OF BEATTIE.

Thine be the prize," exclaim'd th' enraptur'd

joy!"

O blind to fate, felicity, and truth!

But such are they whom Pleasure's snares decoy.

The sun was sunk; the vision was no more; Night downward rush'd tempestuous, at the frown

Of Jove's awaken'd wrath; deep thunders roar, The forests howl afar, and mountains groan;

And sanguine meteors glare athwart the plain; With horror's scream the Ilian towers resound; Raves the hoarse storm along the bellowing main, And the strong earthquake rends the shuddering ground.

ODE TO PEACE.

I. 1.

PEACE, heaven-descended maid! whose power. ful voice

From ancient darkness call'd the morn,
And hush'd of jarring elements the noise,
When Chaos, from his old dominion torn,
With all his bellowing throng,

Far, far was hurl'd the void abyss along;
And all the bright angelic choir
Striking through all their ranks th' eternal lyre,
Pour'd in loud symphony th' impetuous strain;
And every fiery orb and planet sung,

And wide, through night's dark solitary reign, Rebounding long and deep the lays triumphant

rung.

I. 2.

O whither art thou fled, Saturnian age!
Roll round again, majestic years!

To break the sceptre of tyrannic rage,

From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears,

Ye years, again roll round!

Hark! from afar what desolating sound,

While echoes load the sighing gales,

With dire presage the throbbing heart assails! Murder, deep-rous'd, with all the whirlwind's

haste

And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs, Her tangled serpents girds around her waist, Smiles ghastly-fierce, and shakes her gore-distilling wings.

I. 3.

The shouts redoubling rise

In thunder to the skies.

The Nymphs disorder'd dart along,

Sweet Powers of solitude and song,

Stunn'd with the horrors of discordant sound,

And all is listening trembling round.

Torrents far heard amid the waste of night,

That oft have led the wanderer right,

Are silent at the noise.

The mighty ocean's more majestic voice

Drown'd in superior din is heard no more; The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore.

II. 1.

The bloody banner streaming in the air,
Seen on yon sky-mix'd mountain's brow,
The mingling multitudes, the madding car,
Driven in confusion to the plain below,
War's dreadful lord proclaim:

Bursts out by frequent fits th' expansive flame:

Snatch'd in tempestuous eddies flies

The surging smoke o'er all the darken'd skies: The cheerful face of heaven no more is seen, The bloom of morning fades to deadly pale, The bat flits transient o'er the dusky green, And night's foul birds along the sullen twilight sail.

II. 2.

Involv'd in fire-streak'd gloom the car comes on:
The rushing steeds grim Terror guides:
His forehead writh'd to a relentless frown,
Aloft the angry Power of battles rides.
Grasp'd in his mighty hand,

A mace tremendous desolates the land;
The tower rolls headlong down the steep,
The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep;
Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades ;
Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes,
A deeper gloom invests the howling shades,
Stript is the shatter'd grove, and every verdure dies.

II. 3.

How startled Frenzy stares,

Bristling her ragged hairs!

Revenge the gory fragment gnaws;
See, with her griping vulture claws
Imprinted deep, she rends the mangled wound!
Hate whirls her torch sulphureous round;
The shrieks of agony and clang of arms,
Reecho to the hoarse alarms

Her trump terrific blows.

Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose.
Of kingly gesture a gigantic form,

That with his scourge sublime rules the careering

storm.

III. 1.

Ambition, outside fair! within as foul

As fiends of fiercest heart below,

Who ride the hurricanes of fire that roll

Their thundering vortex o'er the realms of woe, Yon naked waste survey,

Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous

lay;

Where late the rosy-bosom'd hours

In loose array danc'd lightly o'er the flowers; Where late the shepherd told his tender tale, And waken'd by the murmuring breeze of

morn,

The voice of cheerful Labour fill'd the dale, And dove-eyed Plenty smil'd, and wav'd her liberal horn.—

III. 2.

Yon ruins, sable from the wasting flame,
But mark the once resplendent dome;

The frequent corse obstructs the sullen stream,
And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan gloom.
How sadly silent all—

Save where, outstretch'd beneath yon hanging wall,