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Ligbt they disperse, and with them go
The summer friend, the flatt'ring foe;

By vain Prosperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.

Wisdom in sable garb array'd,

Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, silent maid,

With leaden eye that loves the ground,
Still on thy solemp steps attend :
Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend,

With Justice, to herself severe,
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.

Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,

Dread goddess, lay thy chast’ning hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,

Not circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art seen)
With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,

With screaming Horror's fun'ral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty:

Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear,

Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there

To soften, pot to wound my heart. The gen'rous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love, and to forgive,

Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a Man.

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DRAWN BY RICHARD WESTALL RA. ENGRAVED BY GEORGE CORBOULD: PUBLISHED BY JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY;

DEC.1. 1820.

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I. 1.
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon's harmonious springs

A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
The laughing flow'rs that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.

Ver. 1. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake] “Awake, my glory: awake, Jate and harp.” David's Psalms.

VARIATION.—“Awake, my lyre: my glory, wake.” Pindar styles his own poetry, with its musical accompaniments, Aloants Moran, Alórdes xogdal, Aloníowy moal airūv, Æolian song, Æolian strings, the breath of the Æolian flate.

The subject and simile, as usual with Pindar, are united. The various sources of poetry, which give life and lastre to all it touches, are here described ; its quiet majestic progress enriching every subject (otherwise dry and barren) with a pomp of diction and luxuriant harmony of numbers; and its more rapid and irresistible course, when swoln and burried away by the conflict of tumultuous passions.

Now the rich stream of music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:-
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuons, see it pour:
The rocks and podding groves rebellow to the roar.

1. 2.
Oh! Sov'reign of the willing soul, . .
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the sulien Cares

And frantic Passions hear thy soft control.
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his car,
And dropp'l bis thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptred hand
Of Jove, thy magic lolls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.

I. 3. Thee the voice, the dance, obey, Temper'd to thy warbled lay.

:

Ver. 13. Oh! Sov'reign of the willing soul] Power of harmony to calm the turbulent sallies of the soul. The thoughts are borrowed from the first Pythian of Pindar.

Ver. 20. Perching on the sceptred hand] This is a weak imitation of some beautiful lines in the same ode.

Ver. 25. Thee the voice, the dance, obey] Power of harinony to produce all the graces of motion in the body.

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