66 The scourge of heaven! What terrors round him wait! Amazement in his van with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form and Solitude behind. Mighty victor! mighty lord! Low on his funeral couch he lies: No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies ? Thy son is gone he rests among the dead. The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born? Gone to salute the rising Morn. Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, In gallant trim a gilded vessel goes : Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm, Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey. "Fill high the sparkling bowl! The rich repast prepare! Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair, Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, Now, brothers! bending o'er the accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom! "Edward! lo, to sudden fate Weave we the woof! the thread is spun :— Half of thy heart we consecrate. The web is wove : the work is done. Stay! O stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me, unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : But O! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height "Girt with many a baron bold, Britannia's issue, hail! Sublime their starry fronts they rear; In the midst a form divine! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton Line, What strings symphonious tremble in the air! They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture, calls and, soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour'd wings. "The verse adorn again! Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe by fairy Fiction dress'd, In buskin'd measures move, Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious Man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of Day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me! with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : Be thine despair and sceptred care! To triumph and to die are mine."— He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. HYMN TO ADVERSITY. Daughter of Jove! relentless Power! With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy Sire to send on earth What sorrow was thou badest her know, And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly With Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy; Light they disperse, and with them go The summer Friend, the flattering Foe; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom, in sable garb array'd, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, With leaden eye that loves the ground, Warm Charity, the general friend, With Justice, to herself severe, And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. O, gently on thy suppliant's head, Not circled with the vengeful band, (As by the impious thou art seen With thundering voice and threatening mien), Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty ! Thy form benign, O Goddess! wear, What others are to feel, and know myself a Man! WILLIAM COLLINS. 1721-1759. TO EVENING. If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song Thy springs and dying gales, O Nymph reserved! while now the bright-hair'd sun O'erhang his wavy bed, Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, To breathe some soften'd strain : Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, Thy genial loved return. For when thy folding-star arising shows Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; |