CLXXVI Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird. Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luve was true. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, And my fause luver staw the rose, R. Burns CLXXVII THE PROGRESS OF POESY A Pindaric Ode Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take : The laughing flowers that round them blow Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, And frantic Passions hear thy soft controul. And dropt 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-crownéd Loves are seen On Cytherea's day; With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Frisking light in frolic measures; Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet: To brisk notes in cadence beating Glance their many-twinkling feet. Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : In gliding state she wins her easy way: O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move Man's feeble race what ills await! Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry He gives to range the dreary sky: Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. 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 shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wildly sweet Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Glory pursue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep, Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, oh Albion! next, thy sea-encircled coast. In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, 'This pencil take' (she said), Richly paint the vernal year: whose colours clear 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 Extasy The secrets of the abyss to spy: He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time : The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. But ah! 'tis heard no more— Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, Thro' the azure deep of air: Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate: Beneath the Good how far-but far above the Great. T. Gray CLXXVIII THE PASSIONS An Ode for Music When Music, heavenly maid, was young, With woeful measures wan Despair, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! M |