20 O sister meek of Truth, To my admiring youth Thy sober aid and native charms infuse! When howling winds, and beating rain, 30 Still ask thy hand to range their order'd In tempests shake the sylvan cell, Or midst the chace on ev'ry plain, The tender thought on thee shall 10 15 20 Tho' taste, tho' genius bless To some divine excess, 45 Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole; 50 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 my temp'rate vale: And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my 25 When He who call'd with thought to Yon tented sky, this laughing earth, And plac'd her on his sapphire throne,1 ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER 40 And all thy subject life, was born! 1746 STROPHE As once, if not with light regard2 Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied, Some chaste and angel friend to virgin fame, With whisper'd spell had burst the starting band, It left unblest her loath'd, dishonor'd The dang 'rous Passions kept aloof, By whose the tarsel's eyes were made; In braided dance their murmurs join 'd, So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed, 50 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, roselipp'd Health, Thy gentlest influence own, THE PASSIONS AN ODE FOR MUSIC 1746 When Music, heav'nly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell,1 Throng'd around her magic cell, 5 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possest beyond the Muse's painting; By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd: Till once, 't is said, when all were fir'd, 10 Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, From the supporting myrtles round They snatch'd her instruments of sound; And as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 15 Each, for madness rul'd the hour, Would prove his own expressive pow'r. 75 Blew an inspiring air, that dale and 115 O bid our vain endeavors cease, thicket rung, The hunter's call to faun and dryad known! The oak-crown'd sisters,1 and their chaste-ey'd queen,2 Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. 80 Last came Joy's ecstatic trial. 85 90 He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awak'ning viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round; Loose were her tresses seen, her zone3 unbound, And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 95 O Music, sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid, Why, goddess, why, to us deny'd, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? As in that lov'd Athenian bow'r 100 You learn'd an all-commanding pow'r, Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd, Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart,, Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? 105 Arise as in that elder time, Warm, energie, chaste, sublime! Thy wonders, in that godlike age, Fill thy recording sister's page'Tis said, and I believe the tale, 110 Thy humblest reed could more prevail, Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age, Ev'n all at once together found, Cæcilia's mingled world of sound. 10 Revive the just designs of Greece, Return in all thy simple state, Confirm the tales her sons relate! ODE ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON 1748 1749 In yonder grave a druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave. The year's best sweets shall duteous rise To deck its poet's sylvan grave. 5 In yon deep bed of whisp'ring reeds Then maids and youths shall linger here; And while its sounds at distance swell, Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear To hear the Woodland Pilgrim's knell. 1 The Harp of Eolus. See Thomson's The Castle of Indolence, 1, 360; also his Ode to Eolus's Harp. |