Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, Alas, regardless of their doom, No sense have they of ills to come, Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train! To seize their prey the murth'rous band! These shall the fury Passions tear, The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; Lo, in the vale of years beneath The painful family of Death, Those in the deeper vitals rage: That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age. To each his suff'rings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate? Znva ODE IV. TO ADVERSITY. Τὸν φρονεῖν βροτοὺς ὁδώ σαντα, τῷ πάθει μαθών ESCHYLUS, in Agamemnone. DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless Power, Thou tamer of the human breast, With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy sire to send on earth Stern rugged Nurse! thy rigid lore What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scared 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. 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, Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. Thy form benign, oh Goddess, wear, What others are to feel, and know myself a man. And give to rapture all thy trembling strings, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : The rocks, and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. I. 2. Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, • When the Author first published this and the following Ode, he was advised, even by his friends, to subjoin some few explanatory notes; but he had too much respect for the understanding of his readers to take that liberty. The subject and simile, as usual with Pindar, are united. The various sources of poetry, which gives life and lustre 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 hurried away by the conflict of tumultuous passions. c Power of harmony to calm the turbulent sallies of the soul. The thoughts are borrowed from the first Pythian of Pindar. |