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Ode on Lyric Poetry. By Mr. Marriot.


I. 1.
NMATE of smoaking cots, whose rustic shed,

Within its humble bed,
Her twittering progeny contains,

The swallow sweeps the plains,
Or lightly skims from level lakes the dew.

The ringdove ever true
In plaintive accents tells of unrelenting fate,
Far from the raven's croak, and bird of night,

That shrieking wings her flight
When, at his mutter'd rite,
Hid in the dusky desart vale,

With starting eye, and visage pale,
The grimly wizard sees the spectres rise unholy;

But haunts the woods that held her beauteous mate, And wooes the Echo soft with murmurs melancholy.


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Sublime alone the feather'd monarch flies,
His neft dark mists upon the mountains throwd ;

In vain the howling storms arise,
When borne on outstretch'd plume aloft he springs,
Dashing with many a stroke the parting cloud,

Or to the buoyant air commits his wings
Floating with even fail adown the liquid skies;
Then darting upward, swift his wings aspire,

Where thunders keep their gloomy seat,
And lightnings arm'd with heaven's avenging ire.



None can the dread artillery meet,
Or thro' the airy region rove,

But he who guards the throne of Jove,
And grasps the flaming bolt of sacred fire.

I. 3:

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Know, with young Ambition bold,
În vain, my Muse, thy dazled eyes explore

Distant aims, where wont to soar,
Their burning way the kindling spirits hold,

Heights too arduous wisely, shun;

Humbler Aights thy wings attend ;
For heaven-taught Genius can alone afcend

Back to her native sky,

And with directed eagle eye
Pervade the lofty spheres, and view the blazing fun.


But hark! o'er all the flower-enamellid ground

What music breathes around !
I see, I see the virgin train

Unlock their streams again,
Rolling to many a vale their liquid lapse along,

While at the warbled song
Which holds entranc'd Attention's wakeful ear,
Broke are the magic bands of iron sleep.
Love, wayward child, oft wont to weep,

In tears his robe to steep
Forgets; and Care that counts his store,
Now thinks each mighty business o'er;

While sits on ruin'd cities, war's wide-wasting glory,

Ambition, ceasing the proud pile to rear,
And fighs; unfinish'd leaving half her ample story.

II. 2.

Then once more, sweet enthufiaft, happy lyre,
Thy foothing solace deign awhile to bring.

I strive to catch the sacred fire,
And wake thee emulous on Granta's plain,
Where all the Muses haunt his hallow'd spring,

And where the Graces fhun the fordid train
Scornful of heaven-born arts which thee and peace inspire :
On life's fequester'd scenes they silent wait,

Nor heed the baseless pomp of power,
Nor shining dreams that crowd at Fortune's gate;

But smooth th' inevitable hour
Of pain, which man is doom'd to know,

And teach the mortal mind to glow
With pleasures plac'd beyond the shaft of Fate.

II. 3.

But, alas ! th' amusive reed
Ill suits the lyre that afks a master's hand,

And fond fancies vainly feed
A breast that life's more active scenes demand.

Sloth ignoble to disclaim

'Tis enough: the lyre unftring. At other feet the victor palm I fing

In Granta's glorious fhrine; Where crown'd. with radiance divine Her smiles shall nurse the Muse; the Muse shall lift her fame.


ARION, an Ode. By the Same.

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UEEN of each sacred sound, sweet child of air,

Who fitting thron'd upon the vaulted sky,
Doft catch the notes which undulating fly,
Oft wafted up to thy exalted sphere,
On the soft bosom of each rolling cloud,

Charming thy lift'ning ear
With strains that bid the panting lover die
Or laughing mirth, or tender grief inspire,

Or with full chorus loud
Which lift our holy hope, or fan the hero's fire :
Enchanting Harmony, 'tis thine to cheer

The foul by woe which sinks opprest,

From sorrow's eye to wipe the tear,
And on the bleeding wound to pour the balmy reft.

'Twas when the winds were roaring loud,
And Ocean swelld his billows high,

By savage hands condemn'd to die,
Rais’d on the ftem the trembling Lesbian stood;

All pale he heard the tempest blow,
As on the watry grave below

He fix'd his weeping eye.
Ah! hateful luft of impious gold,

What can thy mighty rage with-hold,
Deaf to the inelting powers of Harmony !



But ere the bard unpitied dies,
Again his foothing art he tries,

Again he sweeps the strings,

Slowly fad the notes arise,
While thus in plaintive sounds the sweet musician sings.

From beneath the coral cave

Circled with the filver wave,
Where with wreaths of emerald crownd
Ye lead the festive dance around,
Daughters of Venus, hear, and save.
Ye Tritons, hear, whose blait can swell
With mighty sounds the twisted fhell;
And you, ye fifter Syrens, hear,

Ever beauteous, ever sweet,
Who lull the liftning pilot's ear
With magic song, and softly breath'd deceit.

By all the Gods who subject roll
From gushing urns their tribute to the main,

By him who bids the winds to roar,

By him whose trident shakes the shore, If e'er for you I raise the sacred strain When pious mariners your power adore,

Daughters of Nereus, hear and save.

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IV. ,

He sung, and from the coral cave,
Circled with the silver wave,

With pitying ear
The Nereids hear.


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