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THE

PROGRESS

OF

POE S Y

A

PINDARIC OD E.

BRITISH

ADVERTISEMENT.

WHEN the Author firft publifhed this and the following Ode, he was advised even by his friends, to fubjoin fome few explanatory Notes; but had too much refpect for the understanding of his Readers to take that liberty.

PROGRESS

OF

POES Y,

A PINDARIC ODE..

I. I.

AWAKE, * Eolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trem-
bling ftrings.

From Helicon's harmonious fprings
A thousand rills their mazy progress take;
The laughing flowers that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.

*Awake, my glory; awake, lute and harp.

David's Pfalms.

Pindar ftiles his own poetry, with its mufical accompanyments. Eolian fong, Eolian frings, the breath of the Eolian flute.

Now the rich ftream of mufic winds along,.
Deep, majestic, fmooth, and ftrong,
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres? golden reign:
Now rowling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, fee it pour;

The rocks, and nodding groves rebellow to. the roar.

I. 2.

*

Oh! Sovereign of the willing foul, Parent of sweet and folemn breathing airs, Enchanting fhell! the fullen Cares,

And frantic Paffions, hear thy foft controul.

The fubject and fimile, as usual with Pin- dar, are united. The various fources of poetry, which gives life and luftre to all it touches, are here defcribed; its quiet, majeftic progress enriching every fubject (other wife dry and barren) with a pomp of diction and luxuriant harmony of numbers; and its more rapid and irrefiftible courfe, when fwoln and hurried away by the conflict of tumultuous paffions.

* Power of harmony to calm the turbulent fallies of the foul. The thoughts are borrowed from the firft Pythian of Pindar.

On Thracia's hills the Lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his car,
And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy com-
Perching + on the fceptred hand

[mand.

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing;
Quench'd in dark clouds of flumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of

his age,

I. 3.

Thee the voice, the dance, obey,

Temper'd to the warbled lay.

O'er Idalia's velvet green,

The rofy-crowned Loves are feen,

On Cytherea's day

With antic sports, and blue-ey'd pleasures, Frifking light in frolic measures;

+ This is a weak imitation of fome incompa« rable lines in the fame ode.

The Power of Harmony to produce all the graces of motion in the body.

D

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