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= the whole;
Some chaste and angel-friend to virgin-fame,
With whisper'd spell had burst the starting band,
Happier hopeless Fair, if never
Her baffled hand with vain endeavour
To whom, prepar'd and bath'd in heaven,
To gird their blest prophetic loins,
gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix'd her flaine.
* It is difficult to reduce to any thing like a meaning, this strange, and by no means reverential, fiction concerning the Divine Being. Probably the obscure idea that floated in the mind of the author was this: that true poetry being a representation of nature, must have its archetype in those ideas of the supreme mind which originally gave birth to nature ; and therefore, that no one should attempt it without being conversant with the fair and beautiful, the true and perfect, both in moral ideas, the shadowy tribes of mind, and the productions of the natural world.-B.
No one who is acquainted with Collins's writings will suspect him, here or elsewhere, of the least intentional irreverence. But to say of the Deity, that he is at any time, or npon any occasion, in a diviner mood, is an
Retiring, sate with her alone,
unguarded expression, and neither reverend nor true. The works of his creation may be more or less divine ; but He himself is the same in all his perfections, whether creating the soul of a man, or the body of a woim.-C.
* The tarsol is the gyr-hawk: tarsol, or tiercelet, being an old term in falconry.-B.
High on some cliff, to heaven up-pil'd,
Thither oft his glory greeting,
From Waller's myrtle shades retreating,
In vain--Such bliss to one alone,
Have now o'erturn’d th' inspiring bowers,
ODE.-WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLVI.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
See, in the Author's Life, the account of a remarkable dream which he had wbile at school: to that school-dream we undoubtedly owe this oder and this turn of it.*
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
ODE TO MERCY.
O THOU, who sitt’st a smiling bride
Who oft with songs, divine to hear,
spear, And hid'st in wreaths of flowers his bloodless sword !
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, And decks thy altar still, tho' pierc'd with many a wound !
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 iro'n tower,
To thee we build a roseate bower,
ODE TO LIBERTY.
WHO shall awake the Spartan fife,
Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,
• A high tribute of praise was paid to this piece by the illustrious Sir
William Jones, who copied a considerable part of it in his spirited Latin tem Ode, ad Libertatim, as he himself informs his readera.-Works, vol. 10,
P. 394, 8vo. 1907. 5. of thie Lecarlo
+ An allusion to the customs the Spartans had of arranging their hair before a battle.-B.