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THE PROGRESS OF POESY
Has curb’d the fury of his car,
Thee the voice, the dance, obey, 25 Temper'd to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet-green The rosy-crowned Loves are seen On Cytherea's day With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 30 Frisking light in frolic measures; Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet: To brisk notes in cadence beating
Glance their many-twinkling feet. 35 Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare:
Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay.
With arms sublime, that float upon the air,
In gliding state she wins her easy way:
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move 4o
The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love.
II The Strophe
Man's feeble race what Ills await,
In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,
The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom 56
Their feather-cinctured Chiefs, and dusky Loves.
* * The Epode
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Afgean deep, Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, Or where Maeander's amber waves In lingering Lab’rinths creep, 7o How do your tuneful Echo's languish, Mute, but to the voice of Anguish? Where each old poetic Mountain Inspiration breath'd around: Ev'ry shade and hallow'd Fountain 75 Murmur'd deep a solemn sound: Till the sad Nine in Greece's evil hour Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. Alike they'scorn the pomp of tyrant-Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 8o When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion next thy sea-encircled
III The Strophe
Far from the sun and summer-gale, In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 85 To Him the mighty Mother did unveil Her awful face: The dauntless Child Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: 90 Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Orope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Nor second He, that rode sublime 95 Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of th’ Abyss to spy. He pass'd the flaming bounds of Place and Time: The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where Angels tremble, while they gaze, Ioo He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car, Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear
Two Coursers of ethereal race, IoS With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long-resounding pace.
Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er Scatters from her pictur'd urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. But ah! 'tis heard no more - III O Lyre divine, what daring Spirit Wakes thee now P tho' he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban Eagle bear Sailing with supreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air: Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms, as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the Sun: Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the Good how far — but far above the
A PINDARIC ODE I
“Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion, on thy banners wait, Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail, 5 Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!”
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, Io As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance; To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring
On a rock, whose haughty brow 15 Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream’d, like a meteor, to the troubled air) 20 And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre:
“Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
“Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main; 3: Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-toppd
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, 35
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
II The Strophe
“‘Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
The winding sheet of Edward's race. 50
him wait! 60 Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
The Swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were
“‘Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast. Close by the regal chair 8o Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled Guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse? 84 Long Years of havock urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their
way. Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murther fed, Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame, And spare the meek Usurper's holy head. 90 Above, below, the rose of snow, Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: The bristled Boar in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er th’ accursed loom Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his
III The Strophe
“Edward, lo! to sudden fate
Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glitt'ring skirts unroll P Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. All-hail, ye genuine Kings, Britannia's Issue, hail!
“Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear;
271 And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen old In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a Form divine ! IIS
“The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. In buskin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, Tyrant of the throbbing breast. A Voice, as of the Cherub-Choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious Man, think'st thou, yon sanguine cloud, I 35 Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the Orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: With joy I see The different doom our Fates assign. Be thine Despair, and scept’red Care, To triumph, and to die, are mine.” He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.
AN ODE FROM THE NORSE TONGUE
Now the storm begins to lower, (Haste, the loom of hell prepare,) Iron-sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darken'd air.
Glitt'ring lances are the loom, 5
See the griesly texture grow,