The Poetical Works of William Collins; With a Memoir Part 10

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires; And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. 40

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 45 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 50 Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name!

VARIATIONS.

Ver 2. May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear,

3. Like thy own solemn springs,

9. While air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat

24. Who slept in flowers the day,

29. Then lead, calm vot'ress, where some sheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile,

31. Or upland fallows grey, Reflect its last cool gleam.

33. But when chill bl.u.s.tering winds, or driving rain, Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,

49. So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipp'd Health, Thy gentlest influence own, And hymn thy favourite name!

ODE TO PEACE.

O thou, who bad'st thy turtles bear Swift from his grasp thy golden hair, And sought'st thy native skies; When War, by vultures drawn from far, To Britain bent his iron car, 5 And bade his storms arise!

Tired of his rude tyrannic sway, Our youth shall fix some festive day, His sullen shrines to burn: But thou who hear'st the turning spheres, 10 What sounds may charm thy partial ears, And gain thy blest return!

O Peace, thy injured robes up-bind!

O rise! and leave not one behind Of all thy beamy train; 15 The British Lion, G.o.ddess sweet, Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet, And own thy holier reign.

Let others court thy transient smile, But come to grace thy western isle, 20 By warlike Honour led; And, while around her ports rejoice, While all her sons adore thy choice, With him for ever wed!

THE MANNERS.

AN ODE.

Farewell, for clearer ken design'd, The dim-discover'd tracts of mind; Truths which, from action's paths retired, My silent search in vain required!

No more my sail that deep explores; 5 No more I search those magic sh.o.r.es; What regions part the world of soul, Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll: If e'er I round such fairy field, Some power impart the spear and shield, 10 At which the wizard Pa.s.sions fly; By which the giant Follies die!

Farewell the porch whose roof is seen Arch'd with the enlivening olive's green: Where Science, prank'd in tissued vest, 15 By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest, Comes, like a bride, so trim array'd, To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade!

Youth of the quick uncheated sight, Thy walks, Observance, more invite! 20 O thou who lovest that ampler range, Where life's wide prospects round thee change, And, with her mingling sons allied, Throw'st the prattling page aside, To me, in converse sweet, impart 25 To read in man the native heart; To learn, where Science sure is found, From Nature as she lives around; And, gazing oft her mirror true, By turns each shifting image view! 30 Till meddling Art's officious lore Reverse the lessons taught before; Alluring from a safer rule, To dream in her enchanted school: Thou, Heaven, whate'er of great we boast, 35 Hast blest this social science most.

Retiring hence to thoughtful cell, As Fancy breathes her potent spell, Not vain she finds the charmful task, In pageant quaint, in motley mask; 40 Behold, before her musing eyes, The countless Manners round her rise; While, ever varying as they pa.s.s, To some Contempt applies her gla.s.s: With these the white-robed maids combine; 45 And those the laughing satyrs join!

But who is he whom now she views, In robe of wild contending hues?

Thou by the Pa.s.sions nursed, I greet The comic sock that binds thy feet! 50 O Humour, thou whose name is known To Britain's favour'd isle alone: Me too amidst thy band admit; There where the young-eyed healthful Wit, (Whose jewels in his crisped hair 55 Are placed each other's beams to share; Whom no delights from thee divide) In laughter loosed, attends thy side.

By old Miletus,[34] who so long Has ceased his love-inwoven song; 60 By all you taught the Tuscan maids, In changed Italia's modern shades; By him[35] whose knight's distinguish'd name Refined a nation's l.u.s.t of fame; Whose tales e'en now, with echoes sweet, 65 Castilia's Moorish hills repeat; Or him[36] whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore, In watchet weeds on Gallia's sh.o.r.e; Who drew the sad Sicilian maid, By virtues in her sire betray'd. 70

O Nature boon, from whom proceed Each forceful thought, each prompted deed; If but from thee I hope to feel, On all my heart imprint thy seal!

Let some retreating cynic find 75 Those oft-turn'd scrolls I leave behind: The Sports and I this hour agree, To rove thy scene-full world with thee!

FOOTNOTES:

[34] Alluding to the Milesian tales, some of the earliest romances. C.

[35] Cervantes. C.

[36] Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable Adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1745. C.

THE Pa.s.sIONS.

AN ODE FOR MUSIC.

Performed at Oxford, with Hayes's music, in 1750.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Pa.s.sions oft, to hear her sh.e.l.l, Throng'd around her magic cell, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 5 Possest beyond the Muse's painting: By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 10 From the supporting myrtles round They s.n.a.t.c.h'd her instruments of sound; And, as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 15 Would prove his own expressive power.

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, And back recoil'd, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made. 20

Next Anger rush'd; his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woful measures wan Despair 25 Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? 30 Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still, through all the song; 35 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.

And longer had she sung;--but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: 40 He threw his blood-stain'd sword, in thunder, down; And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! 45 And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, 50 Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mein, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd; Sad proof of thy distressful state; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; 55 And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sate retired; And, from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, 60 Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 65 Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of Peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.