Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett Part 18

ODES.

I.--ON THE SPRING.

1. Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, Fair Venus' train, appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year!

The Attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of Spring: While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling.

2. Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader, browner shade.

Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'ercanopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little, are the proud, How indigent the great!

3. Still is the toiling hand of Care; The panting herds repose: Yet hark! how through the peopled air The busy murmur glows!

The insect youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, And float amid the liquid noon; Some lightly o'er the current skim, Some show their gaily gilded trim, Quick glancing to the sun.

4. To Contemplation's sober eye, Such is the race of Man, And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began.

Alike the busy and the gay But flutter through life's little day, In Fortune's varying colours dress'd; Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance They leave, in dust to rest.

5. Methinks I hear, in accents low, The sportive kind reply, Poor Moralist! and what art thou?

A solitary fly!

Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of h.o.a.rded sweets, No painted plumage to display: On hasty wings thy youth is flown, Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-- We frolic while 'tis May.

II.--ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT,

DROWNED IN A CHINA TUB OF GOLD FISHES.

1. '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.

2. 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.

3. 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.

4. 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?

5. Presumptuous maid! with looks intent, Again she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between: (Maligant Fate sat by and smiled,) The slippery verge her feet beguiled; She tumbled headlong in.

6. Eight times emerging from the flood, She mew'd to every watery G.o.d Some speedy aid to send.

No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard: A favourite has no friend!

7. From hence, ye beauties! undeceived, Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold: Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, Nor all that glisters gold.

III--ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.

[Greek: Anthropos ikanae profasis eis to dustuchein]

MENANDER.

1 Ye distant spires! ye antique towers!

That crown the watery glade Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's (1) holy shade; And ye that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights the expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the h.o.a.ry Thames along His silver-winding way:

2 Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!

Ah, fields beloved in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.

3 Say, father Thames! for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race, Disporting on thy margent green, The paths of pleasure trace, Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy gla.s.sy wave?

The captive linnet which enthral?

What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball?

4 While some, on earnest business bent, Their murmuring labours ply, 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint, To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry; Still as they run they look behind.

They hear a voice in every wind, And s.n.a.t.c.h a fearful joy.

5 Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed, Less pleasing when possess'd; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast; Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer, of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly the approach of morn.

6 Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see how all around them wait, The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train!

Ah! show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murderous band!

Ah! tell them they are men!

7 These shall the fury Pa.s.sions tear, The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy, with rankling teeth, That inly gnaws the secret heart; And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart.

8 Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, And grinning infamy: The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defiled, And moody Madness, laughing wild Amid severest woe.

9 Lo! in the vale of years beneath, A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage; Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age.

10 To each his sufferings; all are men Condemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, The unfeeling for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies?

Thought would destroy their paradise-- No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.

[Footnote: (1) 'Henry:' King Henry VI., founder of the College.]

IV.--HYMN TO ADVERSITY.

[Greek:

Zaena ...

Ton phronein brotous odosanta, to pathei mathos phenta kurios echein.

aeSCH. AG. 167.]

1 Daughter of Jove, relentless Power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best!