III. 2. Nor fecond He †, that rode sublime He pafs'd the flaming bounds of Place and Time : The living Throne ||, the fapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He faw; but blafted with excefs of light, Clos'd his eyes in endless night. Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car, Wide o'er the fields of glory bear + Milton. "--flammantia moenia mundi." Lucret. For the fpirit of the living creature was in the wheels. And above the firmament, that was over their heads, was the liknefs of a throne, as the appearance of a fapphire ftone. This was the appearance of the glo of the Lord, Ezekiel 1. 20, 26, 28. ry Two Courfers of æthereal race + With necks in thunder cloath'd ‡, and longrefounding pace. III. 3. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering o'er Scatters from her pictur'd urn Thoughts that breathe ||, and words that burn. But ah! 'tis heard no more §- + Meant to express the ftately march and founding energy of Dryden's rhymes. We have had in our language no other odes of the fublime kind, than that of Dryden on St Cecilia's day; for Cowley (who had his merit) yet wanted judgment, ftile, and harmony, for fuch a task. That of Pope is not un worthy of fo great a man; Mr Mafon indeed, of late days, has touched the true chords, and with a mafterly hand, in fome of his choruses, ---above all in the laft of Caractacus; Oh! Lyre divine, what daring fpirit "Hark! heard you not yon footstep dread, That shook the earth with thund'ring tread? "Twas Death---In hafte The warrior paft; High tower'd his helmed head: I mark'd his mail, I mark'd his shield, I faw his giant arm the faulcheon wield; Wide wav'd the bickering blade, and fir'd the air. I. 2. "On me (he cried) my Britons! wait. To lead you to the fields of fate I come. Yon'car, That cleaves the air, Defcends to throne my state: I mount your champion and your God. Hark! to my clarion fhrill, that brays the Fear not now the fever's fire, Fear not now the death-bed groan, Pangs that torture, pains that tire, Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban eagle bear +, Thefe domeftic terrors wait And when o'er flothful realms my rod I wave, Thefe on the tyrant king and coward flave Rush with vindictive rage, and drag them to their grave. II. I. But you, my fons! at this high hour In levell'd rows, My own dread fhafts shall show'r. Deal forth my dole of destiny; With all my fury dafh the trembling foe Down to thofe darkfome dens, where Rome's pale spectres ly. + Pindar compares himself to that bird, and his enemies to ravens that croak and clamour in vain below, while it pursues its flight, regardless of their noife. Sailing with fupreme dominion 'Thro' the azure deep of air ; Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms, as glitter in the Mufe's ray With orient hues, unborrowed of the fun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his diftant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate. Beneath the Good how far---but far above the Great. II. 2. Where creeps the Ninefold ftream profound Her black inexorable round; And on the bank To willows dank The fhiv'ring ghous are bound. Twelve thoufand crefcents all fhall fwell Ere they again in life's gay manfions dwell. 11. 30 |