tocles, describes the sea-fights of Artemisium and Salamis.
Ver. 204. Thyrsus.] A staff, or spear, wreathed round with ivy: of constant use in the bacchanalian mysteries. Ver. 227. Io Paan.] An exclamation of victory and triumph, derived from Apollo's encounter with Python.
Ver. 252. Cirrha.] One of the summits of Par
fountains, said to be frequented by the Muses. Nysa, the other eminence of the same mountain, was dedicated to Bacchus. Ver. 265. charm the mind of gods.] This whole passage, concerning the effects of sacred music among the gods, is taken from Pindar's first Pythian ode.
Ver. 83. Amalthea.] The mother of the first Bacchus, whose birth and education was written, as Diodorus Siculus informs us, in the old Pelasgic character, by Thymates, grandson to Laomedon, and contemporary with Orpheus. Thymotes had travelled over Libya to the country which borders on the western ocean; there he saw the island of Nysa, and learned from the inhabitants, that " Ammon, king of Libya, was married in former ages to Rhea, sister of Saturn and the Titans: that he after-nassus, and sacred to Apollo. Near it were several wards fell in love with a beautiful virgin, whose name was Amalthea; had by her a son, and gave her possession of a neighbouring tract of land, wonderfully fertile; which in shape nearly resembling the horn of an ox, was thence called the Hesperian horn, and afterwards the horn of Amalthea: that, fearing the jealousy of Rhea, he concealed the young Bacchus, with his mother, in the island of Nysa;" the beauty of which, Diodorus describes with great dignity and pomp of style. This fable is one of the noblest in all the ancient mythology, and seems to have made a particular impression on the imagination of Milton; the only modern poet (unless perhaps it be necessary to except Spenser) who, in these mysterious traditions of the poetic story, had a heart to feel, and words to express, the simple and solitary genius of antiquity. To raise the idea of his Paradise, he prefers it
Girt by the river Triton, where old Cham, (Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Libyan Jove) Hid Amalthea, and her florid son, Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye.
Phrygian pipe's.] The Phrygian music was fantastic and turbulent, and fit to excite disorderly passions. Ver. 302.
The gates where Pallas holds
The guardian key.] It was the office of Minerva to be the guardian of walled cities; whence she was named ΠΟΛΙΑΣ and ΠΟΛΙΟΥΧΟΣ, and had her statues placed in their gates, being supposed to keep the keys; and on that account styled KAHAOTXOE. Ver. 310. fate
Of sober Pentheus.] Pentheus was torn in pieces by the bacchanaliau priests and women, for despising their mysteries. Ver. 318.
Corycian.] Of this cave Pausanias, in his tenth book, gives the following description: "between Delphi and the eminences of Parnassus, in a road to the grotto of Corycium, which has its name from the nymph Corycia, and is by far the most remarkable which I have seen. One may walk a great way into it without a torch. It is of a con
Ver. 94. Edonian band.] The priestesses and other ministers of Bacchus; so called from Edonus, a mountain of Thrace, where his rights were cele-siderable height, and hath several springs within it;
Ver. 105. When Hermes.] Hermes, or Mercury, was the patron of commerce; in which benevolent character be is addressed by the author of the Indigitamenta, in these beautiful lines:
Ερμήνευ πάντων, κερλέμπορε, λυσιμέριμνες Ὃς χειρίσθιν ἔχεις εἰρήνης ὅπλον ἀμέμφες.
Ver. 121. Dispense the mineral treasure.] The merchants of Sidon and Tyre made frequent voyages to the coast of Cornwall, from whence they carried home great quantities of tin.
Ver. 136. Hath he not won.] Mercury, the patron of commerce, being so greatly dependent on the good offices of the Naiads, in return obtains for them the friendship of Minerva, the goddess of war; for military power, at least the naval part of it, hath constantly followed the establishment of trade; which exemplifies the preceding observation, that "from bounty issueth power." Ver. 143.
and yet a much greater quantity of water distills from the shell and roof, so as to be continually dropping on the ground. The people round Parnassus hold it sacred to the Corycian nymphs and to Pan."
Ver. 519. .... Delphic mount.] Delphi, the seat and oracle of Apollo, had a mountainous and rocky situation, on the skirts of Parnassus.
Ver. 327. Cyrenaic.] Cyrene was the native country of Callimachus, whose hymns are the most. remarkable example of that mythological passion which is assumed in the preceding poem, and have. always afforded particular pleasure to the author of it, by reason of the mysterious solemnity with which they affect the mind. On this account he was induced to attempt somewhat in the same manner; solely by way of exercise: the manner itself being now almost entirely abandoned in poetry. And as the mere genealogy, or the personal adventures of heathen gods, could have been but little interesting to a modern reader; it was therefore thought proper to select some convenient part of the history of Nature, and to employ these ancient bay of Biscay. divinities as it is probable they were first employed; Ver. 150. Egina's gloomy surge.] Near this to wit, in personifying natural causes, and in repreisland, the Athenians obtained the victory of Sala-senting the mutual agreement or opposition of the mis, over the Persian navy.
Cantabrian surge.] Gibraltar and the
corporeal and moral powers of the world: which Xerves saw. This circum- hath been accounted the very highest office of
Ver. 160. stance is recorded in that passage, perhaps the most splendid among all the remains of ancient history, where Plutarch, in his Life of Themis
To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call Actæa, daughter of the neighbouring stream, This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, Where plac'd by Glycon. He with cowslips pale, Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green Before my threshold, and my shelving walls Here at noon, With honeysuckle covered.
Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount, I slumber: here my clustering fruits I tend: Or from my humid flowers, at break of day, Fresh garlands weave, and chase from all my bounds Each thing impure or noxious. Enter in, O stranger! undismay'd. Nor bat, nor toad Here lurks: and if thy breast of blameless thoughts Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread My quiet mansion: chiefly, if thy name Wise Pallas and the immortal Muses own.
STATUE OF CHAUCER AT WOODSTOCK. SUCH was old Chaucer. Such the placid mien Of him who first with harmony inform'd The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang, of love, or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life: through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying. Though perchance From Blenheim's towers, O stranger, thou art come Glowing with Churchill's trophies; yet in vain Dost thou applaud them if thy breast be cold To him, this other hero; who, in times Dark and untaught, began with charining verse To tame the rudeness of his native land.
With tears, with sharp remorse, and pining care, Avenge her falsehood. Nor could all the gold, And nuptial pomp, which lur'd her plighted faith From Edmund to a loftier husband's home, Relieve her breaking heart, or turn aside The strokes of Death. Go, traveller; relate The mournful story. Haply some fair maid May hold it in remembrance, and be taught That riches cannot pay for truth or love.
O YOUTHS and virgins: O declining eld: O pale Misfortune's slaves: O, ye who dwell Unknown with humble Quiet; ye who wait In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings: O sons of Sport and Pleasure; O thou wretch That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds of conscious Guilt, or Death's rapacious hand Which left thee void of hope: O ye who roam In exile; ye who through the embattled field Seek bright renown; or who for nobler palms Contend, the leaders of a public cause; Approach: behold this marble. Know ye not The features? Hath not oft his faithful tongue Told you the fashion of your own estate, The secrets of your bosom? Here then, round His monument with reverence while ye stand, Say to each other: "This was Shakspeare's form: Who walk'd in every path of human life. Felt every passion; and to all mankind Doth now, will ever, that experience yield Which his own genius only could acquire."
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WHOE'ER thou art whose path, in summer, lies Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove Of branching oaks a rural palace old Embosoms. There dwells Albert, generous lord Of all the harvest round. And onward thence A low plain chapel fronts the morning light Fast by a silent rivulet. Humbly walk, O stranger, o'er the consecrated ground; And on that verdant hillock, which thou seest Beset with osiers, let thy pious hand Sprinkle fresh water from the brook, and strew Sweet-smelling flowers. For there doth Edmund rest, The learned shepherd; for each rural art Fam'd, and for songs harmonious, and the woes Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride Of fair Matilda sank him to the grave
In manhood's prime. But soon did righteous Heaven
FOR A COLUMN AT RUNNYMEDE.
THOU, who the verdant plain dost traverse here While Thames among his willows from thy view Retires; O stranger, stay thee, and the scene Around contemplate well. This is the place Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king (Then rendered tame) did challenge and secure The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on Till thou hast blest their memory, and paid Those thanks which God appointed the reward And if chance thy home Of public virtue. Salute thee with a father's honour'd name, Go, call thy sons: instruct them what a debt They owe their ancestors; and make them swear To pay it, by transmitting down entire Those sacred rights to which themselves were born.
APPROACH in silence. 'Tis no vulgar tale Which I, the Driad of this hoary oak, Pronounce to mortal ears. The second age Now hasteneth to its period, since I rose
On this fair lawn. The groves of yonder vale Are all my offspring: and each Nymph, who guards The copses and the furrow'd fields beyond, Obeys me. Many changes have I seen In human things, and many awful deeds Of Justice, when the ruling hand of Jove Against the tyrants of the land, against The unhallow'd sons of Luxury and Guile, Was arm'd for retribution. Thus at length Expert in laws divine, I know the paths Of Wisdom, and erroneous Folly's end Have oft presag'd: and now well-pleas'd I wait Each evening till a noble youth, who loves My shade, a while releas'd from public cares, Yon peaceful gate shall enter, and sit down Beneath my branches. Then his musing mind I prompt, unseen; and place before his view Sincerest forms of good; and move his heart With the dread bounties of the Sire Supreme Of gods and men, with Freedom's generous deeds, The lofty voice of Glory, and the faith Of sacred Friendship. Stranger, I have told My function. If within thy bosom dwell
Aught which may challenge praise, thou wilt not Unhonour'd my abode, nor shall I hear A sparing benediction from thy tongue.
Ye powers unseen, to whom the bards of Greece Erected altars; ye who to the mind More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart With more divine emotions; if erewhile Not quite unpleasing have my votive rites Of you been deem'd, when oft this lonely seat To you I consecrated; then vouchsafe Here with your instant energy to crown My happy solitude. It is the hour When most I love to invoke you, and have felt Most frequent your glad ministry divine. The air is calm: the Sun's unveiled orb Shines in the middle Heaven. The harvest round Stands quiet, and among the golden sheaves The reapers lie reclin'd. The neighbouring groves Are mute; nor even a linnet's random strain Echoeth amid the silence. Let me feel Your influence, ye kind powers. Aloft in Heaven Abide ye? or on those transparent clouds Pass ye from hill to hill? or on the shades Which yonder elms cast o'er the lake below Do you converse retir'd? From what lov'd haunt Shall I expect you? Let me once more feel Your influence, O ye kind inspiring powers! And I will guard it well, nor shall a thought Rise in my mind, nor shall a passion move Across my bosom unobserv'd, unstor'd By faithful memory. And then at some More active moment will I call them forth Anew; and join them in majestic forms, And give them utterance in harmonious strains; That all mankind shall wonder at your sway.
ME though in life's sequester'd vale The Almighty Sire ordain'd to dwell, Remote from Glory's toilsome ways, And the great scenes of public praise; Yet let me still with grateful pride Remember how my infant frame And early music to my tongue supply'd. He temper'd with prophetic flame,
"Twas then my future fate he weigh'd: And, "This be thy concern," he said, "At ouce with Passion's keen alarms, And Beauty's pleasurable charms, And sacred Truth's eternal light, To move the various mind of man; Till under one unblemish'd plan, His reason, fancy, and his heart unite."
THRICE has the Spring beheld thy faded fame, And the fourth Winter rises on thy shame, Since I exulting grasp'd the votive shell, In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell; Blest could my skill through ages make thee shine, And proud to mix my memory with thine. But now the cause that wak'd my song before, With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more. If to the glorious man, whose faithful cares, Nor quell'd by malice, nor relax'd by years, Had aw'd Ambition's wild audacious hate, And dragg'd at length Corruption to her fate; If every tongue its large applauses ow'd, And well-earn'd laurels every Muse bestow'd; If public Justice urg'd the high reward, And Freedom smii'd on the devoted bard: Say then, to him whose levity or lust Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust; Who taught Ambition firmer heights of power, And sav'd Corruption at her hopeless hour; Does not each tongue its execrations owe? Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow? And public Justice sanctify the award? And Freedom's hand protect th' impartial bard?
Curio was a young Roman senator of distinguished birth and parts, who, upon his first entrance into the forum, had been committed to the care of Cicero. Being profuse and extravagant, he soon dissipated a large and splendid fortune; to supply the want of which, he was driven to the necessity of abetting the designs of Cæsar against the liberties of his country, although he had before been a professed enemy to him.-Cicero exerted himself with great energy to prevent his ruin, but without effect, and he became one of the first victims in the civil war. This epistle was first published in the year 1744, when a celebrated patriot, after a long and at last a successful opposition to an unpopular minister, had deserted the cause of his country, and become the foremost in support and defence of the same measure he had so steadily and for such a length of time contended against. It was altered by the author into the Ode to Curio; but the original poem is too curious to be omitted. N.
Yet long reluctant I forbore thy name, Long watch'd thy virtue like a dying flame, Hung o'er each glimmering spark with anxious eyes, And wish'd and hop'd the light again would rise. But since thy guilt still more entire appears, Since no art hides, no supposition clears; Since vengeful Slander now too sinks her blast, And the first rage of party-hate is past; Calm as the Judge of Truth, at length I come To weigh thy merits, and pronounce thy doom: So may my trust from all reproach be free, And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree.
There are who say they view'd without amaze Thy sad reverse of all thy former praise; That through the pageants of a patriot's name, They pierc'd the foulness of thy secret aim; Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw The public thunder on a private foe. But I, whose soul consented to thy cause, Who felt thy genins stamp its own applause, Who saw the spirits of each glorious age Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage; I scorn'd the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds, The owl-ey'd race, whom Virtue's lustre blinds. Spite of the learned in the ways of Vice, And all who prove that each man has his price, I still believ'd thy end was just and free; And yet, even yet believe it-spite of thee. Even though thy mouth impure has dar'd disclaim, Urg'd by the wretched impotence of shame, Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid To laws infirm and liberty decay'd; Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the show; Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe;' Has boasted in thy country's awful ear, Her gross delusion when she held thee dear; How tamne she follow'd thy tempestuous call, And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all- Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old For laws subverted, and for cities sold! Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt, The oaths you perjur'd, and the blood you spilt; Yet must you one untempted vileness own, One dreadful palm reserv'd for him alone: With studied arts his country's praise to spurn, To beg the infamy he did not earn,
To challenge hate when honour was his due, And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew. Do robes of state the guarded heart enclose From each fair feeling human nature knows? Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear To all that reason, all that sense, would hear? Else could'st thou e'er desert thy sacred post, In such unthankful baseness to be lost? Else could'st thou wed the emptiness of vice, And yield thy glories at an idiot's price?
When they who, loud for liberty and laws, In doubtful times had fought their country's cause, When now of conquest and dominion sure, They sought alone to hold their fruits secure; When taught by these, Oppression hid the face To leave Corruption stronger in her place, By silent spells to work the public fate, And taint the vitals of the passive state, Till healing Wisdom should avail no more, And Freedom loath to tread the poison'd shore; Then, like some guardian god that flies to save The weary pilgrim from an instant grave, Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake Steals near and nearer through the peaceful brake;
Then Curio rose to ward the public woe, To wake the heedless, and incite the slow, Against Corruption, Liberty to arm, And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm. Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew, And with the country's hopes thy honours grew. Thee, patriot, the patrician roof confess'd : Thy powerful voice the rescued merchant bless'd; Of thee with awe the rural hearth resounds; The bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns; Touch'd in the sighing shade with manlier fires, To trace thy steps the love-sick youth aspires; The learn'd recluse, who oft amaz'd had read Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead, With new amazement hears a living name Pretend to share in such forgotten fame; And he who, scorning courts and courtly ways, Left the tame track of these dejected days, The life of nobler ages to renew
In virtues sacred from a monarch's view, Rouz'd by thy labours from the blest retreat, Where social ease and public passions meet, Again ascending treads the civil scene, To act and be a man, as thou hadst been.
Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew, And the great end appear'd at last in view: We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice; We saw the senate bending to thy voice; The friends of Freedom hail'd the approaching reig Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain; While venal Faction, struck with new dismay, Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon'd lay. Wak'd in the shock, the public Genius rose, Abash'd and keener from his long repose; Sublime in ancient pride, he rais'd the spear Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to fear: The city felt his call: from man to man, From street to street, the glorious horrour ran; Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power And, murmuring, challeng'd the deciding hour.
Lo! the deciding hour at last appears; The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears! Thou, Genius! guardian of the Roman name, O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame! Instruct the mighty moments as they roll, And guide each movement steady to the goal. Ye Spirits, by whose providential art Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart, Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind, And watch his fancy, and his passions bind! Ye Shades immortal, who, by Freedom led, Or in the field, or on the scaffold bled,
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, And view the crown of all your labours nigh. See Freedom mounting her eternal throne! The sword submitted, and the laws her own: See! public Power, chastis'd, beneath her stands, With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands! See private life by wisest arts reclaim'd! See ardent youth to noblest manners fram'd! See us acquire whate'er was sought by you, If Curio, only Curio, will be true.
'Twas then-O shame! O trust how ill repaid! O Latium, oft by faithless sons betray'd!- 'Twas then-what frenzy on thy reason stole? What spells unsinew'd thy determin'd soul? -Is this the man in Freedom's cause approv'd? The man so great, so honour'd, so belov❜d? This patient slave by tinsel chains allur'd? This wretched suitor for a boon abjur'd?
This Curio, hated and despis'd by all? Who fell himself, to work his country's fall? O lost, alike to action and repose! Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes! With all that conscious, undissembled pride, Sold to the insults of a foe defy'd! With all that habit of familiar fame, Doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame! The sole sad refuge of thy baffled art, To act a statesman's dull exploded part, Renounce the praise no longer in thy power, Display thy virtue, though without a dower, Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind, And shut thy eyes that others may be blind. -Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile When shameless mouths your majesty defile, Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong crew, And cast their own impieties on you. For witness, Freedom, to whose sacred power My soul was vow'd from reason's earliest hour, How have I stood exulting, to survey My country's virtues opening in thy ray! How, with the sons of every foreign shore The more I match'd them, honour'd her's the more! O race erect! whose native strength of soul, Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws control, Bursts the tame round of animal affairs, And seeks a nobler centre for its cares; Intent the laws of life to comprehend, And fix dominion's limits by its end. Who, bold and equal in their love or hate, By conscious reason judging every state, The man forget not, though in rags he lies, And know the mortal through a crown's disguise: Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to view Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow, Or, all awake at Pity's soft command,
Bend the mild ear, and stretch the gracious hand: Thence large of heart, from envy far remov'd, When public toils to virtue stand approv'd, Not the young lover fonder to admire, Nor more indulgent the delighted sire; Yet high and jealous of their free-born name, Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame, Where'er Oppression works her wanton sway, Proud to confront, and dreadful to repay. But if, to purchase Curio's sage applause, My country must with him renounce her cause, Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod, Bow the meek knee, and kiss the regal rod; Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to rail, Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail : Else, ere he change the style, bear me away To where the Gracchi 2, where the Bruti stay! O long rever'd, and late resign'd to shame! If this uncourtly page thy notice claim When the loud cares of business are withdrawn, Nor well-drest beggars round thy footsteps fawn; In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour, When Truth exerts her unresisted power, Breaks the false optics ting'd with Fortune's glare, Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions bare; Then turn thy eyes on that important scene, And ask thyself-if all be well within.
Where is the heartfelt worth and weight of soul, Which labour could not stop, nor fear control?
* The two brothers, Tiberius and Caius Gracchus, lest their lives in attempting to introduce the only regulation that could give stability and good order VOL. XIV.
Where the known dignity, the stamp of awe, Which, half abash'd, the proud and venal saw? Where the calm triumphs of an honest cause? Where the delightful taste of just applause? Where the strong reason, the commanding tongue, On which the senate fir'd or trembling bung? All vanish'd, all are sold-and in their room, Couch'd in thy bosom's deep, distracted gloom, See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur dwell, Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell! To her in chains thy dignity was led; At her polluted shrine thy honour bled; With blasted weeds thy awful brow she crown'd, Thy powerful tongue with poison'd philters bound, That baffled Reason straight indignant flew, And fair Persuasion from her seat withdrew: For now no longer Truth supports thy cause; No longer Glory prompts thee to applause; No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast, With all her conscious majesty confest, Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame, To rouse the feeble, and the wilful tame, And where she sees the catching glimpses roll, Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul; But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill, And formal passions mock thy struggling will; Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain, And reach impatient at a nobler strain, Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth Shoot through thy breast, and stab the generous
Till, blind with smart, from Truth to Frenzy tost, And all the tenour of thy reason lost, Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear; While some with pity, some with laughter hear. -Can Art, alas! or Genius, guide the head,
Where Truth and Freedom from the heart are
Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke, When the prime function of the soul is broke?
But come, unhappy man! thy fates impend; Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a friend; Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine, Renounce thy titles, and thy robes resign; For see the hand of Destiny display'd To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd! See the dire fane of Infamy arise!
Dark as the grave, and spacious as the skies; Where, from the first of time, thy kindred train, The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain. Eternal barriers guard the pathless road To warn the wanderer of the curst abode; But prone as whirlwinds scour the passive sky, The heights surmounted, down the steep they fly. There, black with frowns, relentless Time awaits, And goads their footsteps to the guilty gates: And still he asks them of their unknown aims, Evolves their secrets, and their guilt proclaims; And still his hands despoil them on the road Of each vain wreath, by lying bards bestow'd, Break their proud marbles, crush their festal cars, And rend the lawless trophies of their wars. At last the gates his potent voice obey; Fierce to their dark abode he drives his prey, Where, ever arm'd with adamantine chaius, The watchful demon o'er her vassals reigns,
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