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THE EPITAPI.

Pull many a flower is born to blush unseen, “ Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Aud waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove,

Now drooping woful wan, like one forlorn, Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast

Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 6 One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood; Along the heath and near his favourite tree.

Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Th' applause of listening senates to command, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

“ The next, with dirges due in sad array, And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,

A youth to fortune and to fame unknown, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,

Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride

And melancholy mark'd him for her own. With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Heaven did a recompense as largely send; Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray;

He

gave to misery all he had, a tear; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life

He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish’d) a They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

friend. Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect

No farther seek his merits to disclose, Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture (There they alike in trembling hope repose), deck's,

The bosom of his Father and his God.
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd

THE PROGRESS OF POESY.
Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,

Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.

From Helicon's harmonious springs For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

A thousand rills their mazy progress take: This pleasing anxious being e'er resign’d,

The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?

Now the rich stream of music winds along, On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;

Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign : Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,

Now rolling down the steep amain, Ev’n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

Headlong, impetuous, see it pour;

The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Oh! sovereign of the willing soul,

Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate:

Enchanting shell ! the sullen cares, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

And frantic passions, hear thy soft controul. Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn

On Thracia's hills the lord of war Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,

Has curb'd the fury of his car, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command.

Perching on the scepter'd hand “ There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,

With ruffled plume, and flagging wing: His listless length at noontide would he stretch,

Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.

A PINDARIC ODE.

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Thee the voice, the dance, obey,

Far from the sun and summer-gale,

ICE Temper'd to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet-green

In thy green lap was nature's darling laid,

What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, The rosy-crowned loves are seen,

To him the mighty mother did unveil On Cytherea's day,

Her awful face: The dauntless child With antic sports, and blue-ey'd pleasures,

Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smild. Frisking light in frolic measures

This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear Now pursuing, now retreating,

Richly paint the vernal year: Now in circling troops they meet :

Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy! To brisk notes in cadence beating,

This can unlock the gates of joy;
Glance their many-twinkling feet.

Of horror that, and thrilling fears,
Slow melting strains their queen's approach declare: Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.
Where'er she turns, the graces homage pay.
With arms sublime, that float upon the air,

Nor second he, that rode sublime
In gliding state she wins her easy way:

Upon the seraph-wings of ecstasy, O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move

The secrets of th' abyss to spy. The bloom of young desire, and purple light of love. He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:

The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, Man's feeble race what ills await,

Where angels tremble while they gaze, Labour, and penury, the racks of pain,

He saw: but, blasted with excess of light, Disease, and sorrow's weeping train,

Clos'd his eyes in endless night. And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate!

Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car The fond complaint, my song, disprove,

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear And justify the laws of Jove.

Two coursers of ethereal race, Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse?

With necks in thunder cloth’d, and long-resounding Night, and all her sickly dews,

pace. Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary sky;

Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Till down the eastern cliffs afar

Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering o'er Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of Scatters from her pictur’d urn

Thoughts that breathe, and words that bura.

But ah! 'tis heard no more-
In climes beyond the solar road,

Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,
The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom,

Wakes thee now? though he inherit

Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
To cheer the shivering native's dull abode.

That the Theban eagle bear,
And oft, beneath the odorous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,

Sailing with supreme dominion
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,

Through the azure deep of air: In loose numbers wildly sweet,

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves.

Such forms, as glitter in the Muse's ray Her track, where'er the goddess roves,

With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun: Glory pursues, and generous shame,

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Th’unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.

Beyond the limits of a vulgar sate,

Beneath the good how far -- but far above the great.
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep,
Isles, that crown th’ Ægean deep,
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,

THE BARD.
Or where Mæander's amber waves
In lingering labyrinths creep,
How do your tuneful echocs languish

* Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Mute, but to the voice of anguish?

Confusion on thy banners wait, Where each old poetic mountain

Though, fann'd by conquest's crimson wing: Inspiration breath’d around;

They mock the air with idle state. Every shade and hallow'd fountain

Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Murmur'd deep a solemn sound:

Nor e’en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,

To save thy' secret soul from nightly fears, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.

From Cambria’s curse, from Cambria's tears!" Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant power,

Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride And coward vice that revels in her chains.

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,

As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side They sought, oh Albion! next thy sea-encircled He wound with toilsome march his long array.

Stout Gloster stood aghast in specchiless trance :

war.

A PINDARIC ODE.

coast.

To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiver While proudly riding o'er the azure realm ing lance.

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; On a rock, whose haughty brow

Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Frowns o’er old Conway's foaming flood,

Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,

That hush'd in grim repose,expects his evening prey. Rob'd in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ;

“ Fill high the sparkling bowl, Loose his beard, and hoary hair,

The rich repast prepare ;
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air)

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast :
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Close by the regal chair
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

Fell thirst and famine scowl
Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave, A baleful smile upon their bafiled guest.
sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!

Heard ye the din of battle bray, D'er thee, oh king! their hundred arms they weave, Lance to lance, and horse to horse! Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,

And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. To high-born Hoel’s harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,

With many a foul and midnight murder fed, That hush'd the stormy main;

Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:

And spare the meek usurper's holy head. Mountains, ye mourn in vain

Above, below, the rose of snow, Modred, whose magic song

Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread: Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head.

The bristled boar in jufant gore On dreary Arvon's shore they lie,

Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Smeard with gore, and ghastly pale:

Now, brothers, bending o'er th'accursed loom, Far, far aloof th’affrighted ravens sail:

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. The famish'd eagle screams and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,

“ Edward, lo! to sudden fate Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,

Half of thy heart we consecrate. Ye died amidst your dying country's cries.

(The web is wove. The work is done.)” No more I weep. They do not sleep.

Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn On yonder cliffs, a griesly band,

Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: I see them sit: they linger yet,

In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, Avengers of their native land:

They melt, they vanish from my eyes. With me in dreadful harmony they join,

But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.'

Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! “ Weave the warp, and weave the woof,

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! The winding-sheet of Edward's race:

No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. Give ample room, and verge enough,

All-hail, ye genuine kings; Britannia's issue, hail!
The characters of hell to trace.
Mark the year, and mark the night,

Girt with many a baron bold
When Severn shall re-echo with affright (ring, Sublime their starry fronts they rear;
The shrieks of death, through Berkeley's roofs that And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old
Shrieks of an agonizing king.

In bearded majesty, appear.
She wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,

In the midst a form divine!
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.
wait!

What strings symphonious tremble in the air, Amazement in his van, with flight combin'd; What strains of vocal transport round her play! And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind. Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Mighty victor, mighty Lord,

Bright rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, Low on his funeral couch he lies!

Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd No pitying heart, no eye afford

wings.
A tear to grace his obsequies!
Is the sable warrior fled ?

• The verse adorn again
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. Fierce war, and faithful love,
The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born? And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest,
Gone to salute the rising morn.

In buskin'd measures move
Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, Pale grief, and pleasing pain,

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Whom fancy chills with visionary fears,

To scan the maze of nature ; therefore stamp'd Or bends to servile tameness with conceits

The glaring scenes with characters of scorn, Of shame, of evil, or of base defect,

As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown, Fantastic and delusive. Here the slave,

As to the letter'd sage's curious eye. Who droops abash'd when sullen pomp surveys

Such are the various aspects of the mindHis humbler habit; here the trembling wretch, Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts Unnery'd and struck with terror's icy bolts, Attain that secret harmony which blends Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears, The ethereal spirit with its mold of clay; At every dream of danger: here subdued

0! teach me to reveal the grateful charm By frontless laughter and the haughty scorn That searchless nature o'er the sense of man Of old, unfeeling vice, the abject soul,

Diffuses, to behold, in lifeless things, Who blushing half resigns the candid praise The inexpressive semblance of himself, Of temperance and honour; half disowns

Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woods A freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride;

That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow; And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouth With what religious awe the solemn scene With foulest licence mock the patriot's name. Commands your steps! as if the reverend form Last of the motley bands, on whom the power

Of Minos or of Numa should forsake Of gay derision bends her hostile aim,

The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade Is that where shameful ignorance presides.

Move to your pausing eye! Behold the expanse Beneath her sordid banners, lo! they march, Of yon gay landscape, where the silver clouds Like blind and lame. Whate'er their doubtful hands Flit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze: Attempt, confusion straight appears behind, Now their gray cincture skirts the doubtful sun: And troubles all the work. Through many a maze,

Now streams of splendour, through their opening Perplex'd they struggle, changing every path, Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn (rest O'erturning every purpose; then at last

The aërial shadows; on the curling brook, Sit down dismay'd, and leave the entangled scene And on the shady margin's quivering leaves For scorn to sport with. Such then is the abode With quickest lustre glancing; while you view Of folly in the mind; and such the shapes

The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast In which she governs her obsequious train.

Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth Through every scene of ridicule in things With clouds and sunshine checquer'd, while the To lead the tenour of my devious lay ;

Of social converse, to the inspiring tongue [round Through every swift occasion, which the hand Of some gay nymph amid her subject train, Of laughter points at, when the mirthful sting Moves all obsequious? Whence is this effect, Distends her sallying nerves and chokes her tongue; This kindred power of such discordant things? What were it but to count each crystal drop Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone Which morning's dewy fingers on the blooms To which the new-born mind's harmonious powers Of May distil? Suffice it to have said,

At first were strung? Or rather from the links Where'er the power of ridicule displays

Which artful custom twines around her frame? Her quaint-ey'd visage, some incongruous form, For when the different images of things Some stubborn dissonance of things combin'd, By chance combin'd, have struck the attentive soul Strikes on the quick observer: whether pomp, With deeper impulse, or, connected long, Or praise, or beauty, mix their partial claim Have drawn her frequent eye; howe'er distinct Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds, The external scenes, yet ost the ideas gain Where foul deformity, are wont to dwell;

From that conjunction an eternal tie, Or whether these with violation loath’d,

And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind Invade resplendent pomp's imperious mien, Recal one partner of the various league, The charms of beauty, or the boast of praise. Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise,

Ask we for what fair end the Almighty Sire And each his former station straight resumes:
In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt,

One movement governs the consenting throng,
These grateful stings of laughter, from disgust And all at once with rosy pleasure shine,
Ed cing pleasure? Wherefore, but to aid

Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care.
The tardy steps of reason, and at once

'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold, By this prompt impulse urge us to depress

Two faithful needles from the informing touch The giddy aims of folly? Though the light Of the same parent stone, together drew Of truth slow dawning on the inquiring mind Its mystic virtue, and at first conspir'd At length unfolds, through many a subtle tie, With fatal impulse quivering to the pole: (main How these uncouth disorders end at last

Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms, though the In public evil! yet benignant heaven,

Roll'd its broad surge betwixt, and different stars Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserr'd To thousands; conscious what a scanty pause The former friendship, and remember'd still From labours and from care, the wider lot

The alliance of their birth : whate'er the line Of humble life affords for studious thought

Which once possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knes

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The sure associate, ere with trembling speed Begins to open. Lucid order dawns;
He found its path, and fix'd unerring there.

And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds.
Such is the secret union, when we feel

Of nature at the voice divine repair'dA song, a flower, a name at once restore

Each to its place, till rosy earth unveil
Those long-connected scenes where first they mov'd Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun
The attention : backward through her mazy walks Sprung up the blue serene; by swift degrees
Guiding the wanton fancy to her scope,

Thus disentangled, his entire design
To temples, courts, or fields; with all the band Emerges. Colours mingle, features join,
Of painted forms, of passions and designs

And lines converge: the fainter parts retire; Attendant: whence, if pleasing in itself,

The fairer eminent in light advance;
The prospect from that sweet accession gains And every image on its neighbour smiles.
Redoubled influence o'er the listening mind. Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy
By these mysterious ties, the busy power

Contemplates. Then with Promethean art, Of memory her ideal train preserves

Into its proper vehicle he breathes Intire; or when they would elude her watch, The fair conception ; which, embodied thus, Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste And permanent becomes to eyes or ears Of dark oblivion; thus collecting all

An object ascertain'd: while thus inform’d, The various forms of being to present,

The various organs of his mimic skill, Before the curious aim of mimic art,

The consonance of sounds, the featur'd rock, Their largest choice: like spring's unfolded blooms The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse, Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee

Beyond their proper powers attract the soul May taste at will, from their selected spoils,

By that expressive semblance, while in sight To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse Of nature's great original we scan Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm,

The lively child of art; while line by line, Reflects the bordering shade,and sun-bright heavens, And feature after feature we refer With fairer semblance ; not the sculptur'd gold To that sublime exemplar whence it stole More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace, Those animating charms. Thus beauty's palm Than he whose birth the sister powers of art Betwixt them wavering hangs: applauding love Propitious view'd, and from his genial star

Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind;

To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud Than his attemper’d bosom must preserve

Of gathering hail with limpid crusts of ice The seal of nature. There alone unchang’d, Enclos'd and obvious to the beaming sun, Her form remains. The balmy walks of May Collects his large effulgence; straight the heavens There breathe perennial sweets: the trembling chord With equal flames present on either hand Resounds for ever in the abstracted ear,

The radiant visage: Persia stands at gaze, Melodious: and the virgin's radiant eye,

Appall’d; and on the brink of Ganges doubts Superior to disease, to grief, and time,

The snowy vested seer, in Mithra's name Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, Indow'd with all that nature can bestow,

To which his warbled orisons ascend. The child of fancy oft in silence bends

Such various bliss the well-tun'd heart enjoys, O'er these mixt treasures of his pregnant breast, Favour'd of Heaven! while, plung’d in sordid cares, With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves The un feeling vulgar mocks the boon divine: To frame he knows not what excelling things; And harsh austerity, from whose rebuke And win he knows not what sublime reward Young love and smiling wonder shrink away Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind Abash'd and chill of heart, with sager frowns Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain,, Labour for action: blind emotions heave

Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judge His bosom, and with loveliest phrenzy caught, Casts a disdainful eye; and calls my toily. From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye, And calls the love and beauty which I sing, From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes, The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say, Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,

Is beauty then a dream, because the glooms Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth, Of dullness hang too heavy on thy sense, From ocean's bed they come: the eternal heavens To let her shine upon thee? So the man Disclose their splendours, and the dark abyss Whose eye ne'er opend on the light of heaven, Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze Might smile with scorn while raptur'd vision tells lle marks the rising phantoms. Now compares Of the gay colour'd radiance flushing bright Their different forms; now blends them; now di O'er all creation. From the wise be far Enlarges, and extenuates by turns ; (vides, Such gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my song · Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,

Descend so low ; but rather now unfold, And infinitely varies. Hither now,

If human thought could reach, or words unfold Now thither Auctuates his inconstant aim,

By what mysterious fabric of the mind, With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound

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