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Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, and
In lightnings own'd his secret stings,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled,
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail !
l a She callid on Echo still through all the song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung—but, with a frown,
of the music that accompanied them, having in themselves little more merit than that of an ordinary ballad: but in this we have the whole soul and power of poetry :-expression that, even without the aid of music, strikes to the heart; and imagery of power enough to transport the attention without the forceful alliance of corresponding sounds. What then must have been the effects of these united 1
The picture of Hope in this ode is beautiful almost beyond imitation. By the united powers of imagery and harmony, that delightful being is exhibited with all the charms and graces that pleasure and fancy have appropriated to her. The descriptions of Joy, Jealousy, and Revenge, are excellent, though not equally so: those of Melancholy and Cheerfulness are superior to every thing of the aind; and, upon the whole, there may be very little hazard in asserting that this is the finest ode in the English language. Read-Observations on Collins's Poems in the 58th vol. of Johnson's Poets.
And ever and anon he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat;
Dejected Pity at his side
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Sad proof of thy distressful state,
And now it courted Love, now raving call’d on Hate.
With eyes up-raised, as one inspired,
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;
Round a holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green;
First to the lively pipe his hand addrest,
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,
O Music, sphere-descended maid,
Thou who, amidst the deathful field,
By godlike chiefs alone beheld,
See Mercy, see, with pure and loaded hands,
Before thy shrine my country's genius stands,
The fiend of Nature join'd his yoke,
Thy form, from out thy sweet abode,
O'ertook him on his blasted road,
I see recoil his sable steeds,
That bore him swift to savage deeds,
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!
ON THE DEATH OF THE POET THOMSON."
Where slowly winds the stealing wave!
His airy harp? shall now be laid,
And, while its sounds at distance swell,
To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.
Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,
To bid his gentle spirit rest!
1 This ode on the Death of Thomson seems to have been written during an excursion to Richmond on the Thames. « Collins had skill to complain.” or that mournful melody, and those tender images, which are the distinguishing excellencies of such pieces as bewail departed friendship or beauty, he was almost an unequalled master.
? The harp of Æolus of which see a description in Thomson's Castle of Indolence.
V. shelters Other duti And oft as Ease and Health retire a
SE To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
EST The friend shall view yon whitening spire, ribal t a
And 'mid the varied landscape weep. Se t plus
SAMUEL RICHARDSON, who may be said to be the inventor of the modern English novel, was the son of a carpenter in Derbyshire, and was born in 1689. From the limited means of his father, he was restricted to a common school education, which is very apparent in the structure of his composition. He early exhibited, however, the most decisive marks of genius, and was re