And call in solemn sounds to life,
The youths, whose locks divinely spreading,
Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,
At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding, 5
Applauding Freedom loved of old to view?
What new Alcæus,[21] fancy-blest,
Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,
At Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame concealing,
(What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?) 10
Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing,
It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound!
O goddess, in that feeling hour,
When most its sounds would court thy ears,
Let not my shell's misguided power[22] 15
E'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.
No, Freedom, no, I will not tell
How Rome, before thy weeping face,
With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,
Push'd by a wild and artless race 20
From off its wide ambitious base,
When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke,
And all the blended work of strength and grace,
With many a rude repeated stroke,
And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments broke. 25
EPODE.
Yet, even where'er the least appear'd,
The admiring world thy hand revered;
Still, 'midst the scatter'd states around,
Some remnants of her strength were found;
They saw, by what escaped the storm, 30
How wondrous rose her perfect form;
How in the great, the labour'd whole,
Each mighty master pour'd his soul!
For sunny Florence, seat of art,
Beneath her vines preserved a part, 35
Till they,[23] whom Science loved to name,
(O who could fear it?) quench'd her flame.
And lo, an humbler relic laid
In jealous Pisa's olive shade!
See small Marino[24] joins the theme, 40
Though least, not last in thy esteem:
Strike, louder strike the ennobling strings
To those,[25] whose merchant sons were kings;
To him,[26] who, deck'd with pearly pride,
In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride; 45
Hail, port of glory, wealth, and pleasure,
Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure:
Nor e'er her former pride relate,
To sad Liguria's[27] bleeding state.
Ah no! more pleased thy haunts I seek, 50
On wild Helvetia's[28] mountains bleak:
(Where, when the favour'd of thy choice,
The daring archer heard thy voice;
Forth from his eyrie roused in dread,
The ravening eagle northward fled:) 55
Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
With those to whom thy stork[29] is dear:
Those whom the rod of Alva bruised,
Whose crown a British queen[30] refused!
The magic works, thou feel'st the strains, 60
One holier name alone remains;
The perfect spell shall then avail,
Hail, nymph, adored by Britain, hail!
ANTISTROPHE.
Beyond the measure vast of thought,
The works the wizard time has wrought! 65
The Gaul, 'tis held of antique story,
Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand,[31]
No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary,
He pass'd with unwet feet through all our land.
To the blown Baltic then, they say, 70
The wild waves found another way,
Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding;
Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise,
A wide wild storm even nature's self confounding,
Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth surprise. 75
This pillar'd earth so firm and wide,
By winds and inward labours torn,
In thunders dread was push'd aside,
And down the shouldering billows borne.
And see, like gems, her laughing train, 80
The little isles on every side,
Mona,[32] once hid from those who search the main,
Where thousand elfin shapes abide,
And Wight who checks the westering tide,
For thee consenting heaven has each bestow'd, 85
A fair attendant on her sovereign pride:
To thee this blest divorce she owed,
For thou hast made her vales thy loved, thy last abode!
SECOND EPODE.
Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile,
'Midst the green navel of our isle, 90
Thy shrine in some religious wood,
O soul-enforcing goddess, stood!
There oft the painted native's feet
Were wont thy form celestial meet:
Though now with hopeless toil we trace 95
Time's backward rolls, to find its place;
Whether the fiery-tresséd Dane,
Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane,
Or in what heaven-left age it fell,
'Twere hard for modern song to tell. 100
Yet still, if Truth those beams infuse,
Which guide at once, and charm the Muse,
Beyond yon braided clouds that lie,
Paving the light embroider'd sky,
Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains, 105
The beauteous model still remains.
There, happier than in islands blest,
Or bowers by spring or Hebe drest,
The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,
In warlike weeds, retired in glory, 110
Hear their consorted Druids sing
Their triumphs to the immortal string.
How may the poet now unfold
What never tongue or numbers told?
How learn delighted, and amazed, 115
What hands unknown that fabric raised?
Even now before his favour'd eyes,
In gothic pride, it seems to rise!
Yet Græcia's graceful orders join,
Majestic through the mix'd design: 120
The secret builder knew to choose
Each sphere-found gem of richest hues;
Whate'er heaven's purer mould contains,
When nearer suns emblaze its veins;
There on the walls the patriot's sight 125
May ever hang with fresh delight,
And, graved with some prophetic rage,
Read Albion's fame through every age.
Ye forms divine, ye laureat band,
That near her inmost altar stand! 130
Now soothe her to her blissful train
Blithe Concord's social form to gain;
Concord, whose myrtle wand can steep
Even Anger's bloodshot eyes in sleep;
Before whose breathing bosom's balm 135
Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm:
Her let our sires and matrons hoar
Welcome to Briton's ravaged shore;
Our youths, enamour'd of the fair,
Play with the tangles of her hair, 140
Till, in one loud applauding sound,
The nations shout to her around,
O how supremely art thou blest,
Thou, lady--thou shalt rule the west!
FOOTNOTES:
[21] Alluding to that beautiful fragment of Alcæus:
~En myrtou kladi to xiphos phorêsô,
Hôsper Harmodios k' Aristogeitôn,
Hote ton tyrannon ktanetên.
Isonomous t' Athênas epoiêsatên.
Philtath' Harmodi' ou ti pou tethnêkas,
Nêsois d' en makarôn se phasin einai,
Hina per podôkês Achileus,
Tydeidên te phasin Diomêdea.
En myrtou kladi to xiphos phorêsô,
Ôsper Harmodios k' Aristogeitôn,
Hot' Athênaiês en Thysiais
Andra tyrannon Hipparchon ekainetên.
Aei sphôn kleos essetai kat' aian,
Philtath' Harmodie, k' Aristogeitôn,
Hoti ton tyrannon ktaneton,
Isonomous t' Athênas epoiêsaton.~
[22] ~Mê mê tauta legômes, ha dakryon êgage Dêoi.~
Callimach. ~Hymnos eis Dêmêtra~. C.
[23] The family of the Medici. C.
[24] The little republic of San Marino. C.
[25] The Venetians. C.
[26] The Doge of Venice. C.
[27] Genoa. C.
[28] Switzerland. C.
[29] The Dutch, amongst whom there are very severe penalties for those
who are convicted of killing this bird. They are kept tame in
almost all their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the
arms of which they make a part. The common people of Holland are
said to entertain a superstitious sentiment, that if the whole
species of them should become extinct, they should lose their
liberties. C.
[30] Queen Elizabeth. C.
[31] This tradition is mentioned by several of our old historians. Some
naturalists too have endeavoured to support the probability of
the fact by arguments drawn from the correspondent disposition of
the two opposite coasts. I do not remember that any poetical use
has been hitherto made of it. C.
[32] There is a tradition in the Isle of Man, that a mermaid becoming
enamoured of a young man of extraordinary beauty took an
opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked on the shore, and
opened her passion to him, but was received with a coldness,
occasioned by his horror and surprise at her appearance. This,
however, was so misconstrued by the sea lady, that, in revenge
for his treatment of her, she punished the whole island by
covering it with a mist: so that all who attempted to carry on
any commerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up
and down the sea, or were on a sudden wrecked upon its cliffs.
C.
ODE TO A LADY,
ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL ROSS, IN THE ACTION OF FONTENOY.
Written in May, 1745.
While, lost to all his former mirth,
Britannia's genius bends to earth,
And mourns the fatal day:
While stain'd with blood he strives to tear
Unseemly from his sea-green hair 5
The wreaths of cheerful May:
The thoughts which musing Pity pays,
And fond Remembrance loves to raise,
Your faithful hours attend;
Still Fancy, to herself unkind, 10
Awakes to grief the soften'd mind,
And points the bleeding friend.
By rapid Scheld's descending wave
His country's vows shall bless the grave,
Where'er the youth is laid: 15
That sacred spot the village hind
With every sweetest turf shall bind,
And Peace protect the shade.
Blest youth, regardful of thy doom,
Aërial hands shall build thy tomb, 20
With shadowy trophies crown'd;
Whilst Honour bathed in tears shall rove
To sigh thy name through every grove,
And call his heroes round.
The warlike dead of every age, 25
Who fill the fair recording page,
Shall leave their sainted rest;
And, half reclining on his spear,
Each wondering chief by turns appear,
To hail the blooming guest: 30
Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Cressy's laurel'd field,
And gaze with fix'd delight;
Again for Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they snatch the gleamy steel, 35
And wish the avenging fight.
But lo, where, sunk in deep despair,
Her garments torn, her bosom bare,
Impatient Freedom lies!
Her matted tresses madly spread, 40
To every sod, which wraps the dead,
She turns her joyless eyes.
Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground
Till notes of triumph bursting round
Proclaim her reign restored: 45
Till William seek the sad retreat,
And, bleeding at her sacred feet,
Present the sated sword.
If, weak to soothe so soft a heart,
These pictured glories nought impart, 50
To dry thy constant tear:
If, yet, in Sorrow's distant eye,
Exposed and pale thou see'st him lie,
Wild War insulting near:
Where'er from time thou court'st relief, 55
The Muse shall still, with social grief,
Her gentlest promise keep;
Even humbled Harting's cottaged vale[33]
Shall learn the sad repeated tale,
And bid her shepherds weep. 60
VARIATIONS.
Ver.
4. While sunk in grief he strives to tear
19. E'en now regardful of his doom
Applauding Honour haunts his tomb,
With shadowy trophies crown'd:
Whilst Freedom's form beside her roves,
Majestic through the twilight groves,
And calls her heroes round.
19. O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve,
Aërial forms shall sit at eve,
And bend the pensive head;
And, fallen to save his injured land,
Imperial Honour's awful hand
Shall point his lonely bed.
31. Old Edward's sons, untaught to yield,
49. If, drawn by all a lover's art,
58. Even humble Harting's cottaged vale
FOOTNOTES:
[33] Harting, a village adjoining the parish of Trotton, and about two
miles distant from it.
ODE TO EVENING.
If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,
Like thy own brawling springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales;
O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun 5
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed:
Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing; 10
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,
As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum:
Now teach me, maid composed, 15
To breathe some soften'd strain,
Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale,
May not unseemly with its stillness suit;
As, musing slow, I hail
Thy genial loved return! 20
For when thy folding-star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who slept in buds the day,
And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, 25
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet,
Prepare thy shadowy car.
Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene;
Or find some ruin, 'midst its dreary dells, 30
Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams.
Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That, from the mountain's side, 35
Views wilds, and swelling floods,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires;
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil. 40
While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light;
While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 45
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;
So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 50
Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name!
VARIATIONS.
Ver
2. May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear,
3. Like thy own solemn springs,
9. While air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat
24. Who slept in flowers the day,
29. Then lead, calm vot'ress, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile,
31. Or upland fallows grey,
Reflect its last cool gleam.
33. But when chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,
49. So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipp'd Health,
Thy gentlest influence own,
And hymn thy favourite name!
ODE TO PEACE.
O thou, who bad'st thy turtles bear
Swift from his grasp thy golden hair,
And sought'st thy native skies;
When War, by vultures drawn from far,
To Britain bent his iron car, 5
And bade his storms arise!
Tired of his rude tyrannic sway,
Our youth shall fix some festive day,
His sullen shrines to burn:
But thou who hear'st the turning spheres, 10
What sounds may charm thy partial ears,
And gain thy blest return!
O Peace, thy injured robes up-bind!
O rise! and leave not one behind
Of all thy beamy train; 15
The British Lion, goddess sweet,
Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet,
And own thy holier reign.
Let others court thy transient smile,
But come to grace thy western isle, 20
By warlike Honour led;
And, while around her ports rejoice,
While all her sons adore thy choice,
With him for ever wed!
THE MANNERS.
AN ODE.
Farewell, for clearer ken design'd,
The dim-discover'd tracts of mind;
Truths which, from action's paths retired,
My silent search in vain required!
No more my sail that deep explores; 5
No more I search those magic shores;
What regions part the world of soul,
Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll:
If e'er I round such fairy field,
Some power impart the spear and shield, 10
At which the wizard Passions fly;
By which the giant Follies die!
Farewell the porch whose roof is seen
Arch'd with the enlivening olive's green:
Where Science, prank'd in tissued vest, 15
By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest,
Comes, like a bride, so trim array'd,
To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade!
Youth of the quick uncheated sight,
Thy walks, Observance, more invite! 20
O thou who lovest that ampler range,
Where life's wide prospects round thee change,
And, with her mingling sons allied,
Throw'st the prattling page aside,
To me, in converse sweet, impart 25
To read in man the native heart;
To learn, where Science sure is found,
From Nature as she lives around;
And, gazing oft her mirror true,
By turns each shifting image view! 30
Till meddling Art's officious lore
Reverse the lessons taught before;
Alluring from a safer rule,
To dream in her enchanted school:
Thou, Heaven, whate'er of great we boast, 35
Hast blest this social science most.
Retiring hence to thoughtful cell,
As Fancy breathes her potent spell,
Not vain she finds the charmful task,
In pageant quaint, in motley mask; 40
Behold, before her musing eyes,
The countless Manners round her rise;
While, ever varying as they pass,
To some Contempt applies her glass:
With these the white-robed maids combine; 45
And those the laughing satyrs join!
But who is he whom now she views,
In robe of wild contending hues?
Thou by the Passions nursed, I greet
The comic sock that binds thy feet! 50
O Humour, thou whose name is known
To Britain's favour'd isle alone:
Me too amidst thy band admit;
There where the young-eyed healthful Wit,
(Whose jewels in his crispéd hair 55
Are placed each other's beams to share;
Whom no delights from thee divide)
In laughter loosed, attends thy side.
By old Miletus,[34] who so long
Has ceased his love-inwoven song; 60
By all you taught the Tuscan maids,
In changed Italia's modern shades;
By him[35] whose knight's distinguish'd name
Refined a nation's lust of fame;
Whose tales e'en now, with echoes sweet, 65
Castilia's Moorish hills repeat;
Or him[36] whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore,
In watchet weeds on Gallia's shore;
Who drew the sad Sicilian maid,
By virtues in her sire betray'd. 70
O Nature boon, from whom proceed
Each forceful thought, each prompted deed;
If but from thee I hope to feel,
On all my heart imprint thy seal!
Let some retreating cynic find 75
Those oft-turn'd scrolls I leave behind:
The Sports and I this hour agree,
To rove thy scene-full world with thee!
FOOTNOTES:
[34] Alluding to the Milesian tales, some of the earliest romances. C.
[35] Cervantes. C.
[36] Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable Adventures of Gil Blas
de Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1745. C.
THE PASSIONS.
AN ODE FOR MUSIC.
Performed at Oxford, with Hayes's music, in 1750.
When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 5
Possest beyond the Muse's painting:
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 10
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 15
Would prove his own expressive power.
First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made. 20
Next Anger rush'd; his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own'd his secret stings:
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
With woful measures wan Despair 25
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled;
A solemn, strange, and mingled air;
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.
But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure? 30
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Echo still, through all the song; 35
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.
And longer had she sung;--but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose: 40
He threw his blood-stain'd sword, in thunder, down;
And, with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! 45
And, ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum, with furious heat;
And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity, at his side,
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 50
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mein,
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state;
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; 55
And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate.
With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy sate retired;
And, from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet, 60
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul:
And, dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 65
Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of Peace, and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.
But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone,
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 70
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known!
The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen, 75
Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green:
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear;
And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear.
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: 80
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand addrest;
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best;
They would have thought who heard the strain 85
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing,
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: 90
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound;
And he, amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
O Music! sphere-descended maid, 95
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid!
Why, goddess! why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As, in that loved Athenian bower,
You learn'd an all commanding power, 100
Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd,
Can well recall what then it heard;
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise, as in that elder time, 105
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording Sister's page--
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 110
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age;
E'en all at once together found,
Cecilia's mingled world of sound--
O bid our vain endeavours cease; 115
Revive the just designs of Greece:
Return in all thy simple state!
Confirm the tales her sons relate!
VARIATION.
Ver.
30. What was thy delightful measure?
ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON.
THE SCENE IS SUPPOSED TO LIE ON THE THAMES NEAR RICHMOND.
In yonder grave a Druid lies,
Where slowly winds the stealing wave;
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise
To deck its poet's sylvan grave.
In yon deep bed of whispering reeds 5
His airy harp[37] shall now be laid,
That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,
May love through life the soothing shade.
Then maids and youths shall linger here,
And while its sounds at distance swell, 10
Shall sadly seem in pity's ear
To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.
Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,
And oft suspend the dashing oar, 15
To bid his gentle spirit rest!
And oft, as ease and health retire
To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
The friend shall view yon whitening[38] spire
And 'mid the varied landscape weep. 20
But thou, who own'st that earthy bed,
Ah! what will every dirge avail;
Or tears, which love and pity shed,
That mourn beneath the gliding sail?
Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye 25
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near?
With him, sweet bard, may fancy die,
And joy desert the blooming year.
But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide
No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend, 30
Now waft me from the green hill's side,
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!
And see, the fairy valleys fade;
Dun night has veil'd the solemn view!
Yet once again, dear parted shade, 35
Meek Nature's Child, again adieu!
The genial meads,[39] assign'd to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom;
Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress,
With simple hands, thy rural tomb. 40
Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes:
O! vales and wild woods, shall he say,
In yonder grave your Druid lies!
VARIATION.
Ver.
21. But thou who own'st that earthly bed,
FOOTNOTES:
[37] The harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the Castle of
Indolence. C.
[38] Richmond Church, in which Thomson was buried. C.
[39] Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time
before his death.
ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND;
CONSIDERED AS THE SUBJECT OF POETRY; INSCRIBED TO MR. JOHN HOME.
I.