[]
GRAY'S POEMS.
[]
POEMS BY Mr. GRAY. A NEW EDITION.
LONDON: Printed for J. DODSLEY, in Pall-mall. M DCC LXVIII.
ODE ON THE SPRING.
ODE.
[][3]LO! where the roſy-boſom'd Hours,
Fair VENUS' train appear,
Diſcloſe the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Reſponſive to the cuckow's note,
[4] The untaught harmony of ſpring:
While whiſp'ring pleaſure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue ſky
Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Where'er the oak's thick branches ſtretch
A broader browner ſhade;
Where'er the rude and moſs-grown beech
O'er-canopies the gladea,
[5] Beſide ſome water's ruſhy brink
With me the Muſe ſhall ſit, and think
(At eaſe reclin'd in ruſtic ſtate)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care.
The panting herds repoſe:
Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air
The buſy murmur glows!
The infect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taſte the honied ſpring,
[6] And float amid the liquid noonb:
Some lightly o'er the current ſkim,
Some ſhew their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the ſunc.
To Contemplation's ſober eyed
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
[7] Alike the Buſy and the Gay
But flutter thro' life's little day,
In fortune's varying colours dreſt:
Bruſh'd by the hand of rough Miſchance,
Or chill'd by age, their airy dance
They leave, in duſt to reſt.
Methinks I hear in accents low
The ſportive kind reply:
Poor moraliſt! and what art thou?
A ſolitary fly!
Thy Joys no glittering female meets,
No hive haſt thou of hoarded ſweets,
[8] No painted plumage to diſplay:
On haſty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy ſun is ſet, thy ſpring is gone—
We frolick, while 'tis May.
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fiſhes.
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fiſhes.
[][]'T WAS on a lofty vaſe's ſide,
Where China's gayeſt art had dy'd
The azure flowers, that blow;
Demureſt of the tabby kind,
The penſive Selima reclin'd,
Gazed on the lake below.
[12] Her conſcious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the ſnowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoiſe vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She ſaw; and purr'd applauſe.
Still had ſhe gaz'd; but 'midſt the tide
Two angel forms were ſeen to glide,
The Genii of the ſtream:
Their ſcaly armour's Tyrian hue
Thro' richeſt purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.
[13] The hapleſs Nymph with wonder ſaw:
A whiſker firſt and then a claw,
With many an ardent wiſh,
She ſtretch'd in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold deſpiſe?
What Cat's averſe to fiſh?
Preſumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again ſhe ſtretch'd, again ſhe bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate ſat by, and ſmil'd)
The ſlipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in.
[14] Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry God,
Some ſpeedy aid to ſend.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid ſtirr'd:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Suſan heard.
A Fav'rite has no friend!
From hence, ye Beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one falſe ſtep is ne'er retriev'd,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedleſs hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all, that gliſters, gold.
ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
[]‘ [...].’MENANDER.
[]YE diſtant ſpires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watry glade,
Where grateful Science ſtill adores
Her HENRY'Se holy Shade;
[18] And ye, that from the ſtately brow
Of WINDSOR'S heights th' expanſe below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead ſurvey,
Whoſe turf, whoſe ſhade, whoſe flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His ſilver-winding way.
Ah happy hills, ah pleaſing ſhade,
Ah fields belov'd in vain,
Where once my careleſs childhood ſtray'd,
A ſtranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales, that from ye blow,
A momentary bliſs beſtow,
[19] As waving freſh their gladſome wing,
My weary ſoul they ſeem to ſooth,
And,f redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a ſecond ſpring.
Say, Father THAMES, for thou haſt ſeen
Full many a ſprightly race
Diſporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleaſure trace,
Who foremoſt now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glaſſy wave?
[20] The captive linnet which enthrall?
What idle progeny ſucceed
To chaſe the rolling circle's ſpeed,
Or urge the flying ball?
While ſome on earneſt buſineſs bent
Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainſt graver hours, that bring conſtraint
To ſweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers diſdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare deſcry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And ſnatch a fearful joy.
[21] Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Leſs pleaſing when poſſeſt;
The tear forgot as ſoon as ſhed,
The ſunſhine of the breaſt:
Theirs buxom health of roſy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever-new,
And lively chear of vigour born;
The thoughtleſs day, the eaſy night,
The ſpirits pure, the ſlumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas, regardleſs of their doom,
The little victims play!
No ſenſe have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day:
[22] Yet ſee how all around 'em wait
The Miniſters of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah, ſhew them where in ambuſh ſtand
To ſeize their prey the murth'rous band!
Ah, tell them, they are men!
Theſe ſhall the fury Paſſions tear,
The vulturs of the mind,
Diſdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that ſculks behind;
[23] Or pineing Love ſhall waſte their youth,
Or Jealouſy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the ſecret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-viſag'd comfortleſs Deſpair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this ſhall tempt to riſe,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a ſacrifice,
And grinning Infamy,
The ſtings of Falſhood thoſe ſhall try,
And hard Unkindneſs' alter'd eye,
[24] That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen Remorſe with blood defil'd,
And moody Madneſsg laughing wild
Amid ſevereſt woe.
Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grieſly troop are ſeen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring finew ſtrains,
[25] Thoſe in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the ſoul with icy hand,
And ſlow-conſuming Age.
To each his ſuff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why ſhould they know their fate?
Since ſorrow never comes too late,
And happineſs too ſwiftly flies.
Thought would deſtroy their paradiſe.
No more; where ignorance is bliſs,
'Tis folly to be wiſe.
HYMN TO ADVERSITY.
HYMN TO ADVERSITY.
[]‘ [...]—.’AESCHYLUS, in Agamemnone.
[]DAUGHTER of JOVE, relentleſs Power,
Thou Tamer of the human breaſt,
Whoſe iron ſcourge and tort'ring hour,
The Bad affright, afflict the Beſt!
[30] Bound in thy adamantine chain
The Proud are taught to taſte of pain,
And purple Tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
When firſt thy Sire to ſend on earth
Virtue, his darling Child, deſign'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly Birth,
And bad to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged Nurſe! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year ſhe bore:
What ſorrow was, thou bad'ſt her know,
And from her own ſhe learn'd to melt at others' woe.
[31] Scared at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleaſing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noiſe, and thoughtleſs Joy,
And leave us leiſure to be good.
Light they diſperſe, and with them go
The ſummer Friend, the flatt'ring Foe;
By vain Proſperity received,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.
Wiſdom in ſable garb array'd
Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, ſilent maid
With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
[32] Still on thy ſolemn ſteps attend:
Warm Charity, the gen'ral Friend,
With Juſtice to herſelf ſevere,
And Pity, dropping ſoft the ſadly-pleaſing tear.
Oh, gently on thy Suppliant's head,
Dread Goddeſs, lay thy chaſt'ning hand!
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful Band
(As by the Impious thou art ſeen)
With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,
With ſcreaming Horror's funeral cry,
Deſpair, and fell Diſeaſe, and ghaſtly Poverty.
[33] Thy form benign, oh Goddeſs, wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philoſophic Train be there
To ſoften, not to wound my heart.
The gen'rous ſpark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to ſcan,
What others are, to feel, and know myſelf a Man.
THE PROGRESS of POESY. A PINDARIC ODE.
[] [...]
[...]
PINDAR, Olymp. II.
ADVERTISEMENT.
[]When the Author firſt publiſhed this and the fol⯑lowing Ode, he was adviſed, even by his Friends, to ſubjoin ſome few explanatory Notes; but had too much reſpect for the underſtanding of his Readers to take that liberty.
THE PROGRESS of POESY. A PINDARIC ODE.
[]I. i.
h A WAKE, Aeolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling ſtrings.
From Helicon's harmonious ſprings
A thouſand rills their mazy progreſs take:
[38] The laughing flowers, that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich ſtream of muſic winds along
Deep, majeſtic, ſmooth, and ſtrong,
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:
Now rowling down the ſteep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, ſee it pour:
The rocks, and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.
[39]I. 2.
i Oh! Sovereign of the willing ſoul,
Parent of ſweet and ſolemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting ſhell! the ſullen Cares,
And frantic Paſſions hear thy ſoft controul.
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War,
Has curb'd the fury of his car,
And drop'd his thirſty lance at thy command.
k Perching on the ſcept'red hand
[40] Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of flumber lie
The terror of his beak, and light'nings of his eye.
I. 3.
1 Thee the voice, the dance, obey,
Temper'd to thy warbled lay.
O'er Idalia's velvet-green
The roſy-crowned Loves are ſeen
On Cytherea's day
With antic ſports, and blue-eyed Pleaſures,
Friſking light in frolic meaſures;
[41] Now purſuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet:
To briſk notes in cadence beating
m 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
n The bloom of young Deſire, and purple light of Love.
[42]II. i.
o 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 giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muſe?
Night, and all her ſickly dews,
Her Spectres wan, and Birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary ſky:
[43] p Till down the eaſtern cliffs afar
Hyperion's march they ſpy, and glitt'ring ſhafts of war.
II. 2.
Where ſhaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,
The Muſe has broke the twilight-gloom
To chear the ſwv'ring Native's dull abode.
[44] And oft, beneath the od'rous ſhade
Of Chili's boundleſs foreſts laid,
She deigns to hear the ſavage Youth repeat
In looſe numbers wildly ſweet
Their feather-cinctured Chiefs, and duſky Loves.
Her track, where'er the Goddeſs roves,
Glory purſue, and generous Shame,
Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame.
II. 3.
s Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's ſteep,
Iſles, that crown th' Aegean deep,
[45] Fields, that cool Iliſſus laves,
Or where MAeander's amber waves
In lingering Lab'rinths creep,
How do your tuneful Echo's languiſh,
Mute, but to the voice of Anguiſh?
Where each old poetic Mountain
Inſpiration breath'd around:
Ev'ry ſhade and hallow'd Fountain
Murmur'd deep a ſolemn ſound:
[46] Till the ſad Nine in Greece's evil hour
Left their Parnaſſus for the Latian plains.
Alike they ſcorn the pomp of tyrant-Power,
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty ſpirit loſt,
They ſought, oh Albion! next thy ſea-encircled coaſt.
III. I.
Far from the ſun and ſummer-gale,
In thy green lap was Nature'st Darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon ſtray'd,
To Him the mighty Mother did unveil
Her aweful face: The dauntleſs Child
Stretch'd forth his little arms, and ſmiled.
[47] This pencil take (ſhe ſaid) whoſe colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year:
Thine too theſe golden keys, immortal Boy!
This can unlock the gates of Joy;
Of Horrour that, and thrilling Fears,
Or ope the ſacred ſource of ſympathetic Tears.
III. 2.
Nor ſecond Hev, that rode ſublime
Upon the ſeraph-wings of Extaſy,
The ſecrets of th' Abyſs to ſpy.
w He paſs'd the flaming bounds of Place and Time:
[48] x The living Throne, the ſaphire-blaze,
Where Angels tremble, while they gaze,
He ſaw; but blaſted with exceſs of light,
y Cloſed his eyes in endleſs night.
Behold, where Dryden's leſs preſumptuous car,
Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear
z Two Courſers of ethereal race,
a With necks in thunder cloath'd, and long-reſounding pace.
[49]III. 3.
Hark, his hands the iyte explore!
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er
Scatters from her pictur'd urn
b Thoughts, that breath, and words, that burn.
c But ah! 'tis heard no more—
Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit
Wakes thee now? tho' he inherit
[50] Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
d That the Theban Eagle bear
Sailing with ſupreme dominion
Thro' the azure deep of air:
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms, as glitter in the Muſe's ray
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the Sun:
Yet ſhall he mount, and keep his diſtant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,
Beneath the Good how far—but far above the Great.
THE BARD. A PINDARIC ODE.
[]ADVERTISEMENT.
[]The following Ode is founded on a Tradition current in Wales, that EDWARD THE FIRST, when he compleated the conqueſt of that country, order⯑ed all the Bards, that fell into his hands, to be put to death.
THE BARD. A PINDARIC ODE.
[]I. I.
'RUIN ſeize thee, ruthleſs King!
'Confuſion on thy banners wait,
'Tho' fann'd by Conqueſt's crimſon wing
'e They mock the air with idle ſtate.
'[54] Helm, norf Hauberk's twiſted mail,
'Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, ſhall avail
'To ſave thy ſecret ſoul from nightly fears,
'From Cambria's curſe, from Cambria's tears!'
Such were the ſounds, that o'er theg creſted pride
Of the firſt Edward ſcatter'd wild diſmay,
As down the ſteep ofh Snowdon's ſhaggy ſide
He wound with toilſome march his long array.
[55] Stouti Glo'ſter ſtood aghaſt in ſpeechleſs trance:
To arms! criedk Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance.
[56]I. 2.
On a rock, whoſe haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the ſable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the Poet ſtood;
(l Looſe his beard, and hoary hair
m Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air)
And with a Maſter's hand, and Prophet's fire,
Struck the deep ſorrows of his lyre.
[57] 'Hark, how each giant-oak, and deſert cave,
'Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath!
'O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave,
'Revenge on thee in hoarſer murmurs breath;
'Vocal no more, ſince Cambria's fatal day,
'To high-born Hoel's harp, or ſoft Llewellyn's lay.'
I. 3.
'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
'That huſh'd the ſtormy main:
'Brave Urien ſleeps upon his craggy bed:
'Mountains, ye mourn in vain
'Modred, whoſe magic ſong
'Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head.
[58] n'On dreary Arvon's ſhore they lie,
'Smear'd with gore, and ghaſtly pale:
'Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens ſail;
The famiſh'do Eagle ſcreams, and paſſes by.
[59] 'Dear loſt companions of my tuneful art,
p'Dear, as the light that viſits theſe ſad eyes,
p'Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
'Ye died amidſt your dying country's cries—
'No more I weep. They do not ſleep.
'On yonder cliffs, a grieſly band,
'I ſee them ſit, they linger yet,
'Avengers of their native land:
'With me in dreadful harmonyq they join,
'Andq weave with bloody hands the tiſſue of thy line.'
[60]II. 1.
"Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
"The winding-ſheet of Edward's race.
"Give ample room, and verge enough
"The characters of hell to trace.
"Mark the year, and mark the night,
r"When Severn ſhall re-eccho with affright
"The ſhrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that ring,
"Shrieks of an agonizing King!
[61] s"She-Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
"That tear'ſt the bowels of thy mangled Mate,
t"From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs
"The ſcourge of Heav'n. What Terrors round him wait!
"Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,
"And ſorrow's faded form, and ſolitude behind."
II. 2.
"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,
v"Low on his funeral couch he lies!
"No pitying heart, no eye, afford
"A tear to grace his obſequies.
[62] "Is the ſablew Warriour fled?
"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.
"Fairx laughs the Morn, and ſoft the Zephyr blows,
"While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
"In gallant trim the 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.'
[63]II. 3.
y"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.
[64] "Heard ye the din ofz battle bray,
"Lance to lance, and horſe to horſe?
"Long Years of havock urge their deſtined courſe,
"And thro' the kindred ſquadrons mow their way.
"Ye Towers of Juliusa, London's laſting ſhame,
"With many a foul and midnight murther fed,
"And ſpare the meekd Uſurper's holy head.
[65] "Above, below, thee roſe of ſnow,
"Twined with her bluſhing foe, we ſpread:
"The briſtledf Boar in infant-gore
"Wallows beneath the thorny ſhade.
"Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accurſed loom
"Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom."
[66]III. 1.
"Edward, lo! to ſudden fate
"(Weave we the woof. The thread is ſpun)
g Half of thy heart we conſecrate.
"(The web is wove. The work is done."
'Stay, oh ſtay! nor thus forlorn
'Leave me unbleſs'd, unpitied, here to mourn:
[67] 'In yon bright track, that fires the weſtern ſkies,
'They melt, they vaniſh from my eyes.
'But oh! what ſolemn ſcenes on Snowdon's height
'Deſcending ſlow their glitt'ring ſkirts unroll?
'Viſions of glory, ſpare my aching ſight,
'Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my ſoul!
'No more our long-loſth Arthur we bewail.
'All-hail,i ye genuine Kings, Britannia's Iſſue, hail!'
[68]III. 2.
'Girt with many a Baron bold
'Sublime their ſtarry fronts they rear;
'And gorgeous Dames, and Stateſmen old
'In bearded majeſty, appear.
'In the midſt a Form divine!
'Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line;
'Her lyon-portk, her awe-commanding face,
'Attemper'd ſweet to virgin-grace.
[69] 'What ſtrings ſymphonious tremble in the air,
'What ſtrains of vocal tranſport round her play!
'Hear from the grave, great Talieſſinl, hear;
'They breathe a ſoul to animate thy clay.
'Bright Rapture calls, and ſoaring, as ſhe ſings,
'Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd wings.'
[70]III. 3.
'The verſe adorn again
m'Fierce War, and faithful Love,
'And Truth ſevere, by fairy Fiction dreſt.
'Inn buſkin'd meaſures move
'Pale Grief, and pleaſing Pain,
'With Horrour, Tyrant of the throbbing breaſt.
'Ao Voice, as of the Cherub-Choir,
'Gales from blooming Eden bear;
p'And diſtant warblings leſſen on my ear,
'That loſt in long futurity expire.
[71] 'Fond impious Man, think'ſt thou, yon ſanguine cloud,
'Rais'd 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 ſcept'red Care,
'To triumph, and to die, are mine.'
He ſpoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endleſs night.
[]
THE FATAL SISTERS. AN ODE, (From the NORSE-TONGUE,) IN THE ORCADES of THORMODUS TORFAEUS; HAFNIAE, 1697, Folio: and alſo in BARTHOLINUS.
VITT ER ORPIT FYRIR VALFALLI, &c.
ADVERTISEMENT.
[]The Author once had thoughts (in concert with a Friend) of giving the Hiſtory of Engliſh Poetry: In the Introduction to it he meant to have produced ſome ſpecimens of the Style that reigned in ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or thoſe who had ſubdued the greater part of this Iſland, and were our Progenitors: the following three Imitations made a part of them. He has long ſince drop'd his deſign, eſpecially after he had heard, that it was already in the hands of a Perſon well qualified to do it juſtice, both by his taſte, and his reſearches into antiquity.
PREFACE.
[]IN the Eleventh Century Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney-Iſlands, went with a fleet of ſhips and a conſiderable body of troops into Ireland, to the aſſiſt⯑ance of Sictryg with the ſilken beard, who was then making war on his father-in-law Brian, King of Dublin: the Earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sictryg was in danger of a total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loſs by the death of Brian, their King, who fell in the action. On Chriſtmas-day, (the day of the battle,) a Native of Gaithneſs in Scotland ſaw at a diſtance a number of perſons on horſeback riding full ſpeed towards a hill, [] and ſeeming to enter into it. Curioſity led him to follow them, till looking through an opening in the rocks he ſaw twelve gigantic figures reſembling wo⯑men: they were all employed about a loom; and as they wove, they ſung the following dreadful Song; which when they had finiſhed, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and (each taking her portion) gal⯑loped Six to the North and as many to the South.
THE FATAL SISTERS. AN ODE.
[]NOW the ſtorm begins to lower,
(Haſte, the loom of Hell prepare,)
q Iron-ſleet of arrowy ſhower
[80] Glitt'ring lances are the loom,
Where the duſky warp we ſtrain,
Weaving many a Soldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
See the grieſly texture grow,
('Tis of human entrails made,)
And the weights, that play below,
Each a gaſping Warriour's head.
Shafts for ſhuttles, dipt in gore,
Shoot the trembling cords along.
Sword, that once a Monarch bore,
Keep the tiſſue cloſe and ſtrong.
[81] Miſta black, terrific Maid,
Sangrida, and Hilda ſee,
Join the wayward work to aid:
'Tis the woof of victory.
Ere the ruddy ſun be ſet,
Pikes muſt ſhiver, javelins ſing,
Blade with clattering buckler meet,
Hauberk craſh, and helmet ring.
(Weave the crimſon web of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our Friends the conflict ſhare,
Where they triumph, where they die.
[82] As the paths of fate we tread,
Wading thro' th' enſanguin'd field:
Gondula, and Geira, ſpread
O'er the youthful King your ſhield.
We the reins to ſlaughter give,
Ours to kill, and ours to ſpare:
Spite of danger he ſhall live.
(Weave the crimſon web of war.)
They, whom once the deſart-beach
Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample ſway ſhall ſtretch
O'er the plenty of the plain.
[83] Low the dauntleſs Earl is laid,
Gor'd with many a gaping wound:
Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a King ſhall bite the ground.
Long his loſs ſhall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeneſs ſee;
Long her ſtrains in ſorrow ſteep,
Strains of Immortality!
Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the ſun.
Siſters, weave the web of death;
Siſters, ceaſe, the work is done.
[84] Hail the taſk, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph ſing!
Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger King.
Mortal, thou that hear'ſt the tale,
Learn the tenour of our ſong.
Scotland, thro' each winding vale
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Siſters, hence with ſpurs of ſpeed:
Each her thundering faulchion wield;
Each beſtride her ſable ſteed.
Hurry, hurry to the field.
THE DESCENT of ODIN. AN ODE, (From the NORSE-TONGUE,) IN BARTHOLINUS, de cauſis contemnendae mortis; HAFNIAE, 1689, Quarto.
THE DESCENT of ODIN, AN ODE.
[]‘UPREIS ODINN ALLDA GAUTR, &c.’
[]UP roſe the King of Men with ſpeed,
And ſaddled ſtrait his coal-black ſteed;
Down the yawning ſteep he rode,
That leads tos HELA'S drear abode.
[88] Him the Dog of Darkneſs ſpied,
His ſhaggy throat he open'd wide,
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,
Foam and human gore diſtill'd:
Hoarſe he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow, and fangs, that grin;
And long purſues, with fruitleſs yell,
The Father of the powerful ſpell.
Onward ſtill his way he takes,
(The groaning earth beneath him ſhakes,)
Till full before his fearleſs eyes
The portals nine of hell ariſe.
Right againſt the eaſtern gate,
By the moſs-grown pile he ſate;
[89] Where long of yore to ſleep was laid
The duſt of the prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he traced the runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,
The thrilling verſe that wakes the Dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a ſullen ſound.
PR. What call unknown, what charms preſme
To break the quiet of the tomb?
Who thus afflicts my troubled ſprite,
And drags me from the realms of night?
[90] Long on theſe mould'ring bones have beat
The winter's ſnow, the ſummer's heat,
The drenching dews, and driving rain!
Let me, let me ſleep again.
Who is he, with voice unbleſt,
That calls me from the bed of reſt?
O. A Traveller, to thee unknown,
Is he that calls, a Warriour's Son.
Thou the deeds of light ſhalt know;
Tell me what is done below,
For whom yon glitt'ring board is ſpread,
Dreſt for whom yon golden bed.
[91]
PR. Mantling in the goblet ſee
The pure bev'rage of the bee,
O'er it hangs the ſhield of gold;
'Tis the drink of Balder bold:
Balder's head to death is giv'n.
Pain can reach the Sons of Heav'n!
Unwilling I my lips uncloſe:
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
O. Once again my call obey.
Propheteſs, ariſe, and ſay,
What dangers Odin's Child await,
Who the Author of his fate.
[92]
PR. In Hoder's hand the Heroe's doom:
His Brother ſends him to the tomb.
Now my weary lips I cloſe:
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
O. Propheteſs, my ſpell obey,
Once again ariſe, and ſay,
Who th' Avenger of his guilt,
By whom ſhall Hoder's blood be ſpilt.
PR. In the caverns of the weſt,
By Odin's fierce embrace compreſt,
A wond'rous Boy ſhall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er ſhall comb his raven-hair,
[93] Nor waſh his viſage in the ſtream,
Nor ſee the ſun's departing beam;
Till he on Hoder's corſe ſhall ſmile
Flaming on the fun'ral pile.
Now my weary lips I cloſe:
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
O. Yet a while my call obey.
Propheteſs, awake, and ſay,
What Virgins theſe, in ſpeechleſs woe,
That bend to earth their ſolemn brow,
That their flaxen treſſes tear,
And ſnowy veils, that float in air.
[94] Tell me whence their ſorrows roſe:
Then I leave thee to repoſe.
PR. Ha! no Traveller art thou,
King of Men, I know thee now,
Mightieſt of a mighty line—
O. No boding Maid of ſkill divine
Art thou, nor Propheteſs of good;
But mother of the giant-brood!
PR. Hie thee hence, and boaſt at home,
That never ſhall Enquirer come
[95] To break my iron-ſleep again;
Tillt Lok has burſt his tenfold chain.
Never, till ſubſtantial Night
Has reaſſum'd her ancient right;
Till wrap'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabric of the world.
THE TRIUMPHS of OWEN. A FRAGMENT. FROM Mr. EVANS'S Specimens of the Welch Poetry; LONDON, 1764, Quarto.
[]ADVERTISEMENT.
[]OWEN ſucceeded his Father GRIFFIN in the Principality of NORTH-WALES, A.D. 1120. This battle was fought near forty Years after⯑wards.
THE TRIUMPHS of OWEN. A FRAGMENT.
[]OWEN's praiſe demands my ſong,
OWEN ſwift, and OWEN ſtrong;
Faireſt flower of Roderic's ſtem,
v Gwyneth's ſhield, and Britain's gem.
[102] He nor heaps his brooded ſtores,
Nor on all profuſely pours;
Lord of every regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.
Big with hoſts of mighty name,
Squadrons three againſt him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding,
Side by ſide as proudly riding,
On her ſhadow long and gay
w Lochlin plows the wat'ry way;
[103] There the Norman ſails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war:
Black and huge along they ſweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.
Dauntleſs on his native ſands
x The Dragon-Son of Mona ſtands;
[104] In glitt'ring arms and glory dreſt,
High he rears his ruby creſt.
There the thund'ring ſtrokes begin,
There the preſs, and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky ſhore
Echoing to the battle's roar.
Where his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thouſand Banners round him burn.
Where he points his purple ſpear,
Haſty, haſty Rout is there,
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to ſtop, and ſhame to fly.
[105] There Confuſion, Terror's child,
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild,
Agony, that pants for breath,
Deſpair and honourable Death.
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD,
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.
[][]THE Curfew tollsy the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind ſlowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkneſs and to me.
[110] Now fades the glimmering landſcape on the ſight,
And all the air a ſolemn ſtillneſs holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowſy tinklings lull the diſtant folds;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,
The mopeing owl does to the moon complain
Of ſuch, as wand'ring near her ſecret bow'r,
Moleſt her ancient ſolitary reign.
Beneath thoſe rugged elms, that yew-tree's ſhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet ſleep.
[111] The breezy call of incenſe-breathing Morn,
The ſwallow twitt'ring from the ſtraw-built ſhed,
The cock's ſhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more ſhall rouſe them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth ſhall burn,
Or buſy houſewife ply her evening care:
No children run to liſp their ſire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiſs to ſhare.
Oft did the harveſt to their ſickle yield,
Their furrow oft the ſtubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their ſturdy ſtroke!
[112] Let not Ambition mock their uſeful toil,
Their homely joys, and deſtiny obſcure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a diſdainful ſmile,
The ſhort and ſimple annals of the poor.
The boaſt of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to Theſe the fault,
If Mem'ry o'er their Tomb no Trophies raiſe,
Where thro' the long-drawn iſle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem ſwells the note of praiſe.
[113]
Can ſtoried urn or animated buſt
Back to its manſion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the ſilent duſt,
Or Flatt'ry ſooth the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected ſpot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celeſtial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have ſway'd,
Or wak'd to extaſy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the ſpoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repreſs'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the ſoul.
[114] Full many a gem of pureſt ray ſerene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to bluſh unſeen,
And waſte its ſweetneſs on the deſert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntleſs breaſt
The little Tyrant of his fields withſtood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may reſt,
Some Cromwell guiltleſs of his country's blood.
Th' applauſe of liſt'ning ſenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to deſpiſe,
To ſcatter plenty o'er a ſmiling land,
And read their hiſt'ry in a nation's eyes,
[115] Their lot forbad: nor circumſcrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
Forbad to wade through ſlaughter to a throne,
And ſhut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The ſtruggling pangs of conſcious truth to hide,
To quench the bluſhes of ingenuous ſhame,
Or heap the ſhrine of Luxury and Pride
With incenſe kindled at the Muſe's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ſtrife,
Their ſober wiſhes never learn'd to ſtray;
Along the cool ſequeſter'd vale of life
They kept the noiſeleſs tenor of their way.
[116] Yet ev'n theſe bones from inſult to protect
Some frail memorial ſtill erected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and ſhapeleſs ſculpture deck'd,
Implores the paſſing tribute of a ſigh.
Their name, their years, ſpelt by th' unletter'd muſe,
The place of fame and elegy ſupply:
And many a holy text around ſhe ſtrews,
That teach the ruſtic moraliſt to die.
For who to dumb Forgetfulneſs a prey,
This pleaſing anxious being e'er reſign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the chearful day,
Nor caſt one longing ling'ring look behind?
[117] On ſome fond breaſt the parting ſoul relies,
Some pious drops the cloſing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
z Ev'n in our Aſhes live their wonted Fires.
For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead
Doſt in theſe lines their artleſs tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred Spirit ſhall inquire thy fate,
[118] Haply ſome hoary-headed Swain may ſay,
'Oft have we ſeen him at the peep of dawn
'Bruſhing with haſty ſteps the dews away
'To meet the ſun upon the upland lawn.
'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
'That wreathes its old fantaſtic roots ſo high,
'His liſtleſs length at noontide would he ſtretch,
'And pore upon the brook that babbles by.'
'Hard by yon wood, now ſmiling as in ſcorn,
'Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
'Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
'Or craz'd with care, or croſs'd in hopeleſs love.
[119] 'One morn I miſs'd him on the cuſtom'd hill,
'Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree;
'Another came; nor yet beſide the rill,
'Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;'
'The next with dirges due in ſad array
'Slow thro' the church-way path we ſaw him born.
'Approach and read (for thou can'ſt read) the lay,
'Grav'd on the ſtone beneath yon aged thorn.'
The EPITAPH.
HERE reſts his head upon the lap of Earth
A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
[] Large was his bounty, and his ſoul ſincere,
Heav'n did a recompence as largely ſend:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain' d from Heav'n ('twas all he wiſh'd) a friend.
No farther ſeek his merits to diſcloſe,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(2 There they alike in trembling hope repoſe,)
The boſom of his Father and his God.
THE CONTENTS.
[]- PAGE.
- ODE on the SPRING I
- ODE on the Death of a FAVOURITE CAT 9
- ODE on a Diſtant Proſpect of ETON COLLEGE 15
- HYMN to ADVERSITY 27
- The PROGRESS of POESY. A Pindaric Ode 35
- The BARD. A Pindaric Ode 51
- The FATAL SISTERS. An Ode 73
- The DESCENT of ODIN. An Ode 85
- The TRIUMPHS of OWEN. A Fragment 97
- ELEGY written in a COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD 107
FINIS.
Notes
a
—a bank
O'er-canopied with luſcious woodbine.
Shakeſp. Midſ. Night's Dream.
b
"Nare per aeſtatem liquidam—"Virgil. Georg. lib. 4.
c
—ſporting with quick glance
Shew to the ſun their waved coats drop'd with gold.
Milton's Paradiſe Loſt, book 7.d
While inſects from the threſhold preach, &c.
M. GREEN, in the Grotto. Dodſley's Miſcellanies, Vol. V. p. 161.e
King HENRY the Sixth, Founder of the College.
f
And bees their honey redolent of ſpring.
Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. Syſtem.
g
—Madneſs laughing in his ireful mood.
Dryden's Fable of Palamon and Arcitc.
h
Awake, my glory: awake, lute and harp.
David's Pſalms.
Pindar ſtyles his own poetry with its muſical accompanyments, [...] Aeolian ſong, Aeolian ſtrings, the breath of the Aeolian flute.
The ſubject and ſimile, as uſual with. Pindar, are united. The va⯑rious ſources of poetry, which gives 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 har⯑mony of numbers; and its more rapid and ireſiſtible courſe, when ſwoln and hurried away by the conflict of tumultuous paſſions.
i
Power of harmony to calm the turbulent ſallies of the ſoul. The thoughts are borrowed from the firſt Pythian of Pindar.
k
This is a weak imitation of ſome incomparable lines in the ſame Ode.
1.
Power of harmony to produce all the graces of motion in the body.
m
‘ [...]’
HOMER. Od, O.n
[...]
[...]
PHRYNICHUS, apud Athenaeum.
o
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 chearful preſence to diſpel the gloom and terrors of the Night.
p
Or ſeen the Morning's well-appointed Star
Come marching up the eaſtern hills afar.
Cowley.
q
Extenſive influence of poetic Genius over the remoteſt and moſt uncivilized nations: its connection with liberty, and the virtues that naturally attend on it. [See the Erſe, Norwegian, and Welch Frag⯑ments, the Lapland and American ſongs.]
r
"Extra anni ſoliſ:que vias"
Virgil.
"Tutta lontana dal eamin del ſole."
Petrarch, Canzon 2.
s
Progreſs of Poetry from Greece to Italy, and from Italy to Eng⯑land, Chaucer was not unacquainted with the writings of Dante or of Petrarch. The Earl of Surrey and Sir Tho. Wyatt had travelled in Italy, and formed their taſte there; Spenſer imitated the Italian wri⯑ters; Milton improved on them: but this School expired ſoon after the Reſtoration, and a new one aroſe on the French model, which has ſubſiſted ever ſince.
t
Shakeſpear.
v
Milton.
w
"—flammantia moenia mundi." Lucretius.
x
For the ſpirit of the living creature was in the wheels—And above the firmament, that was over their heads, was the likeneſs of a throne, as the appearance of a ſaphire-ſtone.—This was the appearance of the glory of the Lord. Ezekiel i. 20, 26, 28.
y
[...] HOMER. Od.
z
Meant to expreſs the ſtately march and ſounding energy of Dry⯑den's rhimes.
a
‘Haſt thou cloathed his neck with thunder?’ Job.
b
‘Words, that weep, and tears, that ſpeak.’ Cowley.
c
We have had in our language no other odes of the ſublime kind, than that of Dryden on St. Cecilia's day: for Cowley (who had his merit) yet wanted judgment, ſtyle, and harmony, for ſuch a taſk. That of Pope is not worthy of ſo great a man. Mr. Maſon indeed of late days has touched the true chords, and with a maſterly hand, in ſome of his Choruſes,—above all in the laſt of Caractacus,
Hark! heard ye not yon footſtep dread? &c.
d
‘ [...]’ Olymp. 2. 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 noiſe.
e
Mocking the air with colours idly ſpread,
Shakeſpear's King John.
f
The Hauberk was a texture of ſteel ringlets, or rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail, that ſate cloſe to the body, and adapted itſelf to every motion.
g
—‘The creſted adder's pride.’ Dryden's Indian Queen.
h
Snowdon was a name given by the Saxons to that mountainous tract, which the Welch themſelves call Cragian-eryri: it included all the highlands of Caernarvonſhire and Merionethſire, as far eaſt as the river Conway. R. Hygden ſpeaking of the caſtle of Conway built by King Edward the firſt, ſays, "Ad ortum amnis Conway ad clivum montis Erery;" and Matthew of Weſtminſter, (ad ann. 1283,) "Apud Aberconway ad pedes montis Snowdoniae fecit erigi caſtrum forte."
i
Gilbert de Clare, ſurnamed the Red, Earl of Glouceſter and Hert⯑ford, ſon-in-law to King Edward.
k
Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore.
They both were Lords-Marchers, whoſe lands lay on the borders of Wales, and probably accompanied the King in this expedition.
l
The image was taken from a well-known picture of Raphaël, re⯑preſenting the Supreme Being in the viſion of Ezekiel: there are two of theſe paintings (both believed original), one at Florence, the other at Paris.
m
Shone, like a meteor, ſtreaming to the wind.
Milton's Paradiſe Loſt.
n
The ſhores of Caernarvonſhire oppoſite to the iſle of Angleſey.
o
Cambden and others obſerve, that eagles uſed annually to build their aerie among the rocks of Snowdon, which from thence (as ſome think) were named by the Welch Craigian-eryri, or the crags of the eagles. At this day (I am told) the higheſt point of Snowdon is called the eagle's neſt. That bird is certainly no ſtranger to this iſland, as the Scots, and the people of Cumberland, Weſtmoreland, &c. can teſtify: it even has built its neſt in the Peak of Derbyſhire. [See Willoughby's Ornithol. publiſhed by Ray.]
p
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops,
That viſit my ſad heart—
Shakeſp. Jul. Caeſar.
p
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops,
That viſit my ſad heart—
Shakeſp. Jul. Caeſar,
q
See the Norwegian Ode, that follows.
q
See the Norwegian Ode, that follows.
r
Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in Berkley-Caſtle.
s
Iſabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous Queen.
t
Triumphs of Edward the Third in France.
v
Death of that King, abandoned by his Children, and even robbed in his laſt moments by his Courtiers and his Miſtreſs.
w
Edward, the Black Prince, dead ſome time before his Father.
x
Magnificence of Richard the Second's reign. See Froiſſard, and other contemporary Writers.
y
Richard the Second, (as we are told by Archbiſhop Scroop and the confederate Lords in their manifeſto, by Thomas of Walſingham, and all the older Writers) was ſtarved to death. The ſtory of his aſſaſſina⯑tion by Sir Piers of Exon, is of much later date.
z
Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaſter.
a
Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, Edward the Fifth, Richard Duke of York, &c. believed to be murthered ſecretly in the Tower of London. The oldeſt part of that ſtructure is vulgarly attri⯑buted to Julius Caeſar.
b
Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic ſpirit, who ſtruggled hard to ſave her Huſband and her Crown.
c
Henry the Fifth.
d
Henry the Sixth very near being canonized. The line of Lancaſter had no right of inheritance to the Crown.
e
The white and red roſes, devices of York and Lancaſter.
f
The ſilver Boar was the badge of Richard the Third; whence he was uſually known in his own time by the name of the Boar.
g
Eleanor of Caſtile died a few years after the conqueſt of Wales. The heroic proof ſhe gave of her affection for her Lord is well known. The monuments of his regret, and ſorrow for the loſs of her, are ſtill to be ſeen at Northampton, Geddington, Waltham, and other places.
h
It was the common belief of the Welch nation, that King Arthur was ſtill alive in Fairy-Land, and ſhould return again to reign over Britain.
i
Both Merlin and Talieſſin had propheſied, that the Welch ſhould regain their ſovereignty over this iſland; which ſeemed to be accom⯑pliſhed in the Houſe of Tudor.
k
Speed relating an audience given by Queen Elizabeth to Paul Dzialinſki, Ambaſſadour of Poland, ſays, 'And thus ſhe, lion-like riſing, daunted the malapert Orator no leſs with her ſtately port and majeſtical deporture, than with the tartneſſe of her princelie checkes.'
l
Talieſſin, Chief of the Bards, flouriſhed in the VIth Century. His works are ſtill preſerved, and his memory held in high veneration among his Countrymen.
m
Fierce wars and faithful loves ſhall moralize my ſong.
Spenſers Proëme to the Fairy Queen.
n
Shakeſpear.
o
Milton.
p
The ſucceſſion of Poets after Milton's time.
q
How quick they wheel'd; and flying, behind them ſhot
Sharp fleet of arrowy ſhower—
Milton's Paradiſe Regained.
r
‘The noiſe of battle hurtled in the air. Shakeſpear's Jul. Caeſar.’
68
Note—The Valkyriur were female Divinities, Servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name ſignifies Chuſers of the ſlain. They were mounted on ſwift horſes, with drawn ſwords in their hands; and in the throng of battle ſelected ſuch as were deſtined to (ſlaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or pa⯑radiſe of the Brave; where they attended the banquet, and ſerved the departed Heroes with horns of mead and ale.
s
Niſlheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, conſiſted of nine worlds,to which were devoted all ſuch as died of ſickneſs, old-age, or by any other means than in battle: Over it preſided HELA, the Goddeſs of Death.
t
Lok is the evil Being, who continues in chains till the Twilight of be Gods approaches, when he ſhall break his bonds; the human race, the ſtars, and ſun, ſhall diſappear; the earth ſink in the ſeas, and fire conſume the ſkies: even Odin himſelf and his kindred-deities ſhall periſh. For a farther explanation of this mythology, ſee Mallet's In⯑troduction to the Hiſtory of Denmark, 1755, Quarto.
v
North-Wales.
w
Denmark.
x
The red Dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his de⯑ſcendents bore on their banners.
y
—ſquilla di lontano
Che paia'l giorno pianger, che ſi muore.
Dante. Purgat. I. 8.
z
Ch'i veggio nel penſier, dolce mio fuoco,
Fredda una lingua, & due begli occhi chiuſi
Rimaner doppo noi pien di faville.
Petrarch. Son. 169.
2.
‘—paventoſa ſpeme. Petrarch. Son. 114.’
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4287 Poems by Mr Gray. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-57A8-5