Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, th' incestuous * queen Sigh'd the sad call † her son and husband heard, When once alone it broke the silent scene, And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd. O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart: ANTISTROPHE. Thou who such weary lengths hast past, 'Gainst which the big waves beat, Hear drowning seaman's cries, in tempests brought? Dark power, with shudd'ring meek submitted thought. Be mine to read the visions old Which thy awakening bards have told: * Jocasta. εδ ετ' ορώρει βοη See the dip. Colon, of Sophocles. O thon whose spirit most possest Teach me but once like him to feel: His cypress wreath my meed decree, Ode to Simplicity. Thou by Nature taught To breathe her genuine thought In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong; In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nurs'd the powers of song! Thou, who, with hermit heart, And gauds, and pageant weeds, and training pall; But com'st a decent maid, In attic robe array'd, O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call! By all the honey'd store On Hybla's thymy shore; By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear; In evening musings slow, Sooth'd sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear: By old Cephisus deep, Who spread his wavy sweep, In warbled wanderings, round thy green retreat; On whose enamell'd side, When holy Freedom died, No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet. * The andwv, or nightingale, for which Sophocles seems to have entertained a peculiar fondness. B O sister meek of Truth, To my admiring youth, Thy sober aid and native charms infuse! Still ask thy hand to raise their order'd hues. While Rome could none esteem But virtue's patriot theme, You lov'd her hills, and led her laureat band: To one distinguish'd throne; And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land. No more, in hall or bower, Love, only Love her forceless numbers meau: Nor olive more, nor vine, Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. Though taste, though genius, bless To some divine excess, Faints the cold work, till thou inspire the whole; What each, what all supply, May court, may charin, our eye; Thou, only thou canst raise the meeting soul! Of these let others ask, I only seek to find thy temperate vale; To maids and shepherds round, And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my tale. Ode on the Poetical Character. S once,--if, not with light regard, -Lo! to each other nymph, in turn, applied, Her baffled hand with vain endeavour, Young Fancy thus, to me divinest name, To gird their best prophetic loins, And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix'd her flame! The band, as fairy legends say, Was wove on that creating day When He, who call'd with thought to birth Yon tented sky, this laughing earth, And drest with springs and forests tall, And pour'd the main engirting all, * Florimel. See Spenser, Leg. 4th. Retiring, sat with her alone, And plac'd her on his sapphire throne; And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn, High on some cliff, to heaven up-pil❜d, Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, An Eden, like his own, lies spread, 1 view that oak, the fancied glades among, By which as Milton lay, his evening ear, From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew, Nigh spher'd in heaven, its native strains could hear; On which that ancient trump he reach'd was hung: |