Ye nymphs of Solyma, begin the song:
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids,
Delight no more. O Thou my voice inspire,
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire!
Rapt into future times, the bard begun :
A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies:
The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic Dove.
Ye heavens, from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly shower.
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, aud from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds shall fail;
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale;
Peace o'er the world her olive-wand extend,
And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend.
Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn!
O, spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born!
See, nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring,
With all the incense of the breathing spring!
See lofty Lebanon his head advance!
See nodding forests on the mountains dance!
See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise,
And Carmel's flowery top perfume the skies!
Hark, a glad voice the lonely desert cheers;
Prepare the way! a God, a God appears!
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply;
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity.
Lo, earth receives Him from the bending skies;
Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys rise;
With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay;
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way!
The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold:
Hear Him, ye deaf: and all ye blind, behold!
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eyeball pour the day:
'Tis He the obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And bid new music charm the unfolding ear:
The dumb shall sing; the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting like the bounding roe.
No sign, no murmur, the wide world shall hear;
From every face he wipes off every tear.
In adamantine chains shall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture and the purest air,
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects;
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms;
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promised father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes;
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more:
But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.
Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son
Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same hand that sowed shall reap the field.
The swain in barren deserts with surprise
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise;
And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembles and the bulrush nods.
Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn :
To leafless shrubs the flowery palms succeed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed.
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead,
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead:
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake;
Pleased the green lustre of the scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play.
Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem rise!
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes!
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn!
See future sons and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend!
See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings
And heap'd with products of Sabean springs!
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day!
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn;
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts: the Light Himself shall shine
Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine!
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fixed His word, His saving power remains;
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns!
MATTHEW PRIOR was born, A.D. 1666, of humble origin. He was sent to Cambridge at the expense of the Earl of Dorset. Having entered the diplomatic service he acted as secretary of legation at the treaty of Reyswick; after which he was successively undersecretary of state and a commissioner of trade. Subsequently he sat in Parliament, and rose finally to the post of English ambassador at Paris. On his return he was committed to prison, through the vengeance of the Whigs, who regarded him as a deserter from their party. But for the kindness and aid of Lord Harley, he would have had, in his latter life, but scanty means of support. He died .D. 1721.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS.
In imitation of a Greek Idyllium.
Celia and I the other day
Walked o'er the sand-hills to the sea:
The setting sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost;
And on the surface of the deep
The winds lay, only not asleep;
The nymph did like the scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair;
Soft fell her words, as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.
But, O the change! the winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars;
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight;
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.
Once more at least look back, said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good humour drest,
When gentle reason rules thy breast,
The sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee:
"Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of love :
I bless my chain: I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.
But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear;
When the big lip and watery eve
Tell me the rising storm is nigh;
"Tis then thou art yon angry main,
Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain;
And the poor sailor, that must try
Its fury, labours less than I.
Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make,
While love and fate still drive me back :
Forc'd to doat on thee thy own way,
I chide thee first, and then obey:
Wretched when from thee, vex'd when nigh,
I with thee or without thee die.
THOMAS GRAY was born A.D. 1716, and died A.D. 1771. His life, which was uneventful, was passed in a large measure amid the cloisters of Cambridge. He was a man of great learning, as well as of a true taste for classical poetry; and the influence of both are largely to be found in his works. He has been accused of being but
a plagiarist from the classics; but the charge of plagiarism holds good against those only who borrow without adding aught of importance to what they have gained from foreign sources. Gray was unquestionably a man of high genius; though, had he trusted more to it, and less to his learning, it would probably have left yet nobler results behind. His Odes possess a brilliancy of imagination, an energy and compactness of diction, a throng of thoughts and images, a harmony of versification, and a careful finish, the collective merit of which is not materially reduced because some lines are to be traced to classical sources, or even because his language is sometimes stilted. His Elegy in a Country Churchyard is one of the most perfect poems in the language. The obscurity of his Odes results, not from vagueness of thought, but from condensation of language and copiousness of allusion. It is remarkable that Gray, in his letters written during a tour in the Highlands, was one of the first English writers to express a vivid enjoyment in the grander scenes of nature; though his poetry belongs more to the artificial than the natural school.
ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE.
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing;
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She woos the tardy Spring :
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground;
And lightly o'er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance,
The birds his presence greet;
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Rise, my soul! on wings of fire,
Rise the rapt'rous choirs among;
Hark! 'tis Nature strikes the lyre,
And leads the genʼral song;
Warm let the lyric transport flow,
Warm as the ray that bids it glow;
And animates the vernal grove
With health, with harmony, and love.
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