How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate To that melodious lyre assign'd, Beneath a tutor who so late

With Midas, and his rout combin'd By spiteful clamour to confound That very lyre's enchanting sound, Though listening realms admir'd around:

How Horace own'd he thought the fire
Of his friend Pope's satiric line
Did further fuel scarce require

From such a militant divine:
How Milton scorn'd the sophist vain,
Who durst approach his hallow'd strain
With unwash'd hands and lips profane.

Then Shakspeare, debonnair and mild,

Brought that strange comment forth to view; Conceits more deep, he said and smil'd,

Than his own fools or madmen knew: But thank'd a generous friend above, Who did with free adventurous love Such pageants from his tomb remove.

And if to Pope, in equal need,

The same kind office thou wouldst pay,
Then, Edwards, all the band decreed

That future bards with frequent lay
Should call on thy auspicious name,
From each absurd intruder's claim,
To keep inviolate their fame.

ODE XI.

TO THE

COUNTRY GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND.

M.DCC. LVIII.

WHITHER is Europe's ancient spirit fled?

Where are those valiant tenants of her shore, Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped, Or with firm hand the rapid pole-ax bore? Freeman and soldier was their common name, Who late with reapers to the furrow came, Now in the front of battle charg'd the foe: Who taught the steer the wintry plough to endure, Now in full councils check'd encroaching power, And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know.

But who are ye? from Ebro's loitering sons

To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine; From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones And cities looking on the Cimbric main, Ye lost, ye self-deserted? whose proud lords Have baffled your tame hands, and given your swords

To slavish ruffians, hir'd for their command: These, at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod, See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod; These are the public will, the reason of the land.

Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas! the while
Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms,
Yet vain of freedom, how dost thou beguile,
With dreams of hope, these near and loud
alarms?

Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd,
The praise and envy of the nations round,

bane.

But what hath force or war to do with thee? Girt by the azure tide, and thron'd subline Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see,

With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe Are thy fair fields. Athwart thy guardian prow No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strandYet say, my country, will the waves and wind Obey thee? Hast thou all thy hopes resign'd To the sky's fickle faith? the pilot's wavering hand?

For oh! may neither fear nor stronger love
(Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won)
Thee, last of many wretched nations, move,

With mighty armies station'd round the throne To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims Of Freedom! Her proud records to the flames Then bear, an offering at Ambition's shrine; Whate'er thy ancient patriots dar'd demand From furious John's, or faithless Charles's hand, Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line.

The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew: Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd; The conquerors to their household gods return'd, And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.

Shall then this glory of the antique age,

This pride of men, be lost among mankind? Shall War's heroic arts no more engage

The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind? Doth valour to the race no more belong? No more with scorn of violence and wrong Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire, That, like some mystery to few reveald,

The skill of arms abash'd and aw'd they yield, And from their own defence with hopeless hearts retire?

O shame to human life, to human laws! The loose adventurer, hireling of a day, Who his fell sword without affection draws, Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay, This man the lessons of the field can learn; Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn, And every pledge of conquest: while in vain, To guard your altars, your paternal lands, Are social arms held out to your free hands: Too arduous is the lore; too irksome were the pain.

Meantime by Pleasure's lying tales allur'd,

From the bright Sun and living breeze ye stray; And deep in London's gloomy haunts immur'd, Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay.

O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue!
The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields

renew,

The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend; While he doth Riot's orgies haply share,

Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare, Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend.

And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain

That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng; That the rude village inmates now disdain

Those homely ties which rul'd their fathers long. Alas! your fathers did by other arts

Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts, And led in other paths their ductile will; By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, Won them the ancient manners to revere, To prize their country's peace, and Heaven's due rites fulfil.

But mark the judgment of experienc'd Time, Tutor of nations. Doth light Discord tear A state? and impotent Sedition's crime?

The powers of warlike Prudence dwell not there;

The powers who to command and to obey, Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway The rising race to manly concord tame? Oft let the marshal'd field their steps unite, And in glad splendour bring before their sight One common cause and one hereditary fame.

Nor yet be aw'd, nor yet your task disown, Though War's proud votaries look on severe; Though secrets taught erewhile to them alone, They deem profan'd by your intruding ear.

"MEEK honour, female shame,

O! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky,
From Albion dost thou fly;

Of Albion's daughters once the favourite fame?
O Beauty's only friend,

Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire;

Who, selfish, bold desire

Dost to esteem and dear affection turn;

Alas! of thee forlorn,

NOTES

ON

THE TWO BOOKS Of odes.

Book I. Ode XVIII. Stanza II. Line 19.] Lycurgus the Lacedæmonian law-giver, brought into Greece from Asia Minor the first complete copy of Homer's works.-At Platæa was fought the decisive battle between the Persian army and the united militia of Greece, under Pausanias and Aristides. -Cymon the Athenian erected a trophy in Cyprus for two great victories gained on the same day over the Persians by sea and land. Diodorus Siculus has preserved the inscription which the Athenians affixed to the consecrated spoils, after this great success; in which it is very remarkable, that the greatness of the occasion has raised the manner of expression above the usual simplicity and modesty of all other ancient inscriptions. It is this:

"Behold; our youths in vain

Concerning nuptial happiness inquire:
Our maids no more aspire

The arts of bashful Hymen to attain;

But with triumphant eyes

And cheeks impassive, as they move along,
Ask homage of the throng.

The lover swears that in a harlot's arms
Are found the self-same charms,
And worthless and deserted lives and dies.

"Behold; unbless'd at home,

The father of the cheerless household mourns:
The night in vain returns,

For Love and glad Content at distance roam;
While she, in whom his mind
Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares,
To meet him she prepares,

Through noise and spleen and all the gamester's art,
A listless, harass'd heart,

ΥΠ ̓. ΑΥΤΩΝ.

ΠΛΗΓΕΙΣ. ΑΜΦΟΤΕΡΑΙΣ ΧΕΡΣΙ. ΚΡΑΤΕΙ. ΠΟ

ΛΕΜΟΥ.

The following translation is almost literal:

Since first the sea from Asia's hostile coast
Divided Europe, and the god of war
Assail'd imperious cities; never yet,
At once among the waves and on the shore,
Hath such a labour been achiev'd by men
Who Earth inhabit. They, whose arms the Medes,
In Cyprus felt pernicious, they, the same
Have won from skilful Tyre an hundred ships
Crowded with warriors. Asia groans, in both
Her hands sore smitten, by the might of war.

Stanza II. Line 24.] Pindar was contemporary with Aristides and Cymon, in whom the glory of ancient Greece was at its height. When Xerxes invaded Greece, Pindar was true to the common

'Twas thus, along the shore

Of Thames, Britannia's guardian Genius heard,
From many a tongue preferr'd,

Of strife and grief the fond invective lore:

At which the queen divine

Indignant, with her adamantine spear

Like thunder sounding near,

Smote the red cross upon her silver shield,

And thus her wrath reveal'd.

(I watch'd her awful words and made them mine.)

the Thebans, had sold themselves to the Persian king. In one of his Odes he expresses the great distress and anxiety of his mind, occasioned by the vast preparations of Xerxes against Greece. (Isthm. 8.) In another he celebrates the victories of Salamis, Platæa, and Himera. (Pyth. 1.) It will be necessary to add two or three other particulars of his life, real or fabulous, in order to explain what follows in the text concerning him. First then, he was thought to be so great a favourite of Apollo, that the priests of that deity allotted him a constant share of their offerings. It was said of hims