294 WILLIAM COLLINS T [1720-1759] FIDELE O fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew; The redbreast oft at evening hours To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds, and beating rain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell; Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 487 295 ODE WRITTEN IN MDCCXLVI How sleep the Brave, who sink to rest By fairy hands their knell is rung, 296 THE PASSIONS An Ode for Music WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, Each, for Madness ruled the hour, Would prove his own expressive power. First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, With woeful measures wan Despair, Low sullen sounds, his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair; And longer had she sung:-but with a frown Revenge impatient rose: He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down; The war-denouncing trumpet took Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd: Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; And from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: And dashing soft from rocks around Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The oak-crown'd Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest: But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best: They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 297 Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: As if he would the charming air repay, O Music! sphere-descended maid, To EVENING IF aught of oaten stop or pastoral song Thy springs, and dying gales; |