She trains the body's bulky frame For passive, persevering toils; And lest, from any prouder aim, The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils, She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless flame. Farewell the grave, pacific air, Where never mountain zephyr blew : Which Pan, which Ceres never knew: Urging in vain their urns to flow; Farewell, ye nymphs, whom sober care of gain Snatch'd in your cradles from the god of love: She render'd all his boasted arrows vain; And all his gifts did he in spite remove. Ye too, the slow-ey'd fathers of the land, With whom dominion steals from hand to hand, Unown'd, undignify'd by public choice, I go where Liberty to all is known, And tells a monarch on his throne, He reigns not but by her preserving voice. Ye nymphs, who guard the pathless grove, With whom at noon I talk'd in dreams: The rocky spring, the greenwood glade; To prompt my slumbers in the murmuring shade, And soothe my vacant ear with many an airy strain. And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn With Venus and with Juno move In concert round the Olympian fathers' throne? III. Thee too, protectress of my lays, Above the slavish boast of Gaul, To Somers' counsels, or to Hampden's arms, Thee, Freedom, I rejoin, and bless thy genuine flame. Great citizen of Albion! thee How Art her studious toil extends, Fills and commands the public eye; Hence the whole land the patriot's ardour shares, Hence dread Religion dwells with social Joy; And holy passions and unsullied cares, In youth, in age, domestic life employ. O fair Britannia, hail!-With partial love The tribes of men their native seats approve, Unjust and hostile to each foreign fame : But when for generous minds and manly laws A nation holds her prime applause, Their public zeal shall all reproof disclaim. ODE IX. TO CURIO'. M.DCC.XLIV. THRICE bath the spring beheld thy faded fame Since I exulting grasp'd the tuneful shell: Eager through endless years to sound thy name, Proud that my memory with thine should dwell. How hast thou stain'd the splendour of my choice! Those godlike forms which hover'd round thy voice, Laws, freedom, glory, whither are they flown? What can I now of thee to time report, Save thy fond country made thy impious sport, Her fortune and her hope the victims of thy own? At length in view the glorious end appear'd: We saw thy spirit through the senate reign; And Freedom's friends thy instant omen heard Of laws for which their fathers bled in vain. Wak'd in the strife the public Genius rose More keen, more ardent from his long repose: Deep through her bounds the city felt his call: Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power, And murmuring challeng'd the deciding hour Of that too vast event, the hope and dread of all. O, ye good powers! who look on human kind, Instruct the mighty moments as they roll; And watch the fleeting shapes in Curio's mind, And steer his passions steady to the goal. O Alfred, father of the English name, O valiant Edward, first in civil fame, O William, height of public virtue pure, Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, Behold the sum of all your labours nigh, Your plans of law complete, your ends of rule secure. Twas then-Oshame! O soul from faith estrang'd! O Albion, oft to flattering vows a prey! 'Twas then-Thy thought what sudden frenzy chang'd? What rushing palsy took thy strength away? Is this the man in Freedom's cause approv'd? The man so great, so honour'd, so belov'd? Whom the dead envy'd, and the living bless'd? This patient slave by tinsel bonds allur'd? This wretched suitor for a boon abjur'd? Whom those that fear'd him, scorn; that trusted him, detest? O lost alike to action and repose! With all that habit of familiar fame, Sold to the mockery of relentless foes, And doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame, To act with burning brow and throbbing heart A poor deserter's dull exploded part, To slight the favour thou canst hope no more, Renounce the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind, Charge thy own lightness on thy country's mind, And from her voice appeal to each tame foreign shore. But England's sons, to purchase thence applause, Nor to the forms of rule betray the end. Prompt with a lover's fondness to survey; Yet, where Injustice works her wilful claim, Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame, Impatient to confront, and dreadful to repay. These thy heart owns no longer. In their room See the grave queen of pageants, Honour, dwell, Couch'd in thy bosom's deep tempestuous gloom Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell. Before her rites thy sickening reason flew, Divine Persuasion from thy tongue withdrew, While Laughter mock'd, or Pity stole a sigh: Can Wit her tender movements rightly frame Where the prime function of the soul is lame? Can Fancy's feeble springs the force of Truth supply? But come: 'tis time: strong Destiny impends And the sad charge of horrours not their own, Assail the giant chiefs, and press them to the ground. In sight old Time, imperious judge, awaits: The great, the sage, the happy, and august. And still he asks them of the hidden plan Whence every treaty, every war began, Evolves their secrets, and their guilt proclaims: And still his bands despoil them on the road Of each vain wreath by lying bards bestow'd, And crush their trophies huge, and rase their sculptur'd names. Ye mighty shades, arise, give place, attend: Here his eternal mansion Curio secks: [bend, -Low doth proud Wentworth to the stranger And his dire welcome hardy Clifford speaks: "He comes, whom Pate with surer arts prepar'd To accomplish all which we but vainly dard: Whom o'er the stubborn herd she taught to reign: Who sooth'd with gaudy dreams their raging Even to its last irrevocable hour; [power, Then baffled their rude strength, and broke them to the chain." But ye, whom yet wise Liberty inspires, Whom for her champions o'er the world she claims, (That household godhead, whom of old your sires Sought in the woods of Elbe, and bore to Drive ye this hostile omen far away; [Thames) Their own fell efforts on her foes repay; Your wealth, your arts, your fame, be her's alone: Still gird your swords to combat on her side; Still frame your laws her generous test to abide; And win to her defence the altar and the throne. Protect her from yourselves, ere yet the flood Which not her lightest discipline endures : Snatch from fantastic demagognes her cause: Dream not of Numa's inanners, Plato's laws: A wiser founder, and a nohler plan, O sons of Alfred, were for you assign'd: Bring to that birthright but an equal mind, And no sublimer lot will Fate reserve for man. ODE X. TO THE MUSE. QUEEN of my songs, harmonious maid, Say, goddess, can the festal board, To win thee back with some celestial strain? O powerful strain, O sacred soul! His numbers every sense control: And now again my bosom burns; The Muse, the Muse herself, returns. Such on the banks of Tyne, confess'd, I hail'd the fair immortal guest, When first she seal'd me for her own, Made all her blissful treasures known, And bade me swear to follow her alone. ODE XI. ON LOVE.-TO A FRIEND. No, foolish youth-to virtuous fame Command thy footsteps from the crowd, By thought, by dangers, and by toils, The flowery pomp of Ease adorn: And Love's reward with gaudy Sloth is bought. Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays, And heard from many a zealous breast, The pleasing tale of Beauty's praise In Wisdom's lofty language dress'd; Of Beauty, powerful to impart Each finer sense, each comelier art, And soothe and polish man's ungentle heart. If then, from Love's deceit secure, Thus far alone thy wishes tend, Go; see the white-wing'd evening hour On Delia's vernal walk descend: Go, while the golden light serene, The grove, the lawn, the soften'd scene, Becomes the presence of the rural queen. Attend, while that harmonious tongue Each bosom, each desire, commands: Apollo's lute by Hermes strung, And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands, Attend. I feel a force divine, O Delia, win my thoughts to thine; That half the colour of thy life is mine. Yet, conscious of the dangerous charm, Soon would I turn my steps away; Nor oft provoke the lovely harm, Nor lull my reason's watchful sway. But thou, my friend-I hear thy sighs: Alas! I read thy downcast eyes; And thy tongue faulters; and thy colour flies. So soon again to meet the fair? So pensive all this absent hour? - yet, unlucky youth, beware, While yet to think is in thy power. In vain with friendship's flattering name Thy passion veils its inward shame; Friendship the treacherous fuel of thy flame! Once I remember, new to Love, And dreading his tyrannic chain, I sought a gentle maid, to prove What peaceful joys in friendship reign; Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day, One generous woman's real mind: Each night with unknown cares possess`d, Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distress'd. Fool that I was!-And now, even now An hour unsays it all again. O friend!—when Love directs her eyes To pierce where every passion lies, Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise? ODE XII. TO SIR FRANCIS HENRY DRAKE, BART. BEHOLD, the Balance in the sky Swift on the wintry scale inclines; To earthy caves the Dryads fly, And the bare pastures Pan 1esigns. Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread With recent soil the twice-mown mead, Tainting the bloom which autumn knows : He whets the rusty coulter now, He binds his oxen to the plough, And wide his future harvest throws. |