Ha! what forms, with port fublime High above misfortune's flood? They feize their harps, they strike the lyre, And Snowdon's airy cliffs the heavenly ftrains refound. In pomp of ftate, behold they wait, With arms outstretch'd, and aspects kind, To fnatch on high to yonder sky, The child of fancy left behind: Forgot the woes of Cambria's fatal day, By rapture's blaze impell'd, they fwell the artless lay. But ah in vain they ftrive to footh, Behold fhe comes, the fiend forlorn, BARD, an Ode. + Hymn to ADVERSITY. She She ftrews the briar and prickly thorn, And triumphs in th' infernal doom. With frantic fury and infatiate rage, She knaws the throbbing breaft, and blasts the glowing page. No more the foft EOLIAN flute* Breathes thro' the heart the melting ftrain; The powers of Harmony are mute, And leave the once-delightful plain; With heavy wing I see them beat the air, Yet ftay, O! ftay, celeftial pow'rs, Ọ watch with me his laft expiring breath, And fnatch him from the arms of dark, oblivious death. Hark the FATAL SISTERS join, And with horror's mutt'ring founds, Weave the tiffue of his line, While the dreadful spell refounds. The PROGRESS OF POETRY, ↑ The FATAL SISTERS, an Ode. ❝ Hail, "Hail, ye midnight fifters, hail, "O'er the glory of the land, O'er the mufes' tuneful band, “Weave the fun'ral web of Gray." 'Tis done, 'tis done-the iron hand of pain, Thus fades the flow'r nip'd by the frozen gale, Tho' once fo fweet, fo lovely to the eye: Thus the tall oaks, when boift'rous ftorms affail, Torn from the earth, a mighty ruin lye. Ye facred fifters of the plaintive verse, Now let the ftream of fond affection flow; O pay your tribute o'er the flow-drawn hearfe, With all the manly dignity of woe. Oft when the Curfew tolls its parting knell, gloom furvey; While forrow's fighs, and tears of pity tell, O'er his green grave, in contemplation's guise, * Elegy in a COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD, ODE |