhade and hollow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a folemn found:

Alike they fcorn the pomp of tyrant pow'r,
And coward vice, that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty fpirit loft,
They fought, oh Albion! next thy fea-en-
circled coaft.

[flame.

holy

III. 1.

Far from the fun and fummer-gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon ftray'd,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntlefs child
Stretch'd forth its little arins, and fmil'd.
This pencil take (the faid) whofe colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine too thefe golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy;
Of horror that, and thrilling fears,

Or ope the facred fource of fympathetic tears.

III. 2.

Nor fecond he, that rode fublime
Upon the feraph-wings of extaty,
The fecrets of th'abyis to fpy.

He pafs'd the flaming bounds of place and time,
The living throne, the fapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He faw; but, blafted with excels of light,
Clos'd his eyes in endless night.

Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

Two courfers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long re founding pace.

III. 3.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-ey'd Fancy, hov'ring o'er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn
But ah! 'tis heard no more

Oh, lyre divine, what daring fpirit
Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit
Nor the pride nor ample pinion
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with fupreme dominion
Thro' the azure deep of air;
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms as glitter in the Mufe's ray,
With orient hues unborrow'd of the fun :
Yet thall he mount, and keep his diftant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate ; [Great!
Beneath the Good how far!-but far above the

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Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the ftormy main: Brave Urien fleeps upon his craggy bed: Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whofe magic fong

[head.

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd
On dreary Arvon's fhore they lie
Smear'd with gore, and ghaftly pale:
Far, far aloof th'affrighted ravens fail:
The famifh'd eagle fcreams, and paffes by.
Dear loft companions of my tuneful art,
Dear, as the light that vifits thefe fad eyes,
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
Ye dy'd amidst your dying country's cries→→→
No more I weep. They do not fleep.
On yonder cliffs, a grifly band,
I fee them fit, they linger yet,

'Avengers of their native land:

With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tifue of 'thy line.'

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"She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, "That tear'ft the towels of thy mangled mate, "From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs "The fcourge of Heav'n. What terrors round "him wait!

"Amazement in his van with flight combin'd, "And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. II. 2.

"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord! "Low on his fun'ral couch he lies; "No pitying heart, no eye, afford "A tear to grace his obfequies. "Is the fable warrior fled?

66

Thy fon is gone: He refts among the dead. "The fwarm that in thy noon-tide beam were "Gone to falute the rifing morn.

[born,

"Fair laughs the morn, and foft the zephyr

"blows,

"While proudly riding o'er the azure realm "In gallant trim the gilded veffel goes;

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"Youth on the prow, and pleafitre at the helm; Regardlefs of the fweeping whirlwind's fway, "That, hufh'd in grim repole, expects his even. "ing prey.

II. 3.

"Fill high the parkling bowl, "The rich repaft prepare,

"Reft of a crown, he yet may fhare the feaft; "Clofe by the regal chair

"Fell thirft and famine fcowl

"A baleful finile upon their baffled guest. "Heard ye the din of battle bray, "Lance to lance, and horfe to horfe? "Long years of havoc urge their deftin'd course, "And through the kindred fquadrons mow their way.

Ye tow'rs of Julius, London's lafting fhame, "With many a foul and midnight murder fed, "Revere his confort's faith, his father's faine, "And fpare the meck ufurper's holy head. "Above, below, the role of fnow, "Twin'd with her blufhing foe, we fpread! "The briftled boar in infant gore "Wallows beneath the thorny fhade. "Now, Brothers, bending o'er th'accurfed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his

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"doom.

III. 1.

"Edward, lo! to fudden fate

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) "Half of thy heart we confecrate.

66

(The web is wove. The work is done.)"

1

Stay, oh ftay nor thus forlorn,

Leave me unblefs'd, unpity'd, here to mourn: 'In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, They melt, they vanith from my eyes. But oh what folemn fcenes on Snowden's height

'Defcending flow their glitt'ring fkirts unroll! Vifions of glory! fpare my aching light, Ye unborn ages crowd not on my foul !

No

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Girt with many a baron bold,

• Sublime their ítarry fronts they rear;
And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old
In bearded majesty, appear.
In the midft, a form divine!

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attemper'd fweet to virgin grace!

What strings fymphonious tremble in the air!
What strains of vocal tranfport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Talieflin, hear;
They breathe a foul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and, foaring as the fings,
Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd
'wings.

III. 3. The verfe adorn again

Fierce War, and faithful Love,

And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction drest.
Ia bukin'd measures move
Pale Grief, and pleafing Pain,

With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice, as of the cherub-choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear;

And diftant warblings leffen on my ear,
That loft in long futurity expire.

• Fond, impious man, think'st thou yon fanguine
cloud,
[day?
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me: with joy I fee
The diff'rent doom our fates affign.
Be thine Despair and fcepter'd Care;
To triumph and to die are mine.'
He fpoke, and headlong, from the mountain's
height,
[night.
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless

§ 79. The Fatal Sifters. An Ode. GRAY. NOW the form begins to lowr

(Hafte, the loom of hell prepare)

Iron fleet 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 foldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane,
See the grifly texture grow!
('Tis of human entrails made)
And the weights that play below,
Each a gafping warrior's head.
Shafts for fhuttles dipt in gore,,
Shoot the trembling chords along:
Sword that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tiffue clofe and strong.

Mifta, black terrific maid,
Sangrida and Hilda, fee!
Join the wayward work to aid:
'Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy fun be set,
Pikes must thiver, jav'lins fing,
Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet,
Hauberk craíh, and helmet ring.
(Weave the crimson wch of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the conflict share,
Where they triumph, where they die.
Wading thro' th'enfanguin'd field,
As the paths of fate we tread,
Gondula and Geira fpread
We the reins to flaughter give,
O'er the youthful king your shield.
Ours to kill, and ours to fpare:
Spite of danger he shall live.
(Weave the crimfon web of war.)

They, whom once the defart beach
Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample fway fhall ftretch
O'er the plenty of the plain.

Low the dauntlefs carl is laid,
Gor'd with many a gaping wound:
Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a king shall bite the ground.
Long his lofs fhall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeness fee;
Long her ftrains in forrow steep,
Strains of immortality!

Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the fun.
Sifters, weave the web of death.
Sifters, ceafe: The work is done.
Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph fing;
Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger king.

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,
Learn the tenour of our fong:
Scotland, thro' cach winding vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sifters, hence with fpurs of speed!
Each her thund'ring faulchion wield;
Each beftride her fable fteed.
Hurry, hurry, to the field!

$80, The Defcent of Odin. An Ode. GRAY.
UPROSE the king of men with speed,

And faddled ftrait his coal-black fteed:
Down the yawning fteep he rode,
That leads to Hela's drear abode.
Him the dog of darkness spy'd:
His fhaggy throat he open'd wide,
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,
Foam and human gore distill'd.

Hoarfe

Hoarse he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow and fangs that grin;
And long purfues, with fruitlefs yell,
The father of the pow'rful fpell.
Onward ftill his way he takes
(The groaning earch beneath him shakes)
Till full before his fearless eyes
The portals nine of hell arife.

Right against the eastern gate,
By the mofs-grown pile he fat,
Where long of yore to fleep was laid
The duft of the Prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,
The thrilling verfe that wakes the dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a fullen found.

PROPHETESS.

What call unknown, what charms prefume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long on thefe mould'ring bones have beat The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me fleep again. Who is he, with voice unbleft, That calls me from the bed of rest?

ODIN.

A traveller, to thee unknown,
Is he that calls; a warrior's fon.
Thou the deeds of light shall know;
Tell me what is done below :

For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread,
Dreft for whom yon golden bed?

PROPHETESS.

Mantling in the goblet, fee The pure bev'rage of the bee; O'er it hangs the fhield of gold: 'Tis the drink of Balder bold. Balder's head to death is given. Pain can reach the Sons of Heav'n! Unwilling I my lips unclofe: Leave me, leave me to repofe. ODIN.

Once again my call obey : Prophetefs, arife, and fay, What dangers Odin's child await, Who the author of his fate?

PROPHETESS.

In Hoder's hand the hero's doom; His brother fends him to the tomb. Now my weary lips I clofe: Leave me, leave me to repofe.

ODIN.

Prophetefs, my fpell obey; Once again arife, and fay, Who th'avenger of his guilt,

By whom shall Hoder's blood be fpilt?

PROPHETESS.

In the caverns of the Weft, By Odin's fierce embrace compreft, A wond'rous boy fhall Rinda bear, Who ne'er fhall comb his raven hair, Nor wash his visage in the stream, Nor fee the fun's departing beam, Till he on Hoder's corfe fhall fmile Flaming on the funeral pile. Now my weary lips I clofe : Leave me, leave ine to repose.

ODIN.

Yet a while my call obey; Prophetefs, awake, and say, What Virgins thefe, in fpeechlefs woe, That bend to earth their folemn brow, That their flaxen treffes tear, And fnowy veils, that float in air? Tell me whence their forrows rofe? Then I leave thee to repofe.

PROPHETESS.

Ha! no Traveller art thou, King of Men, I know thee now ! Mightieft of a mighty line

ODIN.

No boding Maid of skill divine Art thou, nor Prophetefs of good, But mother of the giant-brood!

PROPHETESS.

Hie thee hence, and boast at home That never fhall enquirer come To break my iron-fleep again, Till Lok has burft his tenfold chain: Never, till fubftantial Night

Has re-affum'd her ancient right; Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd, Sinks the fabric of the world.

$81. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment. GRAY OWEN's praife demands my fong,

Owen fwift, and Owen ftrong;
Fairest flow'r of Roderic's item,
Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profufely pours:
Lord of ev'ry regal art,
Lib'ral hand and open heart.

Big with hofts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding;
Side by fide as proudly riling,
On her fhadow long and gay
Lochlin plows the wat'ry way;
There the Norman fails alar
Catch the winds, and join the war :
Black and huge along they fweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntiefs on his native fands

The dragon-fon of Mona ftands;

In

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