ODE TO SUPERSTITION.* 1. 1. HENCE, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence! Thy chain of adamant can bind That little world, the human mind, And sink its noblest powers to impotence. Wake the lion's loudest roar, Clot his shaggy mane with gore, With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine; Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steeled the breast, At thy command he plants the dagger deep, * Written in 1785. †The sacrifice of Iphigenia. I. 2. When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth,* Thou dartedst thy huge head from high, Night waved her banners o'er the sky, And, brooding, gave her shapeless shadows birth. Rocking on the billowy air, Ha! what withering phantoms glare! As blows the blast with many a sudden swell, At each dead pause, what shrill-toned voices yell! The sheeted spectre, rising from the tomb, Points to the murderer's stab, and shudders by; In every grove is felt a heavier gloom, That veils its genius from the vulgar eye: The spirit of the water rides the storm, And, thro' the mist, reveals the terrors of his form. I. 3. O'er solid seas, where Winter reigns, *Lucretius, I. 63. And, while the panting tigress hies Smit by the scorchings of the noontide beam. She hurls the torch! she fans the fire! She clasps her lord to part no more, Weave the airy web of Fate; While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main, ‡ Sees o'er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral train. II. 1. Thou spak'st, and lo! a new creation glowed. Was clad in horrors not its own, And at its base the trembling nations bowed. Grasped the globe with iron hand. *The funeral rite of the Hindoos. †The Fates of the Northern Mythology. See MALLET's Antiquities. An allusion to the Second Sight. Y Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light And braves the efforts of a host of years. Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; And bright-eyed Painting stamps the image of the mind. II. 2. Round the rude ark old Egypt's sorcerers rise! And bids the God of Thunders hail;† Scaly monarch of the Nile!‡ But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee?§ Charmed with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay? II. 3. On yon hoar summit, mildly bright* High o'er the world, the white-robed Magi gaze Silver notes ascend the skies: The Sibyl speaks, the dream is o'er, And moulds the features of her soul, The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose! And, in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows! *The Persians," says Herodotus, "have no temples, altars, or statues. They sacrifice on the tops of the highest mountains." I. 131. + Æn. VI. 46, &c. |