Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,
And look not madly wild, like thee?

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EPODE.

In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice, The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue; The maids and matrons, on her awful voice,

Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung.

Yet he, the bardd who first invoked thy name, 30 Disdain'd in Marathon its power to feel:

For not alone he nursed the poet's flame, But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's steel.

But who is he whom later garlands grace,

Who left a while o'er Hybla's dews to rove, 35 With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace, Where thou and furies shared the baleful grove?

Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, the 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.

d Eschylus.

f

e Jocasta.

οὐδ ̓ ἔτ ̓ ὠρώρει βοή,
'Ην μὲν σιωπή· φθέγμα δ' ἐξαίφνης τινὸς
θώϋξεν αὐτόν, ὥστε πάντας ὀρθίας
Στῆσαι φόβω δείσαντας ἐξαίφνης τρίχας.

See the Edip. Colon. of Sophocles.

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O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart: Thy withering power inspired each mournful line:

Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part,
Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine! 45

ANTISTROPHE.

Thou who such weary lengths hast past,
Where wilt thou rest, mad Nymph, at last?
Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell,
Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell?
Or, in some hollow'd seat,

'Gainst which the big waves beat,

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Hear drowning seamen's cries, in tempests brought? Dark power, with shuddering meek submitted thought,

Be mine to read the visions old

Which thy awakening bards have told :
And, lest thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'erawed,
In that thrice hallow'd eve, abroad,
When ghosts, as cottage maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave;
And goblins haunt, from fire, or fen,
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men !

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60

O thou, whose spirit most possess'd The sacred seat of Shakespeare's breast!

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By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions spoke ;
Hither again thy fury deal,

Teach me but once like him to feel:
His cypress wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee!

70

ODE TO SIMPLICITY.

८

O THOU, by Nature taught

a

To breathe her genuine thought,~~

In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong;
Who first, on mountains wild,<

Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song!

Thou, who, with hermit heart,
Disdain'st the wealth of art,

And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall ;

But comest 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; By her whose lovelorn woe,

In evening musings slow,

Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear:

10

14

The άndov, or nightingale, for which Sophocles seems

to have entertained a peculiar fondness.

By old Cephisus deep,

Who spread his wavy sweep,

20

In warbled wanderings, round thy green retreat; |

On whose enamel'd side,

When holy Freedom died,

No equal haunt allured thy future feet.

O sister meek of Truth,

To my admiring youth,

Thy sober aid and native charms infuse !
The flowers that sweetest breathe,

Though Beauty cull'd the wreath,

25.

Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues. 30

While Rome could none esteem

But virtue's patriot theme,

You loved her hills, and led her laureat band:
But staid to sing alone

To one distinguish'd throne;

And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land.

No more, in hall or bower,

The Passions own thy power;

Love, only Love her forceless numbers meạn :
For thou hast left her shrine;

Nor olive more, nor vine,

Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.

Though taste, though genius, bless

To some divine excess,

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