And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold a ghastly band,
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 How they point to the Persian abodes
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 !
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!
ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing, With vermeil cheek and whisper soft She wooes 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 skylark warbles high His trembling thrilling ecstasy; And lessening from the dazzled sight, Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; Mute was the music of the air, The herd stood drooping by :
Their raptures now that wildly flow No yesterday nor morrow know; 'Tis Man alone that joy descries With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on past Misfortune's brow Soft Reflection's hand can trace, And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw A melancholy grace; While Hope prolongs our happier hour, Or deepest shades, that dimly lour And blacken round our weary way, Gilds with a gleam of distant day.
Still, where rosy Pleasure leads, See a kindred Grief pursue; Behind the steps that Misery treads Approaching Comfort view : The hues of bliss more brightly glow Chastised by sabler tints of woe, And blended form, with artful strife, The strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost
And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening Paradise.
THE QUIET LIFE
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, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter, fire.
Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mix'd; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; Thus unlamented let me die ;
Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.
THE BLIND BOY
O say what is that thing call'd Light, Which I must ne'er enjoy ; What are the blessings of the sight, O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see, You say the sun shines bright; I feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play; And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day.
With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe; But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy : Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy.
ON A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES
'Twas on a lofty vase's side Where China's gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow, Demurest of the tabby kind The pensive Selima, reclined, Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared: The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws,
Her coat that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes— She saw, and purr'd applause.
Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide,. The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple, to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.
The hapless Nymph with wonder saw : A whisker first, and then a claw
With many an ardent wish
She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize- What female heart can gold despise ? What Cat's averse to Fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
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