But who is he whom later garlands grace: Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, th' incestuous queen * Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband heard, When once alone it broke the silent scene, And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd. O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart: Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine! ANTISTROPHE. Thou who such weary lengths hast past, 'Gainst which the big waves beat, Hear drowning seamen's cries, in tempests brought? Which thy awakening bards have told: * Jocasta. [thought, O thou whose spirit most possess'd Teach me but once like him to feel: TO SIMPLICITY. O THOU, by Nature taught In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong; In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nurs'd the powers of song! Thou, who with hermit heart, And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall; In attic robe array'd, O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call! By all the honey'd store, On Hybla's thymy shore; By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear; By her* whose love-lorn woe, In evening musings slow, Sooth'd sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear: *The andwv, or nightingale, for which Sophocles seems to have entertained a peculiar fondness. By old Cephisus deep, Who spread his wavy sweep In warbled wanderings, round thy green retreat : On whose enamell'd side, When holy Freedom died, No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet. O sister meek of Truth To my admiring youth Thy sober aid and native charms infuse! Though Beauty cull'd the wreath, Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues. While Rome could none esteem But virtue's patriot theme, You lov'd her hills, and led her laureat band: To one distinguish'd throne; And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land. No more in hall or bower, The Passions own thy power; Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean: For thou hast left her shrine; Nor olive more, nor vine, Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. Though taste, though genius, bless To some divine excess, Faint's the cold work till thou inspire the whole; What each, what all supply, May court, may charm, our eye; Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul! Of these let others ask, 1 only seek to find thy temperate vale; To maids and shepherds round, And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my tale. ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER. As once,-if, not with light regard, -Lo! to each other nymph, in turn, applied, Her baffled hand, with vain endeavour, Young Fancy thus, to me divinest name! To few the godlike gift assigns, To gird their best prophetic loins, [flame! And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix'd her *Florimel. See Spenser, Leg. 4th. The band, as fairy legends say, When He, who call'd with thought to birth And plac'd her on his sapphire throne; |