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O DE

ON LYRIC POETRY.

BY DR. AKENSIDE.

O

NCE more I join the Thefpian quire,
And taste th' inspiring fount again :
O parent of the Græcian lyre,
Admit me to thy secret strain
And lo! with ease my step invades
The pathlefs vale and opening fhades,
Till now I fpy her verdant feat;
And now at large I drink the found,
While these her offspring, lift'ning round,
By turns her melody repeat.

I fee ANACREON fmile and fing:
His filver treffes breathe perfume;
His cheek displays a second spring
Of rofes, taught by wine to bloom.
Away, deceitful cares, away!
And let me liften to his lay,

While flow'ry dreams my foul employ ;
While turtle-wing'd the laughing hours
Lead hand in hand the festal pow'rs,
Lead Youth and Love, and harmless Joy.

Broke from the fetters of his native land,
Devoting fhame and vengeance to her lords,
With louder impulfe, and a threat'ning hand,
The Lesbian patriot fmites the founding chords
Ye wretches, ye perfidious train,

Ye curft of Gods and freeborn men,

Ye murd'rers of the laws,

Tho' now you glory in your luft,

Tho' now you tread the feeble neck in dust, Yettime and righteous JOVE will judge your dreadful caufe,

But lo, to SAPPHO's mournful airs
Defcends the radiant queen of love;
She fmiles, and afks what fonder cares
Her fuppliant's plaintive measures move:
Why is my faithful maid diftreft ?

Who, SAPPHO, wounds thy tender breast ?

*ALCAEUS of Mitylene, the capital of Lefbos, who fled from his native city to escape the oppreffion of those who had inflav'd it, and wrote against them in his exile thofe noble invectives which are fo much applauded by the ancient Critics.

Say, flies he?

-- Soon he fhall pursue :

---

Shuns he thy gifts?

---

He too fhall give :

Slights he thy forrows? He shall grieve,

And bend him to thy haughtieft vow.

But, O MELPOMENE, for whom
Awakes thy golden fhell again?
What mortal breath fhall e'er presume
To echo that unbounded strain ?
Majestic in the frown of

years,

Behold, the Man of Thebes appears:
For fome there are, whofe mighty frame
The hand of JOVE at birth indow'd
With hopes that mock the gazing crowd;
As eagles drink the noontide flame,

While the dim raven beats his weary wings,
And clamours far below. Propitious Mufe,
While I fo late unlock thy hallow'd fprings,
And breathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse,
To polish Albion's warlike ear
This long-loft melody to hear,
Thy sweetest arts imploy ;

As when the winds from fhore to shore, Thro' Greece thy lyre's perfuafive language bore, 'Till towns, and ifles, and feas return'd the vocal joy.

* PINDAR,

But oft amid the Græcian throng,
The loofe-rob'd forms of wild defire
With lawless notes intun'd thy fong,
To fhameful steps diffolv'd thy quire.
O fair, O chaste, be ftill with me.
From fuch profaner difcord free:
While I frequent thy tuneful fhade,
No frantic fhouts of Thracian dames,
No fatyrs fierce with favage flames
Thy pleafing accents fhall invade.
Queen of the lyre, in thy retreat
The faireft flow'rs of Pindus glow;
The vine aspires to crown thy feat,
And myrtles round thy laurel grow.
Thy ftrings attune their varied ftrain
To every pleasure, every pain,
Which mortal tribes were born to prove,
And strait our paffions rife or fall,
As at the wind's imperious call

The ocean fwells, the billows move.

When midnight liftens o'er the flumb'ring earth,
Let me, O Mufe, thy folemn whispers hear :
When morning fends her fragrant breezes forth,
With airy murmurs touch my opening ear.
And ever watchful at thy fide,

Let wisdom's awful fuffrage guide

The tenour of thy lay:

To her of old by JOVE was giv'n

To judge the various deeds of earth and heav'n; "Twas thine by gentle arts to win us to her sway.

Oft as from ftricter hours refign'd
I quit the maze where science toils,
Do thou refresh my yielding mind
With all thy gay, delufive spoils.
But, O indulgent, come not nigh
The bufy steps, the jealous eye
Of gainful care, and wealthy age,
Whose barren fouls thy joys difdain,
And hold as foes to reafon's reign
Whome'er thy lovely haunts ingage.

With me, when mirth's confenting band
Around fair friendship's genial board
Invite the heart-awakening hand,
With me falute the Teian chord.
Or if invok'd at fofter hours,
O feek with me the happy bow'rs
'That hear DIONE's gentle tongue;
To beauty link'd with virtue's train,
To love devoid of jealous pain,
There let the Sapphic lute be ftrung.

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