Down to the fea; where my forefathers feaft
Daily on hearts of Spaniards!
I feel the venom bufy in my breast,
Approach, and bring my crown, deck'd with the teeth
Of that bold chriftian who firft dar'd deflour
The virgins of the fun; and, dire to tell!
Robb'd Vitzipultzi's ftatue of its gems!
I mark'd the spot where they interr'd this traitor,
And once at midnight ftole I to his tomb,
And tore his carcafs from the earth, and left it
A prey to poisonous flies. Preferve this crown
With facred secrecy: if e'er returns
Thy much-lov'd mother from the defart woods
Where, as I hunted late, I hapless loft her,
Cherish her age. Tell her I ne'er have worship'd
With thofe that eat their God. And when difeafe
Preys on her languid limbs, then kindly flab her
With thine own hands, nor fuffer her to linger,
Like chriftian cowards, in a life of pain.
I go! great COPAC beckons me! farewell!
ODE occafion'd by Reading Mr. WEST'S Tranflation of PINDAR.
LBION exult! thy fons a voice divine have heard,
The man of Thebes hath in thy vales appear'd!
Hark! with fresh rage and undiminish'd fire,
The fweet enthufiaft fmites the British lyre;
The founds that echoed on Alpheus' ftreams,
Reach the delighted ear of liftening Thames;
Lo! fwift acrofs the dufty plain
Great Theron's foaming courfers strain !
What mortal tongue e'er roll'd along
Such full impetuous tides of nervous song?
The fearful, frigid lays of cold and creeping Art,
Nor touch, nor can transport th' unfeeling heart;
Pindar, our inmoft bosom piercing, warms
With glory's love, and eager thirst of arms:
When Freedom fpeaks in his majestic strain,
The patriot-paffions beat in every vein:
We long to fit with heroes old,
'Mid groves of vegetable gold,
a Where Cadmus and Achilles dwell,
And still of daring deeds and dangers tell.
Away, enervate bards, away,
Who spin the courtly, filken lay,
b As wreaths for fome vain Louis' head,
Or mourn fome foft Adonis dead :
No more your polish'd lyrics boast,
In British Pindar's ftrength o'erwhelm'd and loft:
As well might ye compare
The glimmerings of a waxen flame,
(Emblem of verse correctly tame)
c To his own Ætna's fulphur-spouting caves,
When to heaven's vault the fiery deluge raves,
When clouds and burning rocks dart thro' the troubled air. II. 1.
In roaring cataracts down Andes' channel'd steeps
Mark how enormous Orellana sweeps!
Monarch of mighty floods! fupremely ftrong,
Foaming from cliff to cliff he whirls along,
Swoln with an hundred hills' collected fnows:
Thence over nameless regions widely flows,
Round fragrant ifles, and citron-groves,
Where ftill the naked Indian roves,
And fafely builds his leafy bow'r,
From flavery far, and curft Iberian pow'r;
b Alluding to the French and Italian lyric poets. See 1. Pyth. Od.
O parent of the lyre,
Let me for ever thy fweet fons admire!
O ancient Greece! but chief the bard whofe lays
The matchless tale of Troy divine emblaze;
And next Euripides, foft Pity's priest,
Who melts in useful woes the bleeding breast;
And him, who paints th' inceftuous king,
Whose foul amaze and horror wring;
Teach me to taste their charms refin❜d,
The richest banquet of th' enraptur'd mind:
II. 3.
For the bleft man, the mufe's child. d
On whofe aufpicious birth fhe fmil'd,
Whose foul fhe form'd of purer fire,
For whom the tun'd a golden lyre,
Seeks not in fighting fields renown:
No widows' midnight shrieks, nor burning town,
The peaceful poet please ;
Nor ceaseless toils for fordid gains,
Nor purple pomp, nor wide domains,
Nor heaps of wealth, nor power, nor ftatefinan's schemes, Nor all deceiv'd Ambition's feverish dreams,
Lure his contented heart from the fweet vale of ease.
Written in the Year 1745.
By the Rev. Mr. THOMAS WARton.
OTHER of mufings, Contemplation fage,
Whofe grotto ftands upon the topmost rock
Of Teneriff: 'mid the tempeftuous night,
On which, in calmest meditation held,
Thou hear'st with howling winds the beating rain
And drifting hail defcend; or if the skies
Unclouded shine, and thro' the blue ferene
Pale Cynthia rolls her filver-axled car,
Whence gazing ftedfaft on the spangled vault
Raptur'd thou fit'ft, while murmurs indistinct
Of diftant billows footh thy penfive ear
With hoarfe and hollow founds; fecure, felf-bleft,
There oft thou liften'ft to the wild
uproar
Of fleets encount'ring, that in whispers low
Afcends the rocky fummit, where thou dwell'
Remote from man, converfing with the spheres!
O lead me, queen fublime, to folemn glooms
Congenial with my foul; to chearless shades,
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