The tender for another's pain, The unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate? And happiness too swiftly flies. 1742. 1747. 100 Thomas Gray. THE PROGRESS OF POESY A Pindaric Ode AWAKE, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. A thousand rills their mazy progress take: Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. 12 O Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. On Thracia's hills the Lord of War Has curb'd the fury of his car, And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king eye. 24 Thee the voice, the dance, obey, O'er Idalia's velvet-green The rosy-crowned Loves are scen On Cytherea's day With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet: To brisk notes in cadence beating Glance their many-twinkling feet. 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. 41 Man's feeble race what ills await! And Death, sad refuge from the storms of The fond complaint, my Song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, 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, The Muse has broke the twilight gloom To cheer the shivering Native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, In loose numbers wildly sweet, Their feather-cinctured Chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, Glory pursue, and generous Shame, The unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown the Ægean deep, 53 65 Fields that cool Ilissus laves, Or where Mæander's amber waves How do your tuneful echoes languish, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. coast. Far from the sun and summer-gale, To him the mighty Mother did unveil Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, 82 Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. 94 Nor second He, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of the Abyss to spy: He pass'd the flaming bounds of Place and The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car Two Coursers of ethereal race With necks in thunder clothed, and long resounding pace. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. O! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 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. 1757. 123 Thomas Gray. |