Mighty Victor, mighty Lord!
Low on his funeral couch he lies!
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the sable warrior fled?
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.
swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born?
Gone to salute the rising morn.
Fair laughs the morn, and
soft the zephyr blows,
While proudly riding oer the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;
on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwinds sway,
That, hushd in grim
repose, expects his evening prey.
Fill high the sparkling bowl,
The rich repast prepare;
Reft of a crown, he yet may
feast: Close by the regal chair
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.
ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse?
Long years of havoc urge their destined
And thro the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye Towers of Julius, Londons lasting shame,
many a foul and midnight murder fed,
Revere his consorts faith, his fathers fame,
And spare the meek
usurpers holy head.
Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled boar in
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers, bending oer th accursàd 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
(The web is wove. The work is done.)
A PINDARIC ODE
AWAKE, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicons harmonious
A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
The laughing flowers, that round them blow,
and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along
Deep, majestic, smooth and strong,
verdant vales, and Ceres golden reign:
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous see it
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.
O Sovereign of the willing soul,
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
the sullen Cares
And frantic Passions hear thy soft controul.
On Thracias hills the Lord of War
the fury of his car,
And droppd his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptred hand
thy magic lulls the featherd king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing:
Quenchd in dark clouds of slumber
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Thee the voice, the dance, obey,
Temperd to thy warbled lay.
Oer Idalias velvet-green
rosy-crownàd Loves are seen
On Cythereas day
With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures,
in frolic measures;
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet:
To brisk notes in cadence
Glance their many-twinkling feet.
Slow melting strains their Queens approach declare:
she turns the Graces homage pay.
With arms sublime, that float upon the air,
In gliding state she wins her
Oer her warm cheek and rising bosom move
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of
Mans feeble race what ills await,
Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain,
Disease, and Sorrows
And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate!
The fond complaint, my song, disprove,
justify the laws of Jove.
Say, has he givn in vain the heavnly Muse?
Night, and all her sickly dews,
spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary sky:
Till down the eastern cliffs afar
march they spy, and glittring shafts of war.
In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms oer ice-built mountains roam,
has broke the twilight gloom
To cheer the shivring natives dull abode.
And oft, beneath the odrous shade
Chilis boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat
In loose numbers wildly sweet