Book the Second 53 THE PROGRESS OF POESY AWAKE, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. A thousand rills their mazy progress take: The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. Oh Sovereign of the willing soul, And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. Has curbed the fury of his car And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. Thee the voice, the dance, obey The rosy-crownèd Loves are seen With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Now in circling troops they meet: Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay: With arms sublime that float upon the air In gliding state she wins her easy way: O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young desire and purple light of love. Man's feeble race what ills await! Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? Night, and all her sickly dews, Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry He gives to range the dreary sky: Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. In climes beyond the solar road Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, i She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wildly sweet Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Glory pursue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, oh Albion, next, thy sea-encircled coast! Far from the sun and summer-gale To him the mighty Mother did unveil Her awful face: the dauntless child Stretched forth his little arms, and smiled. 'This pencil take' (she said), 'whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal boy! Of horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.' Nor second He, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy The secrets of the abyss to spy: He passed the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire-blaze Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues, unborrowed of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate: Beneath the Good how far-but far above the Great. Thomas Gray. 1 54 ALEXANDER'S FEAST (Or, The Power of Music.) 'TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne; His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound, (So should desert in arms be crowned); The lovely Thais by his side Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride: Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair! Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touched the lyre: The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above- A dragon's fiery form belied the god; And while he sought her snowy breast, Then round her slender waist he curled And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. |