O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart: Thy withering power inspired each mournful line: Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part, ANTISTROPHE. Thou who such weary lengths hast past, 'Gainst which the big waves beat, 50 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: O thou, whose spirit most possess'd The sacred seat of Shakespeare's breast! 55 60 65 By all that from thy prophet broke, Teach me but once like him to feel: 70 ODE TO SIMPLICITY. O 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, 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 hers whose lovelorn woe, In evening musings slow, Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear: 5 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 ! 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 mean : Nor olive more, nor vine, Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. Though taste, though genius, bless To some divine excess, 35 40 Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole; What each, what all supply, May court, may charm, our eye; Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul! Of these let others ask, To aid some mighty task, I only seek to find thy temperate vale; And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my tale. 46 50 |