By turns, they felt the glowing mind From the supporting myrtles round First, FEAR, his hand, its skill to try, Next, ANGER rush'd, his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings; And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woful measures wan DESPAIR- But thou, O HOPE! with eyes so fair, 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 her 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; The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe. And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat: And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight-seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to nought were fix'd: Sad proof of thy distressful state; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted stream, 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, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd, But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, As if he would the charming air repay, O MUSIC! sphere-descended maid! Thy humblest reed could more prevail, G Had more of strength, diviner rage, ODE ON A Distant Prospect of Eton College. BY GRAY. YE distant spires, ye antique towers, Her Henry's holy shade; And ye, that, from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way! |