ODE TO MERCY.

STROPHE.

O THOU, who sitst a smiling bride
By Valour's arm'd and awful side,
Gentlest of sky-born forms, and best adored;

Who oft with songs, divine to hear,

Winn'st from his fatal grasp the spear,

And hidest in wreaths of flowers his bloodless sword!
Thou who, amidst the deathful field, 4
By godlike chiefs alone beheld,

Oft with thy bosom bare art found,

Pleading for him the youth who sinks to ground

5

See, Mercy, see, with pure and loaded hands, Before thy shrine my country's genius stands,f And decks thy altar still, though pierced with many a wound

b

ANTIŠTROPHE.

When he whom even our joys provoke,
The fiend of nature join'd his yoke,"

And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey?
Thy form, from out thy sweet abode, t

O'ertook him on his blasted road,

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And stopp'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away.

I see recoil his sable steeds,

That bore him swift to salvage deeds, Thy tender melting eyes they own;

of

O maid, for all thy love to Britain shown,
Where Justice bars her iron tower, f

To thee we build a roseate bower;

Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our monarch's throne!

ODE TO LIBERTY.

STROPHE.

WHO shall awake the Spartan fife,
And call in solemn sounds to life,
The youths, whose locks divinely spreading, b
Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,

At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding! 5
Applauding Freedom loved of old to view?
What new Alcæus, fancy-blest,

d

Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,

i Alluding to that beautiful fragment of Alcæus :

Εν μύρτου κλαδὶ τὸ ξίφος φορήσω,
Ώσπερ Αρμόδιος κ' Αριστογείτων,
Οτε τὸν τύραννον κτανέτην,
Ισονόμους τ' Αθήνας εποιησάτην.
Φιλταθ' Αρμόδι οὔ τι που τέθνηκας,
Νήσοις δ' ἐν μακάρων σε φασὶν εἶναι,
Ινα περ ποδώκης Αχιλεὺς,
Τυδέιδην τε φασιν Διομήδεα.
Εν μύρτου κλαδὶ τὸ ξίφος φορήσω,
Ώσπερ Αρμόδιος κ' Αριστογείτων,
Οτ' Αθηναίης ἐν θυσίαις

Ανδρα τύραννον Ιππαρχον ἐκαινέτην.
Αεὶ σφῶν κλέος ἔσσεται κατ' αἶαν,
Φίλταθ' Αρμόδιε, κ' Αριστόγειτων,
Οτι τόν τύραννον κτάνετον,
Ισονόμους τ' Αθήνας ἐποιήσατον

At Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame concealing, (What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?)† 10 Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing, It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound !f

O goddess, in that feeling hour, I
When most its sounds would court thy ears, ▲
Let not my shell's misguided powerk 15
E'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.

No, Freedom, no, I will not tell

How Rome, before thy weeping face,)

With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,
Push'd by a wild and artless race

From off its wide ambitious base, ke

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When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke,
And all the blended work of strength and grace,<
With many a rude repeated stroke, l

And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments

broke.

EPODE.

Yet, even where'er the least appear'd,
The admiring world thy hand revered;

Still 'midst the scatter'd states around,

Some remnants of her strength were found;
They saw, by what escaped the storm,

How wondrous rose her perfect form;

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* Μὴ μὴ ταῦτα λέγωμες, ἃ δάκρυον ἤγαγε Δηοΐ.

Callimach. Ὕμνος εἰς Δήμητρα.

How in the great, the labour'd whole,
Each mighty master pour'd his soul!
For sunny Florence, seat of art,
Beneath her vines preserved a part,

Till they,' whom Science loved to name,
(O who could fear it?) quench'd her flame.
And lo, an humbler relic laid

In jealous Pisa's olive shade!

See small Marinom joins the theme,
Though least, not last in thy esteem:
Strike, louder strike the ennobling strings
To those," whose merchant sons were kings;
To him, who, deck'd with pearly pride,
In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride;
Hail, port of glory, wealth, and pleasure,
Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure:
Nor e'er her former pride relate,
To sad Liguria's bleeding state.
Ah no! more pleased thy haunts I seek,
On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak:
(Where, when the favour'd of thy choice,
The daring archer heard thy voice;
Forth from his eyrie roused in dread,
The ravening eagle northward fled :)