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Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possest beyond the Muse's painting:
By turns they felt the glowing mini
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined.
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd 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 bewilderd laid,
And back recoild, he knew not why,

Een at the sound himself had made.

Next Anger rush d, his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own d his secret stings,
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woful measures wan Despair

Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled,
A solemn, strange, and mingled air,

'Twas sad by tits, by starts 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope with eyes so fair,

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,

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,

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.

or the music that accompanied them, having in themselves little more merit than that of an ordinary ballad: but in this we have the whole soul and power of poetry :-expression that, even without the ald of music, strikes to the heart; and imagery of power enongh to transport the attention without the forceful alliance of corresponding sounds. What then must have been the effects of these united 1

The picture of Hope in this ode is beautiful almost beyond imitation. By the united powers of Imagery and harmony, that delightful being is exhibited with all the charms and graces that pleasure and fancy have appropriated to her. The descriptions of Joy, Jealousy, and Revenge, are excellent, though not equally so:

equally so: those of Melancholy and Cheerfulness are superior to every thing of the aind; and, upon the whole, there may be very little hazard in asserting that this is the finest ode in the English language. Read-Observations on Collins's Poems in the 58th vol. of Johnson's Poets.

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 unalterd mien, While each strain d ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixd,

Sad proof of thy distressful state,
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd,

And now it courted Love, now raving callid on Hate.

Why, Goddess, why, to us denied, Lay'st thon thy ancient lyre aside ? As in that loved Athenian bower, Ica lennd in all-commanding power, Th; uime soul, 0 nymph endeard, Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart, Derche to virtue, fancy, art? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energic, chaste, sublime! Thy wonders, in that god-like age, Fill thy raording 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, Een all at once together found Cacilia's mingled world of soundO, bid our vain endeavors cease, Revive the just designs of Greece, Retum in all thy simple state! Confirm the tales her sons relate!

With eyes up-raised, 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:

And dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,

Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.
But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known:

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 becchen spear.

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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,
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 Thon, who sitt'st a smiling bride
By Valor's am'd and awful side,
bertiest of sky-born forms, and best adored:
Who oft with songs, divine to hear,

Win'st from his fatal grasp the spear,
And bid'at in wreaths of flowers his bloodless sword!

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seit devastations of the Highlands

O Music, sphere-descended maid, Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid,

Base, written in 1745, and the Ode to Mercy, seem to have been written on the secca Rebellion of 1746, when the young Pretender, Charles Edward

rouung the English forces, was utterly defeated at Colloden,

of the Highlands by the English were dreadful and bloody in the higher u might ott gifted poct invoke the genius of Mercy.

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Why, Goddess, why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As in that loved Athenian bower,
You learn'd in all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd,
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, energic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders, in that god-like 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,
Een all at once together found
Cæcilia's mingled world of sound-
O, bid our vain endeavors cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece,
Return in all thy simple state!
Confirm the tales her sons relate!

ODE TO THE BRAVE.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod,
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By Fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung!
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

ODE TO MERCY.?

STROPHE.
• O Thou, who sitt'st a smiling bride

By Valor's arm'd and awful side,
Gentlest of sky-born forms, and best adored:

Who oft with songs, divine to hear,

Win'st from his fatal grasp the spear, And hid'st in wreaths of flowers his bloodless sword!

1 The Ode to the Brave, written in 1746, and the Ode to Mercy, seem to have been written on the same occasion, namely, the Scotch Rebellion of 1746, when the young Pretender, Charles Edward Stuart, after landing in Scotland and ronting the English forces, was utterly defeated at Cullodon, The subsequent devastations of the Highlands by the English were dreadful and bloody in the highest degree; and well might our gifted poet Invoke the genius of Mercy,

Thou who, amidst the deathful field,

By godlike chiefs alone beheld,
Of with thy bosom bare art found,
Pleading for him the youth who sinks to ground:

See Mercy, see, with pure and loaded hands,

Before thy shrine my country's genius stands, And decks thy altar still, though pierced with many a wound

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ANTISTROPHE.
When he whom e'en our joys provoke,

The fiend of Nature joind his yoke,
And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey;

Thy form, from out thy sweet abode,

O'ertook him on his blasted road,
And stopp'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away.

I see recoil his sable steeds,

That bore him swist to savage deeds,
Thy tender melting eyes they own;
O Maid, for all thy love to Britain shown,
Where Justice bars her iron tower,

To thee we build a roseate bower,
Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our monarch's throne!

Te lires there one, whose heedless eye

Shall scom thy pale shrine glimmering near ? With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,

Ard Joy desert the blooming year.

VIII,

But thou, bom stream, whose sullen tide

No sedge-crownd sisters now attend, doe waît me from the green hill's side Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

ON THE DEATH OF THE POET THOMSON.'

II.
And see, the fairy valleys sade,

Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view! Yer one again, dear parted shade,

dieek nature's child, again adieu!

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The genial meads? assign'd to bless

Thy life, shall moum thy early doom! Their hinds and shepherd girls shall dress With simple hands thy rural tomb.

II.

III.

Long. long, thy stone and pointed clay

Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes; 0! vales, and wild woods, shall he sayi

In yonder grave your Druid lies!

Then maids and youths shall linger here,

And, while its sounds at distance swell,
Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear
To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.

iv. Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore

When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, And oft suspend the dashing oar

To bid his gentle spirit rest!

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SAMUEL RICHARDSON. 1689–1761.
Il RICHARDSON, who may be said to be the inventor of the modem

vel, was the son of a carpenter in Derbyshire, and was born in metu the limited means of his father, he was restricted to a common

bon, which is very apparent in the structure of his composition. mulbutes, however, the most decisive marks of genius, and was re

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1 This ode on the Death of Thomson seems to have been written a on the Thames. “Collins had skill to complain.” or that mournful melody.' which are the distinguishing excellencies of such pieces as bewail depar was almost an unequalled master.

tle or Indolence, 2 The harp of Æolus of which see a description in Thomson's cas

tten during an excursion to Richmond

bournful melody, and those tender images,
Pieces as bewail departed friendship or beauty, he

Themean was buried in Richmond church.
T on reuded in the LeBOT

cunod in the Belydborhood of Richmond some time before his death.

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And oft as Ease and Health retire

To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
The friend shall view yon whitening spire,
And 'mid the varied landscape weep.

VI.
But thou, who own'st that earthly bed,

Ah! what will every dirge avail ?
Or tears, which Love and Pity shed
That mourn beneath the gliding sail !

vir.
Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye

Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near?
With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,

And Joy desert the blooming year.

VIII.

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide

No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend,
Now waft me from the green hill's side

Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

And see, the fairy valleys fade,

Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view!
Yet once again, dear parted shade,

Meek nature's child, again adieu !

The genial meads? assign’d to bless

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom!
Their hinds and shepherd girls shall dress

With simple hands thy rural tomb.

XI.
Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay

Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes;
0! vales, and wild woods, shall he say;

In yonder grave your Druid lies!

SAMUEL RICHARDSON. 1689–1761,

SAMUEL RICHARDSON, who may be said to be the inventor of the modern English novel, was the son of a carpenter in Derbyshire, and was born in 1689. From the limited means of his father, he was restricted to a common school education, which is very apparent in the structure of his composition. He early exbibited, however, the most decisive marks of genius, and was re.

1 Thomson was buried in Richmond church. 2 Thomson resided in the neighborhood of Richmond some time before his death.

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