VII. Next thy Tasso's ardent numbers Calling youth from idle slumbers, Rousing them from Pleasure's lair:— Then o'er the strings his fingers gently move, And melt the soul to pity and to love. VIII. But when Thou joinest with the Nine, The dying tones that fill the air, And charm the ear of evening fair, From thee, great God of Bards, receive their heavenly birth. Round the patient year, Where where slept thine ire, When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath, Thy laurel, thy glory, The light of thy story, Or was I a worm-too low creeping for death? O Delphic Apollo ! The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd, For wrath became stiffen'd-the sound Went drowsily under, O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm? Why touch thy soft lute Till the thunder was mute, Why was I not crush'd-such a pitiful germ? O Delphic Apollo ! The Pleiades were up, The seeds and roots in Earth Were swelling for summer fare; When, who-who did dare To tie for a moment thy plant round his brow, And grin and look proudly, And blaspheme so loudly, And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now? O Delphic Apollo ! W TO HOPE. HEN by my solitary hearth I sit, in gloom; When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed, Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night, Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright, And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof. Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, Strive for her son to seize my careless heart When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him, as the morning frightens night! Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! In the long vista of the years to roll, Let me not see our country's honour fade! O let me see our land retain her soul! Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade. From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed— Beneath thy pinions canopy my head! Let me not see the patriot's high bequest, And as, in sparkling majesty, a star Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud; Brightening the half-veil'd face of heaven afar: So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed, Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head. February, 1815. H ΤΟ ADST thou lived in days of old, Of thy lively countenance, And thy humid eyes, that dance Or the feathers from a crow Turn to whence they sprung before; Peeps the richness of a pearl. With a glossy waviness, Full, and round like globes that rise From the censer to the skies Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness With those beauties scarce discern'd, Round about with eager pry. Saving when with freshening lave, Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;" In the coolness of the morn. Couldst thou wish for lineage higher Than twin-sister of Thalia ? Will I call the Graces four. Hadst thou lived when chivalry Lifted up her lance on high, Tell me what thou wouldst have been ? |