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TO ADVERSITY.

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Τον φρονείν βρoτους οδώ-
σαντα, τον πάθει μαος
Θέντα κυρίως έχειν.

ESCHYLUS.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power,

Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour

The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain,

And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, anpitied and alone.

When first thy sire to send on earth

Virtue, his darling child, design’d, To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,

And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore:

What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe.

Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leisure to be good.

Light 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 solemn 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, not 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 WESTALLRAENGRAVED BY GEORGE CORBOULD: PUBLISHED BY JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY;

DEC.1. 1820.

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THE PROGRESS OF POESY.

A PINDARIC ODE.

Φωνάντα συνετοίσιν ες
Aè sò a dv šppeyvéwy
Χατίζει. .

PINDAR.

1. 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, lute and harp.” David's PSALMS.

VARIATION.—“Awake, my lyre: my glory, wake.” Pindar styles his own poetry, with its musical accompani1nents, Αίοληΐς μολπή, Αιόλιδες χορδαί, Αιολίδων πνοαι αυλών, Eolian 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 lustre to all it touches, are bere described ; its quiet majestic progress enriching every subject (otherwise dry and barren) with a pomp of diction and luxuriant barmony of numbers; and its more rapid and irresistible course, when swoln and hurried away by the conflict of tumultuous passions.

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