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Wild Laughter, Noise and thoughtless Joy,
By vain Prosperity receiv'd,
Wisdom, in sable garb array'd,
With Justice, to herself severe ;
Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,
Thy form benign, Oh, Goddess ! wear;
To soften, not to wound my heart.
Exact my own defects to scan; What others are, to feel; and know myself a man.
XIV.-The Passions.-- An Ode. -COLLINS. WHEN Music, heavenly Maid ! was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell; Exulting, trembring, raging, fainting, Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd ; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, Fillid with fury, rapt, inspiród, From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
E'en at the sound himself had made.
In lightnings own'd his secret stings,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
Low sullen sounds his grief beguild;
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure !
Still it whisper'd, promis'd pleasure,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;
Revenge impatient rose.
And with a withering look,
And ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat:
Dejected Pity at his side,
Her soul subduing voice applied, Yet still be kept his wild unalter'd mien, [head. While each strain'd ball of sight-seem'd bursting froin his Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state; or differing themes the veering song was mix'd : And, now it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate.
With eyes upraisid, as one inspir'd
In notes, by distance made more sweet,
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;
(Round an holy calm diffusing,
In hollow murmurs died away.
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known; The oak crown'd sisters, and their chaste ey'd Queen,
Satyrs and sylvan Boys were seen,
Brown exercise rejoicéd to hear;
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial,
He, with viny crown advancing,
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol;
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
Love framíd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
And he, amidst his frolic play,
1.-Milton's Lamentation for the Loss of his Sight.
HAIL, holy light! offspring of heaven firstborn! Or, of th' Eternal, coeternal beam! May I express thee unblam'd? Since God is light, And never, but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity-dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather, pure etherial stream, Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle did invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite. Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, Escap'd the Stygian pool, though long detain'd In that obscure sojourn ; while in my flight, Through utter, and through middle darkness borne, With other notes, than, to the Orphean lyre, I sung, of Chaos and éternal Night; Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend, Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovereign vital lamp-but thou Revisitest not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses baunt, Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Sinit with the love of sacred song-but chief Thee, Zion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hollow'd feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit-nor sometimes forget Those other two, equallid with me in fate, So were I equall'd with them in renown, Blind Thamyris, ånd blind Måonides; And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old :
Then ferd on thoughts, that voluntary move
II.-L'Allegro, or the Merry Man.-Milton.
In Stygian cave forlorn,
Find out some uncouth cell,
And the night raven sings ;
As ragged as thy locks,
But come, thou goddess fair and free,