But wan her cheek, her footsteps insecure, But soon a deep precursive sound moaned hollow: Fled till a place of tombs she reached, and there Found hiding-place. The delegated Maid Gazed through her tears, then in sad tones exclaimed ;"Thou mild-eyed Form! wherefore, ah! wherefore fled? The power of Justice like a name all light, Shone from thy brow; but all they, who unblamed Dwelt in thy dwellings, call thee Happiness. Ah! why, uninjured and unprofited, Should multitudes against their brethren rush? To her the tutelary Spirit said: E Then War and all its dread vicissitudes The congregated husbandmen lay waste As along The Bothnic coast, or southward of the Line, Though hushed the winds and cloudless the high noon, In sports unwieldy toss his island-bulk, Ocean behind him billows, and before A storm of waves breaks foamy on the strand. And hence, for times and seasons bloody and dark, Short Peace shall skin the wounds of causeless War, Still violate the unfinished works of Peace. And steered its course which way the vapour went. The Maiden paused, musing what this might mean And with them hissed the locust-fiends that crawled And glittered in Corruption's slimy track. Great was their wrath, for short they knew their reign; As when the mad tornado bellows through The guilty islands of the western main, What time departing from their native shores, *The Slaves in the West-Indies consider death as a passport to their native country. This sentiment is thus expressed in the introduction to a Greek Prize-Ode on the Slave-Trade, of which the thoughts are better than the language in which they are conveyed. Ω σκότου πύλας, Θάνατε, προλείπων Οὐ ξενισθήσῃ γενύων σπαραγμοῖς, Οὐδ ̓ ὀλολύγμα The infuriate spirits of the murdered make "Maiden beloved, and Delegate of Heaven! Soon shall the morning struggle into day, "Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and Heaven! In will, in deed, impulse of All to All! And first a landscape rose 1794. Leaving the gates of darkness, O Death! hasten thou to a race yoked with misery! Thou wilt not be received with lacerations of cheeks, nor with funeral ululation-but with circling dances and the joy of songs. Thou art terrible indeed, yet thou dwellest with Liberty, stern Genius! Borne on thy dark pinions over the swelling of Ocean, they return to their native country. There, by the side of fountains beneath citron-groves, the lovers tell to their beloved what horrors, being men, they had endured from men. ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR.* Ιού, τοὺ, ὢ ὢ κακά. Υπ ̓ αὖ μὲ δεινὸς ὀρθομαντείας πόνος Τὸ μέλλον ἥξει. Καὶ σύ μ' ἐν τάχει παρών ARGUMENT. Eschyl. Agam. 1225. THE Ode commences with an address to the Divine Providence, that regu lates into one vast harmony all the events of time, however calamitous some of them may appear to mortals. The second Strophe calls on men to suspend their private joys and sorrows, and devote them for a while to the cause of human nature in general. The first Epode speaks of the Empress of Russia, who died of an apoplexy on the 17th of November, 1796; having just concluded a subsidiary treaty with the Kings combined against France. The first and second Antistrophe describe the image of the Departing Year, &c., as in a The second Epode prophesies, in anguish of spirit, the downfall of this country. vision. I. SPIRIT who sweepest the wild harp of Time! Yet, mine eye fixed on Heaven's unchanging clime, With inward stillness, and a bowed mind; I saw the train of the departing Year! Then with no unholy madness Ere yet the entered cloud foreclosed my sight, I raised the impetuous song, and solemnised his flight. II. Hither, from the recent tomb, From the prison's direr gloom, From distemper's midnight anguish ; And thence, where poverty doth waste and languish! Or where o'er cradled infants bending Ye Woes! ye young-eyed Joys! advance By Time's wild harp, and by the hand Raises its fateful strings from sleep, I bid you haste, a mixed tumultuous band! This Ode was composed on the 24th, 25th, and 26th days of December, 1796; and was first published on the last day of that year. From every private bower, And each domestic hearth, And with a loud and yet a louder voice, Still echoes the dread name that o'er the earth III. I marked Ambition in his war-array! I heard the mailed Monarch's troublous cry- Stunned by Death's twice mortal mace, The insatiate hag shall gloat with drunken eye! Ye that gasped on Warsaw's plain! When human ruin choked the streams, 'Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams! Sudden blasts of triumph swelling, Oft, at night, in misty train, Rush around her narrow dwelling! The exterminating fiend is fled— (Foul her life, and dark her doom) Mighty armies of the dead Dance, like death-fires, round her tomb! IV. Departing Year! 'twas on no earthly shore Thou storied'st thy sad hours! Silence ensued, Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories shone. Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, From the choired gods advancing, The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet, |