VII. Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, I turn from you, and listen to the wind, Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that ravest without, Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb, 'Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, With groans of trampled men, with smarting woundsAt once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold! But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence! And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans and tremulous shudderings—all is over— And tempered with delight, As Otway's self had framed the tender lay, 'Tis of a little child, Upon a lonesome wild, Not far from home, but she hath lost her way: And now moans low in bitter grief and fear, And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear. * Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the lakes up in the mountains, and which are the feeders of those in the valleys. This address to the Storm-wind will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night, and in a mountainous country. VIII. 'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep; Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice; To her may all things live, from pole to pole, ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE, ON THE TWENTY-FOURTH STANZA IN "And hail the chapel! hail the platform wild With well-strung arm, that first preserved his child, SPLENDOR'S fondly fostered child! Beneath the shaft of Tell ! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! Light as a dream your days their circlets ran, With many a bright obtrusive form of art, That veiling strove to deck your charms divine, Rich viands and the pleasurable wine, Were yours unearned by toil; nor could you see And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child, Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! There crowd your finely fibred frame, His forehead wreathed with lambent flame, A heart as sensitive to joy and fear? Yet these delight to celebrate Pernicious tales! insidious strains! The sordid vices and the abject pains, The doom of ignorance and penury! But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child, Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! You were a mother! That most holy name, I may not vilely prostitute to those Its gaudy parent fly. You were a mother! at your bosom fed The babes that loved you. You, with laughing eye, Each twilight thought, each nascent feeling read, Which you yourself created. Oh! delight! A second time to be a mother, Without the mother's bitter groans: Another thought, and yet another, By touch or taste, by looks or tones O'er the growing sense to roll, The mother of your infant's soul! The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides A moment turned his awful face away; Blest intuitions and communions fleet, With living Nature, in her joys and woes! O beautiful! O Nature's child! 'Twas thence you hailed the platform wild, Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! ODE TO TRANQUILLITY, TRANQUILLITY! thou better name To low intrigue, or factious rage ; And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore, Ere yet the tempest rose, and scared me with its roar. Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine, On him but seldom, Power divine, Thy spirit rests! Satiety And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee, To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind : But me thy gentle hand will lead At morning through the accustomed mead : Will build me up a mossy seat; And when the gust of Autumn crowds, And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, The feeling heart, the searching soul, To thee I dedicate the whole! And while within myself I trace The greatness of some future race, The present works of present man A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile, TO A YOUNG FRIEND, ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE AUTHOR. COMPOSED IN 1796. A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep, Where cypress and the darker yew start wild; |