ODE XXIV. ON LYRIC POETRY. BY SIR JAMES MARRIOT, BART. I. I. INMATE of smoaking cots, whose rustic shed, Her twittering progeny contains, In plaintive accents tells of unrelenting fate, When, at his mutter'd rite, Hid in the dusky desart vale, With starting eye, and visage pale, The grimly wizard sees the spectres rise unholy; I. 2. Sublime alone the feather'd monarch flies, His nest dark mists upon the mountains shrowd; When borne on outstretch'd plume aloft he springs, Or through the airy region rove, But he who guards the throne of Jove, And grasps the flaming bolt of sacred fire. I. 3. Know, with young Ambition bold, In vain, my Muse, thy dazzled eyes explore, And with directed eagle eye Pervade the lofty spheres, and view the blazing sun. II. I. But hark! o'er all the flower enamell'd ground I see, I see the virgin train Rolling to many a vale their liquid lapse along, Which holds entranc'd Attention's wakeful ear, Forgets; and Care that counts his store, II. 2. Then once more, sweet enthusiast, happy lyre, And wake thee emulous on Granta's plain, On life's sequester'd scenes they silent wait, Nor heed the baseless pomp of power, Nor shining dreams that crowd at Fortune's gate; Of pain, which man is doom'd to know, With pleasures plac'd beyond the shaft of Fate. 1 II. 3. But, alas! th' amusive reed Ill suits the lyre that asks a master's hand, A breast that life's more active scenes demand. 'Tis enough: the lyre unstring. At other feet the victor palm I fling In Granta's glorious shrine; Where crown'd with radiance divine, Her smiles shall nurse the Muse: the Muse shall lift her fame. ODE XXV. THE POWER OF POETRY. BY EDW. ROlle, b.d. 1. WH Ev'n Rapine dropt her ravish'd prey, 'Till by the soft oppression seiz'd, Each savage heard his rage away: And now o'ercome, in kind consent they move, II. Not so, when Greece's chief by Heav'n inspir'd, He durst not meet with hostile eyes; Whilst glittering shields and swords, war's bright array, Were either worn in vain, or basely thrown away. |