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HYMN TO ADVERSITY.
Eschylus, in Agamemnone.
DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power,
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
When first thy sire to send on Earth
Virtue, his darling child, design'd, To thee he gave the heavenly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse; thy rigid lore
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
With patience many a year she bore:
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head,
Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand! Not in thy gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band,
(As by the impious thou art seen,)
With thundering voice, and threatening,mien,
Thy form benign, oh, goddess! wear,
To soften, not to wound, my heart. The generous 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.
WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
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 a-field! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke.
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
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 Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can, Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with cclestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd Or wak'd to ecstacy 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
With antic sports and blue-ey'd pleasures,
To brisk notes in cadence beating
Man's feeble race what ills await,
And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse?
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
Till down the eastern cliffs afar
Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-ey'd Fancy, hovering o'er,
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit
In climes beyond the solar road,
To cheer the shivering native's dull abode.
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,
Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves.
Th' unconquerable mind, and Freedom's holy flame.
Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!
Of Horror that, and thrilling fears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears
Left their Parnassus, for the Latian plains.
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.
Far from the Sun and summer-gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling* laid,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Nor second he,† that rode sublime
Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy,
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:
Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,
Two coursers of ethereal race,t
With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long-resounding
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
"HENCE, avaunt, ('tis holy ground,)
Comus and his midnight-crew,
And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,
From yonder realms of empyrean day
Ye brown o'er-arching groves,
That Contemplation loves,
To bless the place, where on their opening soul
I trod your level lawn,
Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright
But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth
High potentates and dames of royal birth,
And sad Chatillon,t on her bridal morn
That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,
The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord,
And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise,
The liquid language of the skies.
† Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, daughter Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers. of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St. Paul in France: of Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, whom tradition says, that her husband, Audemar de Dare the Muse's walk to stain, Valentia, Earl of Pembroke, was slain at a tournament While bright-ey'd Science watches round: on the day of his nuptials. She was the foundress of Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!" Pembroke College or Hall, under the name of Aula Mariæ de Valentia.
* Edward the Third; who added the fleur-de-lis of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College.
Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was wife of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward the First. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely. She founded Clare Hall
§ Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth, found ress of Queen's College. The poet had celebrated her con jugal fidelity in a former ode.
Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth (hence called the paler rose, as being of the house of York.) She added to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou.
¶ Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former the founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to Trinity College.