Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue To wield the empire of the skies, the hermit And Chance and Fate assume the rod, And Malice blot the throne of God. O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, Thy lenient influence hither bring; Compose the storm, dispel the gloom, Till Nature wear her wonted bloom, Till fields and shades their sweets exhale And music swell each opening gale: Then o'er his breast thy softness pour, And let him learn the timely hour To trace the world's benignant laws, And judge of that presiding cause Who founds on discord beauty's reign Converts to pleasure every pain, Subdues each hostile form to rest, And bids the universe be bless'd. O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, If right I touch the votive string, If equal praise I yield thy name, Still govern thou thy poet's flame; Still with the Muse my bosom share, And soothe to peace intruding care. But most exert thy pleasing power On friendship's consecrated hour; And while my Sophron points the road To godlike wisdom's calm abode, Or warm in freedom's ancient cause Traceth the source of Albion's laws, Add thou o'er all the generous toil The light of thy unclouded smile. BOOK I. But if, by fortune's stubborn sway For griefs that still with absence dwell, Yet leave that sacred sense of woe ODE VII. ON THE USE OF POETRY. I. NoT for themselves did human kind If Fortune close the way. II. Yet still the self-depending soul, And knows what Nature's seal bestow'd, III. Who train'd by laws the future age, My heart with distant homage views; Didst rule my natal hour. IV. Not far beneath the hero's feet, Stands far remote the bard. Though not with public terrors crown'd, More lasting his award. V. Lycurgus fashion'd Sparta's fame, And Pompey to the Roman name Gave universal sway: Where are they?— Homer's reverend page Holds empire to the thirtieth age, And tongues and climes obey. VI. And thus when William's acts divine When Sidney shall with Cato rest, BOOK I. VII. Yet then shall Shakespeare's powerful art Tyrants shall bow before his laws; And Freedom's, Glory's, Virtue's cause, Their dread assertor own. ODE VIII.6 ON LEAVING HOLLAND. I. 1. FAREWELL to Leyden's lonely bound. The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils, She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless flame. I. 2. Farewell the grave, pacific air, Where never mountain zephyr blew: |