(Whose jewels in his crisped hair Are placed each other's beams to share; By him,2 whose knight's distinguish'd name Whose tales even now, with echoes sweet, Or him, whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore, Who drew the sad Sicilian maid, By virtues in her sire betray'd. O Nature boon, from whom proceed Each forceful thought, each prompted deed; On all my heart imprint thy seal! Let some retreating Cynic find Those oft-turn'd scrolls I leave behind; The Sports and I this hour agree To rove thy scene-full world with thee! 55 60 70 'Miletus:' alluding to the Milesian Tales, some of the earliest romances. Him:' Cervantes.- Him:' Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1745.-'Sicilian maid: ' Blanche, in 'Gil Blas.' 10 THE PASSIONS.1 AN ODE FOR MUSIC. WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, Even at the sound himself had made. Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled; ''The Passions:' suggested by a MS. Essay by Joseph Warton. What was thy delighted measure? Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong, And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still through all the song, And where her sweetest theme she chose, 80 A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung,—but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down, The war-denouncing trumpet took, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 40 50 While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd; Sad proof of thy distressful state; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd, And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; And from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 60 Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 65 70 The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And Sport leapt up and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, As if he would the charming air repay, O Music! sphere-descended maid, 80 90 As in that loved Athenian bower, 99 110 ODE ON THE DEATH OF MR THOMSON. The Scene of the following Stanzas is supposed to lie on the Thames, near Richmond. It is said to have been composed by Collins while sailing past Richmond. 1 IN yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave: |