Thine be the praise, that pointing Romans guide The Stranger's eye, with proud desire That well he note the Man, whom Crowds decide Should boldly string the Latian lyre.-- Ah! when I charm, if still to charm be mine, Nymph of the warbling sh.e.l.l, be all the glory THINE!

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esq.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE SEVENTH, IMITATED.

The snows dissolve, the rains no more pollute, Green are the sloping fields, and uplands wide, And green the trees luxuriant tresses shoot, And, in their daisied banks, the shrinking rivers glide.

Beauty, and Love, the blissful change have hail'd, While, in smooth mazes, o'er the painted mead, [1]Aglaia ventures, with her limbs unveil'd, Light thro' the dance each Sister-Grace to lead.

But O! reflect, that Sport, and Beauty, wing Th' unpausing Hour!--if Winter, cold and pale, Flies from the soft, and violet-mantled Spring, Summer, with sultry breath, absorbs the vernal gale.

Reflect, that Summer-glories pa.s.s away When mellow Autumn shakes her golden sheaves; While she, as Winter rea.s.sumes his sway, Speeds, with disorder'd vest, thro' rustling leaves.

But a short s.p.a.ce the Moon illumes the skies; Yet she repairs her wanings, and again Silvers the vault of Night;--but no supplies, To feed their wasting fires, the lamps of Life obtain.

When our pale Form shall pensive vigils keep Where COLLINS, AKENSIDE, and SHENSTONE roam, Or quiet with the Despot, JOHNSON, sleep, In that murk cell, the Body's final home,

To senseless dust, and to a fleeting shade Changes the life-warm Being!--Ah! who knows If the next dawn our eye-lids may pervade?

Darken'd and seal'd, perchance, in long, and last repose!

When vivid Thought's unceasing force a.s.sails, It shakes, from Life's frail gla.s.s, the ebbing sands; Their course run out, ah! what to us avails Our fame's high note, tho' swelling it expands!

Reflect, that each convivial joy we share Amid encircling Friends, with grace benign, Escapes the grasp of our rapacious Heir;-- Pile then the steaming board, and quaff the rosy wine!

Ill.u.s.trious HAYLEY!--in that cruel hour, When o'er thee Fate the sable flag shall wave, Not thy keen wit, thy fancy's splendid power, Knowledge, or worth, shall s.n.a.t.c.h thee from the grave.

Not to his MASON's grief, from Death's dim plains Was honor'd GRAY's departed form resign'd; No tears dissolve the cold Lethean chains, That, far from busy Life, the mortal semblance bind.

Then, for the bright creations of the brain, O! do not thou from health's gay leisure turn, Lest we, like tuneful MASON, sigh in vain, And grasp a timeless, tho' a LAUREL'D URN!

1: Aglaia, the eldest of the Graces.

TO LIGURIA.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE TENTH.

O thou! exulting in the charms, Nature, with lavish bounty, showers, When youth no more thy spirit warms, And stealing age thy pride alarms, For fleeting graces, and for waning powers;

When all the shining locks, that now Adown those ivory shoulders bound, With deaden'd colour shade thy brow, And fall as from th' autumnal bough Leaves, that rude winds have scatter'd on the ground;

And on that cheek the tints, that shame May's orient light and Summer's rose, Dim as yon taper's sullen flame, Shall, in a dusky red, proclaim That not one hue in wonted l.u.s.tre glows;

When wrinkles o'er LIGURIA's face Their daily strengthening furrows lead; When faithful mirrors cease to place In her charm'd sight each blooming grace, And will no more her heart's proud triumph feed;

Then the chang'd Maid, with secret shame, Shall thus the past, and present chide; O! why, amid the loud acclaim, That gave my rising charms to Fame, Swell'd this coy bosom with disdainful pride?

Or why, since now the wish to yield Steals pensive thro' each melting vein, The ice dissolv'd, that scorn congeal'd, And every tender thought reveal'd, Why, vanish'd BEAUTY, com'st not _thou_ again?

TO PHYLLIS.

INVITING HER TO CELEBRATE THE BIRTHDAY OF MaeCENAS.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE ELEVENTH.

Sweet Phyllis, leave thy quiet home, For lo! the ides of April come!

Then hasten to my bower; A cask of rich Albanian wine, In nine years mellowness, is mine, To glad the festal hour.

My garden-herbs, in fragrance warm, Our various chaplets wait to form; My tender ivies grow, That, twining in thy amber hair, Add jocund spirit to thine air, And whiteness to thy brow.

My walls with silver vessels shine; Chaste vervain decks the modest shrine, That longs with crimson stains To see its foliage sprinkled o'er, When the devoted Lamb shall pour The treasure of his veins.

The household Girls, and menial Boy, From room to room a.s.siduous fly, And busy hands extend; Our numerous fires are quivering bright, And, rolling from their pointed height, The dusky wreaths ascend[1].

Convivial rites, in mystic state, Thou, lovely Nymph, shalt celebrate, And give the day to mirth That this [2]Love-chosen month divides; Since honor'd rose its blooming ides By dear Maecenas' birth.

O! not to _me_ my natal star So sacred seems;--then, Nymph, prepare To grace its smiling dawn!

A wealthier Maid, in pleasing chains, Ill.u.s.trious [3]Telephus detains, From humble THEE withdrawn.

When Pride would daring hopes create, Of Phaeton recall the fate, Consum'd in his career!

Let rash Bellerophon, who tried The fiery Pegasus to guide, Awake thy prudent fear!

Thus warn'd, thy better interest know, And cease those charming eyes to throw On Youths of high degree!

Come then, of all my Loves the last, For, every other pa.s.sion past, I only burn for thee!

Come, and with tuneful voice rehea.r.s.e The measures of thy Poet's verse And charm the list'ning Throng!

Believe me, Fairest, all our cares Will soften at the melting airs That deck the lyric song.

1: The Romans made fires in the middle of their rooms, with an hole in the ceiling, to let out the smoke, which is described as rolling to the top of the House.

2: The feast of Venus was held by the Romans in April.

3: It is agreed that this is the same young n.o.bleman, to whom the Ode is addressed, on Licinius being appointed Augur, and which has been paraphrased in this Collection.