High on some cliff, to heaven up-pil'd, Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, An Eden, like his own, lies spread. I view that oak, the fancied glades among, From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew, Nigh spher'd in heaven its native strains could hear; From Waller's myrtle shades retreating, Of all the sons of soul was known, And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers, ODE.-WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLVI. How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, See, in the Author's Life, the account of a remarkable dream which he had while at school: to that school-dream we undoubtedly owe this ode, and this turn of it.* When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, By Fairy hands their knell is rung, ODE TO MERCY. STROPHE. O THOU, who sitt'st a smiling bride By Valour's arm'd and awful side, Gentlest of sky-born forms, and best ador'd, Who oft with songs, divine to hear, Win'st from his fatal grasp the spear, And hid'st in wreaths of flowers his bloodless sword! Thou who, amidst the deathful field, By godlike chiefs alone beheld, Oft with thy bosom bare art found, Pleading for him the youth who sinks to ground: See, Mercy, see, with pure and loaded hands, And decks thy altar still, tho' pierc'd with many a wound ! ANTISTROPHE. When he whom even our joys provoke, The Fiend of Nature join'd his yoke, And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey; O'ertook him on his blasted road, And stopp'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away. I see recoil his sable steeds, That bore him swift to savage deeds, Thy tender melting eyes they own ; Where Justice bars her iron tower, To thee we build a roseate bower, Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our monarch's throne! ODE TO LIBERTY." STROPHE. WHO shall awake the Spartan fife, And call in solemn sounds to life, The youths, whose locks divinely spreading,t * A high tribute of praise was paid to this piece by the illustrious Sir William Jones, who copied a considerable part of it in his spirited Latin Ode, ad Libertatim, as he himself informs his readers.-Works, vol. 10, p. 394, 8vo. 1807. An allusion to the customs the Spartans had of arranging their hair before a battle.-B. D At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding, 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?) 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, E'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears. With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,† A Greek poet, the reputed author of a very popular Song, in which are these lines: Εν μυρίε κλαδί το ξίφος φορησω, In mirtle wreathed I'll bear the sword, When by a just and sudden stroke Th' usurping tyrant's rod they broke, And to the Athenian State her equal laws restored.-C. The Author confounds the times of the Republic with those of the Empire, in order, by blending the glories of each, to delight the imagination with an era more free than the later, more splendid than the earlier period Push'd by a wild and artless race, From off its wide ambitious base, When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke, And all the splendid work of strength and grace, With many a rude repeated stroke, And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments broke. EPODE. Yet even, where'er the least appear'd, (O who could fear it?) quench'd her flame. In jealous Pisa's olive shade! See small Marino joins the theme, Strike, louder strike th' ennobling strings To those, whose merchant sons were kings; of its history for surely that Rome, which was overthrown by the northern sons of spoil, had no claim to draw down the tears of Freedom at her fall.-B. |