Above, below, the rose of snow, Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread; The bristled boar in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom, III. 1. Edward, lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail: All-hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, III. 2. 'Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line ; VOL. III. 1 hail! What strings symphonious tremble in the air! III. 3. 'The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dress'd. Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, Tyrant of the throbbing breast. Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: With joy I see The different doom our fates assign. Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care, To triumph, and to die, are mine.' He spoke; and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night. Gray. THE PROGRESS OF POESY: I. 1. AWAKE, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. A thousand rills their mazy progress take: Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. I. 2. Oh! sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares And Frantic Passions hear thy soft control. On Thracia's hills the lord of war Has curb'd the fury of his car, And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command, Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king The terror of his beak, and lightnings of bis eye. I. 3. Thee the voice, the dance obey, The rosy-crowned Loves are seen With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Now in circling troops they meet: Slow melting strains their queen's approach declare : Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay: With art sublime, that float upon the air, In gliding state she wins her easy way: O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. II. 1. Man's feeble race what ills await! Labour, and penury, the racks of Pain, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heav'nly Muse? Night and all her sickly dews, Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, [war. Till down the eastern cliffs afar II. 2. In climes beyond the solar road, Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the od'rous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wildly sweet Their feather-cinctur'd chief, and dusky loves. [flame. Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy II. 3. Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Ægean deep, Fields, that cool Ilyssus laves, Or where Mæander's amber waves How do your tuneful Echoes languish, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. |