ODE XX.

ΤΟ

THE GENIUS OF SHAKSPERE.

BY JOHN OGILVIE, D. D.

RAFT from the glance of mortal eye,
Say, bursts thy Genius to the world of light?
Seeks it yon star-bespangled sky?

Or skims its fields with rapid flight?
Or mid' yon plains where Fancy strays,
Courts it the balmy-breathing gale ?
Or where the violet pale

Droops o'er the green-embroider'd stream ?
Or where young Zephyr stirs the rustling sprays,
Lies all dissolv'd in fairy dream ?

O'er yon bleak desert's unfrequented round
See'st thou where nature treads the deep'ning gloom,
Sits on yon hoary tow'r with ivy crown'd,
Or wildly wails o'er thy lamented tomb;
Hear'st thou the solemn music wind along?

Or thrills the warbling note in thy mellifluous song?

Oft while on earth 'twas thine to rove

Where'er the wild-ey'd Goddess lov'd to roam, To trace serene the gloomy grove,

Or haunt meek Quiet's simple dome; Still hovering round the Nine appear, That pour the soul-transporting strain; Join'd to the Loves' gay train,

The loose-rob'd Graces crown'd with flow'rs,
The light wing'd Gales that lead the vernal Year,
And wake the rosy-featur'd Hours.

O'er all bright Fancy's beamy radiance shone,
How flam'd thy bosom as her charms reveal!
Her fire-clad eye sublime, her starry zone,

Her tresses loose that wanton'd on the gale;
On thee the Goddess fix'd her ardent look,
Then from her glowing lips these melting accents broke:

To thee, my favourite Son, belong
The lays that steal the listening hour;
To pour the rapture-darting song,
To paint gay Hope's elysian bower.
'From Nature's hand to snatch the dart,
To cleave with pangs the bleeding heart;
'Or lightly sweep the trembling string,
And call the Loves with purple wing
From the blue deep, where they dwell
• With Naiads in the pearly cell,

'Soft on the sea-born Goddess

gaze;

'Or in the loose robe's floating maze

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Dissolv'd in downy slumbers rest;
• Or flutter o'er her panting breast.
'Or wild to melt the yielding soul,
'Let sorrow clad in sable stole
Slow to thy musing thought appear;
'Or pensive Pity pale ;

'Or Love's desponding tale

Call from th' intender'd heart the sympathetic tear.'

Say, whence the magic of thy mind?

Why thrills thy music on the springs of thought? Why, at thy pencil's touch refin’d,

Starts into life the glowing draught?

On yonder fairy carpet laid,

Where Beauty pours eternal bloom,
And Zephyr breathes perfume;

There nightly to the tranced eye
Profuse the radiant Goddess stood display'd,
With all her smiling Offspring nigh.
Sudden the mantling cliff, the arching wood,

The broider'd mead, the landskip, and the grove, Hills, vales, and sky-dipt seas, and torrents rude, Grots, rills, and shades, and bowers that breath'd

of love,

All burst to sight!—while glancing on the view, Titania's sporting Train brush'd lightly o'er the dew.

The pale-ey'd Genius of the shade

Led thy bold step to Prosper magic's bower;

Whose voice the howling winds obey'd,

Whose dark spell chain'd the rapid hour:

Then rose serene the sea-girt isle ;

Gay scenes by Fancy's touch refin'd
Glow'd to the musing mind:

Such visions bless the hermit's dream,
When hov'ring Angels prompt his placid smile,
Or paint some high ecstatic theme.

Then flam'd Miranda on th' enraptur'd gaze,
Then sail'd bright Ariel on the Bat's fleet wing:
Or starts the list'ning throng in still amaze !

The wild note trembling on th' aerial string! The form in heav'n's resplendent vesture gay Floats on the mantling cloud, and pours the melting lay.

O lay me near yon limpid stream,

Whose murmur soothes the ear of wo!
There in some sweet poetic dream
Let Fancy's bright Elysium glow!
'Tis done :-o'er all the blushing mead
The dark wood shakes his cloudy head;
Below, the lily-fringed dale

Breathes its mild fragrance on the gale;
While in pastime all-unseen,

Titania rob'd in mantle green

Sports on the mossy bank:-her Train
Skims light along the gleaming plain;
Or to the flutt'ring breeze unfold

The blue wing streak'd with beamy gold;

Its pinions opening to the light :Say, bursts the vision on my sight? Ah, no! by Shakspere's pencil drawn The beauteous shapes appear;

While meek-eyed Cynthia near

Illumes with streamy ray the silver-mantled lawn.

But hark! the tempest howls afar!

Bursts the loud whirlwind o'er the pathless waste! What Cherub blows the trump of war?

What Demon rides the stormy blast ?

Red from the lightning's livid blaze,

The bleak heath rushes on the sight; Then wrapt in sudden night Dissolves. But ah! what kingly form Roams the lone desert's desolated maze! Unaw'd nor heeds the sweeping storm. Ye wan-ey'd lightnings spare the cheek of age! Vain wish;-though anguish leaves the bursting

groan.

Deaf as the flint, the marble ear of Rage

Hears not the mourner's unavailing moan: Heart-pierc'd he bleeds, and stung with wild despair Bares his time-blasted head, and tears his silver hair.

Lo! on yon long-resounding shore,

Where the rock totters o'er the headlong deep; What phantoms bath'd in infant gore

Stand muttering on the dizzy steep!