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Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone
For mortals fixeth that sublime award.
He, from the faithful records of his throne,
Bids the historian and the bard
Dispose of honor and of scorn;
Discern the patriot from the slave;

And write the good, the wise, the brave
For lessons to the multitude unborn.

HYMN TO THE NAIADS.
1746.

The kindred powers, Tethys, and reverend Ops,
And spotless Vesta; while supreme of sway
Remain'd the cloud-compeller. From the couch
Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race,
Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime,
Send tribute to their parent: and from them
Are ye, O Naiads: Arethusa fair,
And tuneful Aganippe; that sweet name,
Bandusia; that soft family which dwelt
With Syrian Daphne; and the honor'd tribes
Belov'd of Preon. Listen to my strain,
Daughters of Tethys: listen to your praise.

Argument.

You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, which of old Aurora to divine Astræus bore, Owns; and your aid beseecheth. When the might Of Hyperion, from his noontide throne The nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you are addressed at day-break, in honor of their They ask: Favonius and the mild South-west several functions, and of the relations which they From you relief implore. Your sallying streams bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their Fresh vigor to their weary wings impart. origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, Again they fly, disporting; from the mead or powers of Nature; according to the doctrine of Half-ripen'd and the tender blades of corn, the old mythological poets, concerning the gene- To sweep the noxious mildew; or dispel ration of the gods and the rise of things. They Contagious steams, which oft the parched Earth are then successively considered, as giving motion Breathes on her fainting sons. From noon to eve to the air and exciting summer-breezes; as nour- Along the river and the paved brook, ishing and beautifying the vegetable creation; as Ascend the cheerful breezes: hail'd of bards contributing to the fullness of navigable rivers, Who, fast by learned Cam, the Eolian lyre and consequently to the maintenance of com- Solicit; nor unwelcome to the youth merce; and, by that means, to the maritime part Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclin'd of military power. Next is represented their O'er rushing Anio, with a pious hand favorable influence upon health, when assisted by The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes, rural exercise which introduces their connexion Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp with the art of physic, and the happy effects of Of ancient Time; and haply, while he scans mineral medicinal springs. Lastly, they are cele- The ruins, with a silent tear revolves brated for the friendship which the Muses bear The fame and fortune of imperious Rome. them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can receive: in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets.

You too O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid
The rural powers confess; and still prepare
For you their choicest treasures. Pan commande
Oft as the Delian king with Sirius holds
The central heavens, the father of the grove
Commands his Dryads over your abodes

O'ER yonder eastern hill the twilight pale
Walks forth from darkness; and the god of day,
With bright Astræa seated by his side,
Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs,
Ye Nymphs ye blue-ey'd progeny of Thames,
Who now the mazes of this rugged heath
Trace with your fleeting steps; who all night long Pursues your steps, delighted; and the path
Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air,
Your lonely murmurs, tarry: and receive
My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due,

I leave the gates of Sleep; nor shall my lyre
Too far into the splendid hours of morn
Engage your audience: my observant hand
Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam
Approach you. To your subterranean haunts
Ye then may timely steal; to pace with care
The humid sands; to loosen from the soil
The bubbling sources; to direct the rills
To meet in wider channels; or beneath
Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon
To slumber, shelter'd from the burning heaven.

With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts
The laughing Chloris, with profusest hand,
Throws wide her blooms, her odors. Still with you
Pomona seeks to dwell: and o'er the lawns,
And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thame
Ye love to wander, Amalthea pours
Well-pleas'd the wealth of that Ammonian horn,
Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant isles
Nysæan or Atlantic. Nor canst thou,
(Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock
The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn,
O Bromius, O Lenæan) nor canst thou
Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid,
With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me,
Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyrc
Accept the rites your bounty well may claim,
Nor heed the scoffings of the Edonian band.
For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire
As down the verdant slope your duteous rills
Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives,
Delighted; and your piety applauds;
And bids his copious tide roll on secure,

Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs? or end?
Wide is your praise and copious-First of things,
First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose,
Were Love and Chaos. Love the sire of Fate;
Elder than Chaos. Born of Fate was Time,
Who many sons and many comely births
Devour'd, relentless father till the child
Of Rhea drove him from the upper sky

And quell'd his deadly might. Then social reign'd For faithful are his daughters; and with words

To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god
Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied
Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime.
Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray.

Auspicious gratulates the bark which, now
His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings
Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts
Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn,
When Hermes, from Olympus bent o'er Earth
To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill
Stoops lightly-sailing; oft intent your springs
He views and waving o'er some new-born stream
His blest pacific wand, " And yet," he cries,
"Yet," cries the son of Maia, "though recluse
And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs,
Flows wealth and kind society to men.

By you, my function and my honor'd name
Do I possess; while o'er the Boetic vale,

Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms
By sacred Ganges water'd, I conduct
The English merchant: with the buxom fleece
Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe
Sarmatian kings; or to the household gods
Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore,
Dispense the mineral treasure which of old
Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land
Was yet unconscious of those generous arts
Which wise Phoenicia from their native clime
Transplanted to a more indulgent Heaven."

Such are the words of Hermes: such the praise,
O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits
Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power:
And those who, sedulous in prudent works,
Relieve the wants of nature, Jove repays
With noble wealth, and his own seat on Earth,
Fit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might
Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns
Not vainly to the hospitable arts

Of Hermes yield their store. For, O ye Nymphs,
Hath he not won the unconquerable queen,
Of arms to court your friendship? You she owns
The fair associates who extend her sway
Wide o'er the mighty deep; and grateful things
Of you she uttereth, oft as from the shore
Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green barks
Of Vecta, she her thundering navy leads
To Calpe's foaming channel, or the rough
Cantabrian surge; her auspices divine
Imparting to the senate and the prince
Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings,
The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings
Was ever scorn'd by Pallas: and of old
Rejoic'd the virgin, from the brazen prow
Of Athens o'er Ægina's gloomy surge,
To drive her clouds and storms; o'erwhelming all
The Persian's promis'd glory, when the realms
Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime,
When Libya's torrid champain and the rocks
Of cold Imaus join'd their servile bands,
To sweep the sons of Liberty from Earth.
In vain: Minerva on the bounding prow
Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice
Denounc'd her terrors on their impious heads,
And shook her burning ægis. Xerxes saw:
From Heracléum, on the mountain's height
Thron'd in his golden car, he knew the sign
Celestial; felt unrighteous hope forsake
His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with shame.
Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power;
Who arm the hand of Liberty for war;
And give to the renown'd Britannic name
To awe contending monarchs: yet benign,
Yet mild of nature; to the works of peace
More prone, and lenient of the many ills

Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid
Hygeia well can witness; she who saves
From poisonous cates and cups of pleasing bane
The wretch devoted to the entangling snares
Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him she leads
To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils.
To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn

At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds,
She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams:
And where his breast may drink the mountain breeze
And where the fervor of the sunny vale
May beat upon his brow, through devious paths
Beckons his rapid courser. Nor when ease,
Cool ease and welcome slumbers have becalm'd
His eager tosom, does the queen of health
Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board
She guards, presiding; and the frugal powers
With joy sedate leads in: and while the brown
Ennæan dame with Pan presents her stores;
While changing still, and comely in the change,
Vertumnus and the Hours before him spread
The garden's banquet; you to crown his feast,
To crown his feast, O Naiads, you the fair
Hygeia calls: and from your shelving seats,
And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring,
To slake his veins: till soon a purer tide
Flows down those loaded channels; washeth off
The dregs of luxury, the lurking seeds

Of crude disease; and through the abodes of life
Sends vigor, sends repose. Hail, Naiads: hail,
Who give, to labor, health; to stooping age,
The joys which youth had squander'd. Oft your

urns

Will I invoke; and, frequent in your praise,
Abash the frantic Thyrsus with my song.

For not estrang'd from your benignant arts
Is he, the god, to whose mysterious shrine
My youth was sacred, and my votive cares
Belong; the learn'd Pæon. Oft, when all
His cordial treasures he hath search'd in vain ;
When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm
Rich with the genial influence of the Sun,
(To rouse dark Fancy from her plaintive dreams,
To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win
Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast
Which pines with silent passion,) he in vain
Hath prov'd; to your deep mansions he descends,
Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades,
He entereth; where empurpled veins of ore
Gleam on the roof; where through the rigid mine
Your trickling rills insinuate. There the god
From your indulgent hands the streaming bowl
Wafts to his pale-ey'd suppliants; wafts the seeds
Metallic, and the elemental salts
[soon
Wash'd from the pregnant glebe. They drink: and
Flies pain; flies inauspicious care: and soon
The social haunt or unfrequented shade
Hears Io, lo Pæan; as of old,

When Python fell. And, Oh propitious Nymphs,
Oft as for helpless mortals I implore
Your salutary springs, through every urn
Oh shed your healing treasures. With the first
And finest breath, which from the genial strife
Of mineral fermentation springs like light
O'er the fresh morning's vapors, lustrate then
The fountain, and inform the rising wave.

My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not yo That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes Not unregarded of celestial powers,

I frame their language; and the Muses deign
To guide the pious tenor of my lay.
The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine)
In early days did to my wondering sense
Their secrets oft reveal: oft my rais'd ear
In slumber felt their music: oft at noon,
Or hour of sun-set, by some lonely stream,
In field or shady grove, they taught me words
Of power, from death and envy to preserve
The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful
mind,

And offerings unprofan'd by ruder eye,
My vows I send, my homage, to the seats
Of rocky Cirrha, where with you they dwell:
Where you their chaste companions they admit
Through all the hallow'd scene: where oft intent,
And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge,
They mark the cadence of your confluent urns,
How tuneful, yielding gratefullest repose
To their consorted measure: till again,
With emulation all the sounding choir,
And bright Apollo, leader of the song,
Their voices through the liquid air exalt,
And sweep their lofty strings: those powerful strings
That charm the mind of gods: that fill the courts
Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet
Of evils, with immortal rest from cares:
Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove;
And quench the formidable thunderbolt
Of unrelenting fire. With slacken'd wings,
While now the solemn concert breathes around,
Incumbent o'er the sceptre of his lord
Sleeps the stern eagle; by the number'd notes,
Possess'd; and satiate with the melting tone:
Sovereign of birds. The furious god of war,
His darts forgetting, and the winged wheels
That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plain,
Relents, and soothes his own fierce heart to ease,
Most welcome ease. The sire of gods and men,
In that great moment of divine delight,
Looks down on all that live; and whatsoe'er
He loves not, o'er the peopled earth, and o'er
The interminated ocean, he beholds
Curs'd with abhorrence by his doom severe,
And troubled at the sound. Ye Naiads, ye
With ravish'd ears the melody attend,
Worthy of sacred silence. But the slaves
Of Bacchus with tempestuous clamors strive
To drown the heavenly strains; of highest Jove
Irreverent, and by mad presumption fir'd
Their own discordant raptures to advance
With hostile emulation. Down they rush
From Nysa's vine-empurpled cliff, the dames
Of Thrace, the Satyrs, and the unruly Fauns,
With old Silenus, reeling through the crowd
Which gambols round him, in convulsions wild
Tossing their limbs, and brandishing in air
The ivy-mantled thyrsus, or the torch.
Through black smoke flaming, to the Phrygian pipe's
Shrill voice, and to the clashing cymbals, mix'd
With shrieks and frantic uproar. May the gods
From every unpolluted ear avert

Their orgies! If within the seats of men,
Within the walls, the gates, where Pallas holds
The guardian key, if haply there be found
Who loves to mingle with the revel-bar.d
And hearken to their accents; who aspires
From such instructors to inform his breast

With verse; let him, fit votarist, implore
Their inspiration. He perchance the gifts
Of young Lyæus, and the dread exploits,
May sing in aptest numbers: he the fate
Of sober Pentheus, he the Paphian rites,
And naked Mars with Cytherea chain'd,
And strong Alcides in the spinster's robes,
May celebrate, applauded. But with you,
O Naiads, far from that unhallow'd rout,
Must dwell the man whoe'er to praised themes
Invokes the immortal Muse. The immortal Muse
To your calm habitations, to the cave
Corycian, or the Delphic mount, will guide
His footsteps; and with your unsullied streamS
His lips will bathe: whether the eternal lore
Of Themis, or the majesty of Jove,

To mortals he reveal; or teach his lyre
The unenvied guerdon of the patriot's toils,
In those unfading islands of the bless'd,
Where sacred bards abide. Hail, honor'd Nymphs
Thrice hail. For you the Cyrenaïc shell
Behold, I touch, revering. To my songs
Be present ye with favorable feet,
And all profaner audience far remove.

ODE

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND BENJAMIN, LORD
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER.

I.

FOR toils which patriots havc endur'd
For treason quell'd and laws recur d,
In every nation Time displays
The palm of honorable praise.
Envy may rail; and Faction fierce
May strive; but what; alas! can those
(Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes)
To gratitude and love oppose,
To faithful story and persuasive verse!

O nurse of Freedom, Albion, say,
Thou tamer of despotic sway,
What man, among thy sons around,
Thus heir to glory hast thou found?
What page in all thy annals bright,
Hast thou with purer joy survey'd
Than that where Truth, by Hoadly's aid,
Shines through Imposture's solemn shade,
Through kingly and through sacerdotal night?

To him the Teacher bless'd,
Who sent Religion, from the palmy field
By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west,
And lifted up the veil which Heaven from Earth

conceal'd,

To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd:
"Go thou, and rescue my dishonor'd law
From hands rapacious, and from tongues impure
Let not my peaceful name be made a lure
Fell Persecution's mortal snares to aid:
Let not my words be impious chains to draw
The free-born soul in more than brutal awe.
To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid "

II.

No cold or unperforming hand

Was arm'd by Heaven with this command.
The world soon felt it: and, on high,
To William's ear with welcome joy
Did Locke among the blest unfold
The rising hope of Hoadly's name,
Godolphin then confirm'd the fame;
And Somers, when from Earth he came,
And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told.

Then drew the lawgivers around,
(Sires of the Grecian name renown'd,)
And listening ask'd, and wondering knew,
What private force could thus subdue
The vulgar and the great combin'd;
Could war with sacred Folly wage;
Could a whole nation disengage
From the dread bonds of many an age,
And to new habits mould the public mind.

For not a conqueror's sword,
Nor the strong powers to civil founders known,
Were his but truth by faithful search explor'd,
And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown
Wherever it took root, the soul (restor'd
To freedom) freedom too for others sought.
Not monkish craft, the tyrant's claim divine,
Not regal zeal, the bigot's cruel shrine,
Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage;
Not the wild rabble to sedition wrought,
Nor synods by the papal genius taught,
Nor St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage.

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While thus our vows prolong

Thy steps on Earth, and when by us resign d
Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng
Who rescued or preserv'd the rights of human kind
O! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue
Thee still, her friend and benefactor, name:
O! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes,
May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize,
Make public virtue, public freedom, vile;
Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim
That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame,
Which thou hast kept entire from force and factious

guile.

WILLIAM COLLINS.

WILLIAM COLLINS was born at Chichester, | tended translation of Aristotle's Poetics, which, December 25, 1721. He was educated at Win- however, he never accomplished, and originated chester College and at Oxford, where in 1741 numerous other literary projects. He visited he was elected to Magdalen College as a demy. an uncle, Lieutenant-Colonel Martin, who was There he wrote his "Oriental Eclogues " and then with the army in Germany, and who, dying an Epistle to Sir Thomas Hanmer," which soon after, left him a legacy of £2,000. were published anonymously in a small volume in 1742. They met with no great success, but Collins was determined to follow literature as a profession, and in 1744 he went to London as an adventurer.

66

If Collins had been indolent in poverty, he was absolutely incapable of any exertion when thus raised to comparative affluence. But his melancholy and depression of spirits were not lessened at all by his improved circumstances. He published separate poems from time to He travelled in France and elsewhere, but found time, and lived an irregular, indolent sort of life, no relief. He resorted to drink, and before long which very soon had its natural effect in check- it was necessary to confine him in a lunatic ing his ambition and diminishing his chances asylum, at Islington. Dr. Johnson visited him of success. In 1746 he published a volume there, and found him apparently sane. Collins entitled " Odes, Descriptive and Allegorical." was reading the New Testament. "I have but That kind of poetry has always been the slow- one book," said he, "but it is the best." He est in making its way to public favor, and was finally removed to Chichester, and conthough Collins's odes, at the time of their pub-signed to the care of his sister until his death, lication, were by far the best in the language, which took place on June 12, 1756. they attracted so little notice that the sale did not pay the cost of printing. Collins was thoroughly disheartened. He returned his copymoney, burned all the unsold copies of the book, and, as soon as he could raise the means, indemnified the publisher for his loss. He next obtained a small advance for an in

ODE TO PITY.

O THOU, the friend of man assign'd,
With balmy hands his wounds to bind,
And charm his frantic woe:
When first Distress, with dagger keen,
Broke forth to waste his destin'd scene,
His wild unsated foe!

By Pella's bard, a magic name,
By all the griefs his thought could frame,
Receive my humble rite:
Long Pity, let the nations view

Thy sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,
And eyes of dewy light!

Collins's odes, which are scarcely matched by anything in the language, have gradually won a place among English classics. His peculiar mastery of personification exhibits at once some of the most powerful and most delicate touches, and shows that he might have been (as perhaps he is) the first of our purely lyric poets.

But wherefore need I wander wide
To old Ilissus' distant side,

Deserted stream, and mute?

Wild Arun* too has heard thy strains,
And Echo, 'midst my native plains,
Been sooth'd by Pity's lute.

There first the wren thy myrtles shed
On gentlest Otway's infant head,

To him thy cell was shown;
And while he sung the female heart,
With youth s soft notes unspoil'd by art,
Thy turtles mix'd their own.

A river in Sussex.

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