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SEPT. 29. 1826.

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Φωγαντα συνετοίσιν ες
Δε το σαν ερμηνέων
Χατίζει. .


I. 1.
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon's harmonious springs

A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
The laughing flowers that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.

Ver. 1. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake] “ Awake, my glory: awake, late and harp.” David's PSALMS.

VARIATION.—“Awake, my lyre : my glory, wake.” Pindar styles his own poetry, with its musical accompaniments, Αίολής μολπή, Αόλιδες χορδαί, Αιολίδων πνοαι αυλών, Æolian song, Æolian strinys, the breath of the Æolian tiute.

The subject and simile, as usual with Pindar, are united. The various sources of poetry, which give life and lustre to all it touches, are here described ; its quiet majestic progress enriching every subject (otherwise dry and barren) with a pomp of diction and luxuriant harmony of numbers ; and its more rapid and irresistible course, when swoln and hurried away by the conflict of tumultuous passions.

Now the rich stream of music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour :
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.

I. 2.

Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul,
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares

And frantic Passions hear thy soft control.
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War
Has curb’d the fury of his car,
And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptred hand
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.

I. 3. Thee the voice, the dance, obey, Temper'd to thy warbled lay.

Ver. 13. Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul] Power of harmony to calm the turbulent sallies of the soul. The thoughts are borrowed from the first Pythian of Pindar.

Ver. 20. Perching on the sceptred hand] This is a weak, imitation of some beautiful lines in the same ode.

Ver. 25. Thee the voice, the dance, obey] Power of harmony to produce all the graces of motion in the body.


he roar.

O'er Idalia's velvet green
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen
On Cytherea's day
With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures,
Frisking light in frolic measures ;
Now pursuing, now retreating,

Now in circling troops they meet:
To brisk notes in cadence beating,

Glance their many-twinkling feet.
Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare:

Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay.
With arms sublime, that float upon the air,

In gliding state she wins her easy way:
O’er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.


II. 1.


Man's feeble race what ills await!
Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain,
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train,

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate !
The fond complaint, my song, disprove,
And justify the laws of Jove.
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly muse?
Night and all her sickly dews,

of har Esoughts


Ver. 42. Man's feeble race what ills await] To compensate the real and imaginary ills of life, the muse was given to mankind by the same Providence that sends the day, by its cheerfal presence, to dispel the gloom

and terrors of the night.


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