Czcionka:Mniejsze АаWiększe Aa
ODE TO PEACE
I. 1
Peace, heaven-descended maid! whose powerful voice
From ancient darkness call'd the morn;
And hush'd of jarring elements the noise;
When Chaos, from his old dominion torn,
With all his bellowing throng,
Far, far was hurl'd the void abyss along;
And all the bright angelic choir
Striking through all their ranks th' eternal lyre,
Pour'd in loud symphony th' impetuous strain;
And every fiery orb and planet sung,
And wide, through night's dark solitary reign
Rebounding long and deep the lays triumphant rung.
I. 2
Oh whither art thou fled, Saturnian age!
Roll round again, majestic years!
To break the sceptre of tyrannic rage,
From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears,
Ye years, again roll round!
Hark, from afar what desolating sound,
While echoes load the sighing gales,
With dire presage the throbbing heart assails!
Murder deep-rous'd, with all the whirlwind's haste
And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs,
Her tangled serpents girds around her waist,
Smiles ghastly-fierce, and shakes her gore-distilling wings.
I. 3
The shouts redoubling rise
In thunder to the skies.
The Nymphs disorder'd dart along,
Sweet Powers of solitude and song,
Stunn'd with the horrors of discordant sound;
And all is listening trembling round.
Torrents far heard amid the waste of night
That oft have led the wanderer right,
Are silent at the noise.
The mighty ocean's more majestic voice
Drown'd in superior din is heard no more;
The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore.
II. 1
The bloody banner streaming in the air
Seen on yon sky-mix'd mountain's brow,
The mingling multitudes, the madding car,
Driven in confusion to the plain below,
War's dreadful lord proclaim.
Bursts out by frequent fits th' expansive flame.
Snatch'd in tempestuous eddies flies
The surging smoke o'er all the darken'd skies.
The cheerful face of heaven no more is seen,
The bloom of morning fades to deadly pale,
The bat flits transient o'er the dusky green,
And night's foul birds along the sullen twilight sail.
II. 2
Involv'd in fire-streak'd gloom the car comes on.
The rushing steeds grim Terror guides.
His forehead writh'd to a relentless frown,
Aloft the angry Power of battles rides:
Grasp'd in his mighty hand
A mace tremendous desolates the land;
The tower rolls headlong down the steep,
The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep:
Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades;
Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes,
A deeper gloom invests the howling shades,
Stript is the shatter'd grove, and every verdure dies.
II. 3
How startled Frenzy stares,
Bristling her ragged hairs!
Revenge the gory fragment gnaws;
See, with her griping vulture claws
Imprinted deep, she rends the mangled wound!
Hate whirls her torch sulphureous round;
The shrieks of agony, and clang of arms,
Reëcho to the hoarse alarms
Her trump terrific blows.
Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose
Of kingly gesture a gigantic form,
That with his scourge sublime rules the careering storm.
III. 1
Ambition, outside fair! within as foul
As fiends of fiercest heart below,
Who ride the hurricanes of fire that roll
Their thundering vortex o'er the realms of woe.
Yon naked waste survey;
Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous lay;
Where late the rosy-bosom'd hours
In loose array danc'd lightly o'er the flowers;
Where late the shepherd told his tender tale;
And waken'd by the murmuring breeze of morn,
The voice of cheerful Labour fill'd the dale;
And dove-eyed Plenty smil'd, and wav'd her liberal horn.
III. 2
Yon ruins, sable from the wasting flame,
But mark the once resplendent dome;
The frequent corse obstructs the sullen stream,
And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan gloom.
How sadly silent all!
Save where, outstretch'd beneath yon hanging wall,
Pale Famine moans with feeble breath,
And Anguish yells, and grinds his bloody teeth —
Though vain the Muse, and every melting lay,
To touch thy heart, unconscious of remorse!
Know, monster, know, thy hour is on the way,
I see, I see the years begin their mighty course.
III. 3
What scenes of glory rise
Before my dazzled eyes!
Young Zephyrs wave their wanton wings,
And melody celestial rings:
All blooming on the lawn the nymphs advance,
And touch the lute, and range the dance;
And the blithe shepherds on the mountain's-side,
Array'd in all their rural pride,
Exalt the festive note,
Inviting Echo from her inmost grot —
But ah! the landscape glows with fainter light,
It darkens, swims, and flies for ever from my sight.
IV. 1
Illusions vain! Can sacred Peace reside
Where sordid gold the breast alarms,
Where Cruelty inflames the eye of Pride,
And Grandeur wantons in soft Pleasure's arms?
Ambition! these are thine:
These from the soul erase the form divine;
And quench the animating fire,
That warms the bosom with sublime desire.
Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel,
And Hatred triumphs on th' o'erwhelming brow,
And midnight Rancour grasps the cruel steel,
Blaze the blue flames of death, and sound the shrieks of Woe.
IV. 2
From Albion fled, thy once belov'd retreat,
What region brightens in thy smile,
Creative Peace, and underneath thy feet
Sees sudden flowers adorn the rugged soil?
In bleak Siberia blows,
Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy rose?
Wav'd over by thy magic wand
Does life inform fell Lybia's burning sand?
Or does some isle thy parting flight detain,
Where roves the Indian through primeval shades,
Haunts the pure pleasures of the sylvan reign,
And led by reason's light the path of nature treads.
IV. 3
On Cuba's utmost steep44
Far leaning o'er the deep
The Goddess' pensive form was seen.
Her robe of Nature's varied green
Wav'd on the gale; grief dimm'd her radiant eyes,
Her bosom heav'd with boding sighs:
She ey'd the main; where, gaining on the view,
Emerging from th' ethereal blue,
Midst the dread pomp of war,
Blaz'd the Iberian streamer from afar.
She saw; and, on refulgent pinions borne,
Slow wing'd her way sublime, and mingled with the morn.
THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY
Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
These scenes so deeply-stain'd with Sorrow's dye?
Is there in all thy stores no cheerful draught,
To brighten yet once more in Fancy's eye?
Yes – from afar a landscape seems to rise,
Embellish'd by the lavish hand of Spring;
Thin gilded clouds float lightly o'er the skies,
And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing.
How blest the youth in yonder valley laid!
What smiles in every conscious feature play!
While to the murmurs of the breezy glade
His merry pipe attunes the rural lay.
Hail Innocence! whose bosom, all serene,
Feels not as yet th' internal tempest roll!
O ne'er may Care distract that placid mien!
Ne'er may the shades of Doubt o'erwhelm thy soul!
Vain wish! for lo, in gay attire conceal'd,
Yonder she comes! the heart-inflaming fiend!
(Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield?)
Swift to her destin'd prey see Passion bend!
O smile accurs'd, to hide the worst designs!
Now with blithe eye she wooes him to be blest,
While round her arm unseen a serpent twines —
And lo, she hurls it hissing at his breast!
And, instant, lo, his dizzy eyeball swims
Ghastly, and reddening darts a frantic glare;
Pain with strong grasp distorts his writhing limbs,
And Fear's cold hand erects his frozen hair!
Is this, O life, is this thy boasted prime!
And does thy spring no happier prospect yield?
Why should the sunbeam paint thy glittering clime,
When the keen mildew desolates the field?
How memory pains! Let some gay theme beguile
The musing mind, and soothe to soft delight.
Ye images of woe, no more recoil;
Be life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night.
Now when fierce Winter, arm'd with wasteful power,
Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar,
How sweet to sit in this sequester'd bower,
To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war!
Ambition here displays no gilded toy
That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise
Nor Pleasure's paths to wilds of woe decoy,
Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's proud disguise.
Oft has Contentment cheer'd this lone abode
With the mild languish of her smiling eye;
Here Health in rosy bloom has often glow'd,
While loose-robed Quiet stood enamour'd by.
Even the storm lulls to more profound repose;
The storm these humble walls assails in vain;
The shrub is shelter'd when the whirlwind blows,
While the oak's mighty ruin strows the plain.
Blow on, ye winds! Thine, Winter, be the skies,
And toss'd th' infuriate surge, and vales lay waste:
Nature thy temporary rage defies;
To her relief the gentler Seasons haste.
Thron'd in her emerald-car see Spring appear!
(As Fancy wills, the landscape starts to view)
Her emerald-car the youthful Zephyrs bear,
Fanning her bosom with their pinions blue.
Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen;
And lo, her rod the rose-lipp'd power extends!
And lo, the lawns are deck'd in living green,
And Beauty's bright-ey'd train from heaven descends!
Haste, happy days, and make all nature glad —
But will all nature joy at your return?
O, can ye cheer pale Sickness' gloomy bed,
Or dry the tears that bathe th' untimely urn?
Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart
Where groans the dungeon to the captive's wail?
To ease tir'd Disappointment's bleeding heart,
Will all your stores of softening balm avail?
When stern Oppression in his harpy-fangs
From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears,
Can ye allay the dying parent's pangs,
Whose infant craves relief with fruitless tears?
For ah! thy reign, Oppression, is not past.
Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends?
Who lays the once-rejoicing village waste,
Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends?
But hope not, Muse, vainglorious as thou art,
With the weak impulse of thy humble strain,
Hope not to soften Pride's obdurate heart,
When Errol's bright example shines in vain.
Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye,
Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight;
Thy haunts, alas! no gleams of joy supply,
Or transient gleams, that flash, and sink in night.
Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego —
Spread then, historic Muse, thy pictur'd scroll;
Bid thy great scenes in all their splendour glow,
And rouse to thought sublime th' exulting soul.
What mingling pomps rush on th' enraptur'd gaze!
Lo, where the gallant navy rides the deep!
Here glittering towns their spiry turrets raise!
There bulwarks overhang the shaggy steep!
Bristling with spears, and bright with burnish'd shields,
Th' embattled legions stretch their long array;
Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields,
With bloody tincture stains the face of day.
And now the hosts in silence wait the sign.
Keen are their looks whom Liberty inspires.
Quick as the Goddess darts along the line,
Each breast impatient burns with noble fires.
Her form how graceful! In her lofty mien
The smiles of love stern wisdom's frown control;
Her fearless eye, determin'd though serene,
Speaks the great purpose, and th' unconquer'd soul.
Mark, where Ambition leads the adverse band,
Each feature fierce and haggard, as with pain!
With menace loud he cries, while from his hand
He vainly strives to wipe the crimson stain.
Lo, at his call, impetuous as the storms,
Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven;
Hatred to madness wrought, each fine deforms,
Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the heaven.
Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend,
Shield them for Liberty who dare to die —
Ah, Liberty! will none thy cause befriend!
Are those thy sons, thy generous sons, that fly!
Not Virtue's self, when Heaven its aid denies,
Can brace the loosen'd nerves, or warm the heart;
Not Virtue's self can still the burst of sighs,
When festers in the soul Misfortune's dart.
See, where by terror and despair dismay'd,
The scattering legions pour along the plain!
Ambition's car in bloody spoils array'd
Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the rein.
But who is he, that, by yon lonely brook
With woods o'erhung and precipices rude,45
Lies all abandon'd, yet with dauntless look
Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood?
Ah, Brutus! ever thine be Virtue's tear!
Lo, his dim eyes to Liberty he turns,
As scarce-supported on her broken spear
O'er her expiring son the Goddess mourns.
Loose to the wind her azure mantle flies,
From her dishevell'd locks she rends the plume;
No lustre lightens in her weeping eyes,
And on her tear-stain'd cheek no roses bloom.
Meanwhile the world, Ambition, owns thy sway,
Fame's loudest trumpet labours with thy name,
For thee the Muse awakes her sweetest lay,
And Flattery bids for thee her altars flame.
Nor in life's lofty bustling sphere alone,
The sphere where monarchs and where heroes toil,
Sink Virtue's sons beneath Misfortune's frown,
While Guilt's thrill'd bosom leaps at Pleasure's smile;
Full oft, where Solitude and Silence dwell,
Far, far remote amid the lowly plain,
Resounds the voice of Woe from Virtue's cell.
Such is man's doom, and Pity weeps in vain.
Still grief recoils – How vainly have I strove
Thy power, O Melancholy, to withstand!
Tir'd I submit; but yet, O yet remove,
Or ease the pressure of thy heavy hand!
Yet for awhile let the bewilder'd soul
Find in society relief from woe;
O yield awhile to Friendship's soft control;
Some, respite, Friendship, wilt thou not bestow!
Come, then, Philander, whose exalted mind
Looks down from far on all that charms the great;
For thou canst bear, unshaken and resign'd,
The brightest smiles, the blackest frowns of Fate:
Come thou, whose love unlimited, sincere,
Nor faction cools, nor injury destroys;
Who lend'st to Misery's moan a pitying ear,
And feel'st with ecstasy another's joys:
Who know'st man's frailty; with a favouring eye,
And melting heart, behold'st a brother's fall;
Who, unenslav'd by Fashion's narrow tie,
With manly freedom follow'st Nature's call.
And bring thy Delia, sweetly-smiling fair,
Whose spotless soul no rankling thoughts deform;
Her gentle accents calm each throbbing care,
And harmonize the thunder of the storm:
Though blest with wisdom, and with wit refin'd,
She courts no homage, nor desires to shine;
In her each sentiment sublime is join'd
To female softness, and a form divine.
Come, and disperse th' involving shadows drear;
Let chasten'd mirth the social hours employ;
O catch the swift-wing'd moment while 'tis near,
On swiftest wing the moment flies of joy.
Even while the careless disencumber'd soul
Sinks all dissolving into pleasure's dream,
Even then to time's tremendous verge we roll
With headlong haste along life's surgy stream.
Can Gayety the vanish'd years restore,
Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed,
Or soothe the sad inevitable hour,
Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?
Still sounds the solemn knell in fancy's ear,
That call'd Eliza to the silent tomb;
To her how jocund roll'd the sprightly year!
How shone the nymph in beauty's brightest bloom!
Ah! Beauty's bloom avails not in the grave,
Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace;
Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave,
Whelm'd in th' enormous wreck of human race.
The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust,
The arch with proud memorials array'd,
The long-liv'd pyramid shall sink in dust
To dumb oblivion's ever-desert shade.
Fancy from joy still wanders far astray.
Ah, Melancholy! how I feel thy power!
Long have I labour'd to elude thy sway!
But 'tis enough, for I resist no more.
The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight-waste
Through many a lonesome path is doom'd to roam,
Wilder'd and weary sits him down at last;
For long the night, and distant far his home.
ELEGY
Tir'd with the busy crowds, that all the day
Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame,
My languid powers dissolve with quick decay,
'Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.
Hail, kind reviver! that canst lull the cares,
And every weary sense compose to rest,
Lighten th' oppressive load which anguish bears,
And warm with hope the cold desponding breast.
Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow
Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown;
And on the cold earth stretch'd the son of Woe
Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied crown.
When rous'd by thee, on boundless pinions borne
Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove,
Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn,
Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove;
Or skims the main, and listens to the storms,
Marks the long waves roll far remote away;
Or mingling with ten thousand glittering forms,
Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day.
Haply, ere long, pierc'd by the howling blast,
Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam,
Plunge down th' unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast
Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb:
Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile
Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale,
Where Mirth's light freaks th' unheeded hours beguile,
And airs of rapture warble in the gale.
Instructive emblem of this mortal state!
Where scenes as various every hour arise
In swift succession, which the hand of Fate
Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes.
Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys,
Thy boasted grandeur, and thy glittering store;
Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys,
Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more.
And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm
Of angry Fortune overhang awhile,
Let not her frowns your inward peace deform;
Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile.
Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn,
'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife;
But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn,
When Death awakes us to immortal life.
ELEGY
Exults the fluttering heart, O Mortal-born,
If Fame pronounce thee beautiful and wise,
If pompous blazonry thy name adorn! —
Approach, with trembling awe, where **** lies;
And pause; and know thy boasted honours vain.
Vain all the gifts that fortune can bestow.
Late shone around Her all the gorgeous train,
But shine not round the mouldering dust below.
Gaz'd at from far by Envy's lifted eye
What then avails to deck th' exalted scene,
If there the blasting storms of anguish fly,
If Frailty there displays her withering mien?
But Virtue (sacred plant!) no soil disdains;
The plant that Frailty's fiercest frown defies.
Retir'd it blooms amid the lowly plains;
Or decks the mountain's brow that mates the skies,
And there conspicuous forms the Pilgrim's bower,
When Sorrow darts direct the feverish ray;
And forms his shelter from the tempest's power
In stern Oppression's desolating day.
This, Grandeur, be thy praise; 'tis more than fame.
This praise was Hers; yet not to this confin'd,
Hers was th' indulgent soul untaught to blame,
Hers all the graces of the mildest mind.
Slight is your wound, who mourn a Guardian lost,
Though grief's sharp sting now prompts the pious sigh;
He lives the friend of man, the Muse's boast,
And Bounty's hand shall wipe your streaming eye.
But ah! what balm shall heal His bleeding heart,
Who for the Friend, and for the Lover mourns!
Of all the joys that friendship can impart,
When love's divinest flame united burns,
Possess'd so late! but now possess'd no more! —
Thus triumphs fate o'er all that charms below;
Thus curbs the storm till joy's meridian hour,
To wrap the smiling scene in darker woe.
Sole object of a Mother's tender care,
Could ought of song avail to ease thy pain;
Or charm a Parent's, Sister's, Friend's despair;
Fain would the Muse attempt some soothing strain.
But what can soothe, when Hope denies her aid!
Far in the silent depth of yonder gloom,
Where the weak lamp wan wavers o'er the dead,
She hides in sable dust her sparkling plume.
T' enrage their smart, Remembrance wakes severe,
And bids the vanish'd years again to roll;
Again they seem that soothing voice to hear,
Again those looks shoot transport to the soul.
The vision flies, and leaves the mind to mourn,
Saddening each scene that pleas'd while She was by;
For ah! those vanish'd years no more return;
Mute the soft voice, and clos'd the gentle eye.
Come, Resignation, with uplifted brow,
And eye of rapture smiling though in tears;
Come, for thou lov'st the silent house of woe,
When no fond friend the abandon'd mansion cheers.
Come, for 'tis thine to soothe the Mourner's smart,
The throbs of hopeless anguish to control,
With healing balm to point Death's levell'd dart,
And melt in heavenly dreams the parting soul.
We mark'd Thy triumphs in that hour of dread;
When from Her eyes, that look'd a last adieu,
Each weeping friend seem'd vanishing in shade,
And darkening slow the swimming scene withdrew.
'Twas then, Her pale cheek caught Thy rapturous smile,
Thy cheering whispers calm'd her labouring breast,
And hymns of quiring angels charm'd the while;
Till the weak frame dissolv'd in endless rest.