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There first the wren thy myrtles shed
On gentlest Otway's infant head,

To him thy cell was shewn ;
And while he sung the female heart,
With youth's soft notes unspoil'd by art,
Thy turtles mix'd their own.

Come, Pity, come, by fancy's aid,
Ev'n now my thoughts, relenting Maid,
Thy temple's pride design:

Its southern site, its truth complete
Shall raise a wild enthusiast heat,
In all who view the shrine.

There Picture's toil shall well relate,
How chance or hard involving fate

O'er mortal bliss prevail :

The buskin'd Muse shall near her stand,
And sighing prompt her tender hand,
With each disastrous tale.

There let me oft, retir'd by day,
In dreams of passion melt away,
Allow'd with thee to dwell:

analogy in their fates which he has forborne to express. They both were the objects of pity, from that circumstance which a liberal mind would least wish to become so-pecuniary distresses.-B.

There waste the mournful lamp of night,

Till, Virgin, thou again delight

To hear a British shell!


THOU, to whom the world unknown
With all its shadowy shapes is shewn ;
Who seest appall'd th' unreal scene,
While Fancy lifts the veil between:
Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear?
see, I see thee near.


I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!
Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly,
For, lo what monsters in thy train appear!
Danger, whose limbs of giant mould
What mortal eye can fix'd behold?
Who stalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidst the midnight storm,
Or throws him on the ridgy steep
Of some loose hanging rock to sleep :
And with him thousand phantoms join'd,
Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind:
And hose, the fiends, who near allied,
O'er nature's wounds, and wrecks preside;


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While Vengeance, in the lurid air
Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare:
On whom that ravening Brood of fate,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait ;
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,
And look not madly wild, like thee?


In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice,
The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue;
The maids and matrons, on her awful voice

Silent and pale in wild amazement hung.

Yet he, the Bard who first invok'd thy name,
Disdain'd in Marathon its power to feel:
For not alone he nurs'd the poet's flame,

But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's steel.

But who is he, whom later garlands grace,

Who left a while o'er Hybla's dews to rove, With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,

Where thou and Furies shar'd the baleful grove?†

Eschylus. In his play, entitled Eumenides (Furies), he introduced a chorus of 50 persons, whose habits, gestures, and appearance altogether were so formidable, as to terrify the whole audience. Eschylus fought at the battle of Marathon.-C.

The allusion here is to the Edipus Coloneus of Sophocles, which con tains the most sublime scene in the whole compass of the Grecian Drama, of that kind of sublimity which arises from the obscure, and is calculated to produce terror.-See Ed: Col. v. 1658.-C.

Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' incestuous Queen

Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband heard, When once alone it broke the silent scene,

And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd.

Ο Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart,

Thy withering power inspir'd each mournful line, Tho' gentle pity claim her mingled part,

Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine!

* Jocasta.This is a little inaccurate: it was not Jocasta who called, nor was the call sighed out:-

Ην μεν σιωπη φθεγμα δε εξαιφνης τινος
Θωυξεν αυλον, ωςε πανίας ορθιας
Σίησαι φόβῳ δεισανίας εξαίφνης τριχας·
Καλει γαρ αυλον πολλα πολλακις Θεός,
Ω οὗτος ούλος Οιδίπες,κτλ. v. 1694.
there was silence for a while ;

But sudden he was summon'd by a voice

That made our hairs all stand on end who heard it;

Some deity so loud and often called

• Thou, Edipus

The person who makes this report goes on to relate, that Œdipus then ordered them all to depart except Theseus, who alone was to witness his end.

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ως δ' απηλθομεν

Χρονῳ βραχει ςραφενίες, εξαπειδομεν
Τον Ανδρα, τον μεν, εδαμε παρον στις
Ανακλα δ' αυτον ομμαίων επισκίον
Χειρ' αντεχονία κρατος, ως δείνει τινος
Φοβε φανενος, εδ' ανασχέίς βλεπειν. ν. 1718.

At his command we came away;

When shortly after turning round to view,


Thou who such weary lengths hast past,
Where wilt thou rest, mad Nymph, at last?
Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell,

Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell?
Or in some hollow'd seat,

'Gainst which the big waves beat,

Hear drowning seamen's cries in tempest brought!

Dark Power, with shuddering meek submitted thought,
Be mine, to read the visions old,
Which thy awakening bards have told :
And, lest thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true.
Ne'er be I found, by thee over-aw'd,
In that thrice-hallow'd eve abroad,
When ghosts, as cottage-maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave,
And goblins haunt from fire or fen,
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!

Him we saw not, for he was gone; but Theseus
Stood with his hand o'ershadowing his eyes,
As from a fearful sight intolerable.

The mysterious fate of the British King Arthur is recorded in our old English ballad, with some circumstances that may remind us of this Grecian catastrophe.-See Percy's Ant. Songs, vol. 3.-C.

The eve which was hallowed, one might imagine, should rather be free from all these objects of fear, as Shakspeare represents it:

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,

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