ODE XX. ΤΟ THE GENIUS OF SHAKSPERE. BY JOHN OGILVIE, D. D. RAFT from the glance of mortal eye, Or skims its fields with rapid flight? Droops o'er the green-embroider'd stream ? O'er yon bleak desert's unfrequented round 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, O'er all bright Fancy's beamy radiance shone, Her tresses loose that wanton'd on the gale; To thee, my favourite Son, belong 'Soft on the sea-born Goddess gaze; 'Or in the loose robe's floating maze Vol. XV. G Dissolv'd in downy slumbers rest; '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, There nightly to the tranced eye 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 Such visions bless the hermit's dream, Then flam'd Miranda on th' enraptur'd gaze, 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! Breathes its mild fragrance on the gale; Titania rob'd in mantle green Sports on the mossy bank:-her Train 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! |