264 ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY. But when through all the infernal bounds, Love, strong as Death, the poet led What sounds were heard, What scenes appear'd, O'er all the dreary coasts? Dreadful gleams, Dismal screams, Fires that glow, Shrieks of wo, Sullen moans, Hollow groans, And cries of tortured ghosts, Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still, And the pale spectres dance! The Furies sink upon their iron beds, And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their heads. By the fragrant winds that blow O'er th' Elysian flow'rs; By those happy souls who dwell Restore, restore Eurydice to life: O, take the Husband, or return the Wife! ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY. He sung, and Hell consented O'er Death and o'er Hell, A conquest how hard, and how glorious! But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes, Beside the falls of fountains, Or where Hebrus wanders, Unheard, unknown, He trembles, he glows, Amidst Rhodope's snows: See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies; 265 Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals' criesAh see, he dies! Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung, Eurydice still trembled on his tongue, Eurydice the woods, Eurydice the floods, 266 ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY. Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung. And fate's severest rage disarm; And make despair and madness please; This the divine Cecilia found, And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound. A. Pope. ODE ON THE UNIVERSE. 267 ODE ON THE UNIVERSE. THE spacious firmament on high, The unwearied sun, from day to day, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. The moon takes up the wondrous tale; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 268 ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. THIS is the month, and this the happy morn That he our deadly forfeit should release, That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table He laid aside; and, here with us to be, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? See how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet: O run, prevent them with thy humble ode |