« EelmineJätka »
Fill high the sparkling bowl,
The rich repast prepare;
Reft of a crown, he yet máy share the feast.
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baleful smile upon the baffled guest.
Lance to lance and horse to horse?
Long years of havock urge their destin'd course,
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers! bending o'er the accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof; the thread is spun)
Half of thy heart we consecrate;
(The web is wove; the work is done.")
· Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me unbless'd, unpity'd here to mourn.
In yon bright tract, that fires the western skies,
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height,
All hail, ye genuine Kings, Britannia's issue, hail!
Girt with many a baron bold
Sublime their starry fronts they rear,
In the midst a form divine,
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line,
What strings symphonious tremble in the air!
The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,
And Truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
In buskin'd measures move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
Gales from blooming Eden bear,
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
The different doom our Fates assign!
To triumph and to die are mine.'
He spoke, and, headlong from the mountain's height, Deep, in the roaring tide, he plung'd to endless night.
The Progress of Poesy. Pindaric.
AWAKE, Eolian lyre! awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings; From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take;
Thro' verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign;
Headlong, impetuous see it pour;
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar.
Oh! Sov'reign of the willing soul,
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
And frantic Passions hear thy soft control.
And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command:
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak and lightnings of his eye.
Thee the voice, the dance obey,
Temper'd to thy warbled lay!
O'er Idalia's velvet green
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen
On Cytherea's day,
With antic sports and blue-ey'd Pleasures,
Frisking light in frolic measures:
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet;
Slow-melting strains their queen's approach declare;
Man's feeble race what ills await!
Labor and Penury, the racks of Pain,
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train,
And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate! The fond complaint, my Song ! disprove,
And justify the laws of Jove,
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse?
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
Till down the eastern cliffs afar
Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of
In climes beyond the Solar Road,
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom
To cheer the shiv'ring native's dull abode ;
And oft beneath the od'rous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,
In loose numbers, wildly sweet,
Their feather'd-cinctur'd chiefs and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame,
Th' unconquerable mind and Freedom's holy flame.
Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep,
Or where Mæander's amber waves
How do your tuneful echoes languish,
Ev'ry shade and hallow'd fountain
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,
They sought, Oh Albion! next thy sea encircled coast.
Far from the sun and summer gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!
Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Nor second he that rode sublime
Upon the seraph wings of ecstasy,
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:
Where angels tremble while they gaze,