ODE ON THE PASSIONS.

William Collins' (1721-1759) short career gave evidence of a poetic genius, which, if ripened by time and experience, would have placed him among the first lyric writers of literature. In true poetic fire and natural sentiment he is superior to his contemporary, Gray, while the finish of his verse is quite often as perfect. The "Ode on the Passions," the "Ode to Evening," and the verses, "How Sleep the Brave?" are the most frequently quoted of his songs.

When Music-heavenly maid!

was young,

While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thronged around her magic cell;
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each, for Madness ruled the hour,
Would prove his own expressive power.

First FEAR his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords, bewildered laid;
And back recoiled, he knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made.

Next ANGER rushed, his eyes on fire,
In lightnings owned his secret stings;
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woeful measures wan' DESPAIR,
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled;

A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

But thou, O HOPE! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whispered 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 called on ECHO still through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

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-stained sword in thunder down,

And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

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,

Dejected PITY at his side

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien,

While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his

head.

Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to naught were fixed;

Sad proof of thy distressful state;

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed,

And now it courted Love, now raving called on HATE.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,

Pale MELANCHOLY sat retired,

And, from her wild sequestered seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,
Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul;
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels joined the sound;

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole:
Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay,

Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs died away.

But, oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone,
When CHEERFULNESS, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known;
The oak-crowned 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 leaped up, and seized his beechen spear.

Last came Jor's ecstatic trial:

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed;
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 kissed the strings,
LOVE framed with MIRTH, a gay fantastic round,
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound:
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.

O MUSIC! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of PLEASURE, WISDOM's aid,
Why, goddess! why to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As in that loved Athenian bower,
You learned an all-commanding power;
Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endeared,
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native, simple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art?

Arise, as in that elder time!
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders in that godlike age
Fill thy recording sister's page;
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age;
E'en all, at once, together found,
Cecilia's mingled world of sound.
Oh! bid our vain endeavors cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece;
Return in all thy simple state;
Confirm the tales her sons relate.

COMPOSITION.

Write sentences, each containing at least two or three of the proper nouns in this Ode. Form a sufficient number to embrace all these

proper nouns.

Example: Cecilia's sway will temper anger, increase pleasure, drive away despair and banish fear.

F I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

And if I should have prophecy, and should know all mysteries, and all knowledge, and if I should have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.

And if I should distribute all my goods to feed the poor, and if I should deliver my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity is patient, is kind: charity envieth not, dealeth not perversely: is not puffed up,

Is not ambitious, seeketh not her own, is not provoked to anger, thinketh no evil,

Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth with the truth: Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Charity never falleth away: whether prophecies shall be made void, or tongues shall cease, or knowledge shall be destroyed.

For we know in part, and we prophecy in part.

But when that which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done away.