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Hark, hark! the horrid sound
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise!
See the snakes that they rear
How they hiss in their hair,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Each a torch in his hand!
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain :
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew!
Behold how they toss their torches on high,
And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
-The princes applaud with a furious joy:
And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;
Thais led the way
To light him to his prey,
And like another Helen, fired another Troy !
-Thus, long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute,
Timotheus, to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before
-Let old Timotheus yield the prize
Or both divide the crown;
He raised a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down!
The Golden Treasury
ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
The birds his presence greet:
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Smiles on past misfortune's brow
While hope prolongs our happier hour,
Still, where rosy pleasure leads,
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
See the wretch that long has tost
ODE TO SIMPLICITY
O Thou, by Nature taught
To breathe her genuine thought
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong;
In Fancy, loveliest child,
Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song!
Thou, who with hermit heart,
Disdain'st the wealth of art,
And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall,
In Attic robe array'd,
O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call!
By all the honey'd store
On IIybla's thymy shore,
By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear; By her whose love-lorn woe
In evening musings slow
Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear:
By old Cephisus deep,
In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat;
When holy Freedom died,
No equal haunt allured thy future feet :-
O sister meek of Truth,
Thy sober aid and native charms infuse !
Though Beauty cull'd the wreath,
Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues.
While Rome could none esteem
But Virtue's patriot theme,
You loved her hills, and led her laureat band; But stay'd to sing alone
To one distinguish'd throne;
And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land.
No more, in hall or bower,
Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean :
Nor olive more, nor vine,
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.
Though taste, though genius, bless
To some divine excess,
Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole; What each, what all supply
May court, may charm our eye;
Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul!
Of these let others ask
To aid some mighty task;
I only seek to find thy temperate vale;
And all thy sons, O Nature! learn my tale.
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
THE BLIND BOY
O say what is that thing call'd Light,
What are the blessings of the sight,