ODE XLVII.

То

SUPERSTITION.

BY JOSEPH WARTON, D. D.

HENCE to some convent's gloomy isles, Where cheerful day-light never smiles, Tyrant, from Albion haste to slavish Rome; There by dim taper's livid light,

At the still solemn hours of night,

In pensive musings walk o'er many a sounding tomb.

Thy clanking chains, thy crimson steel,
Thy venom'd darts, and barbarous wheel,
Malignant fiend, bear from this isle away,
Nor dare in Error's fetters bind

One active, freeborn, British mind,
That strongly strives to spring indignant from thy sway.

Thou bad'st grim Moloch's frowning priest, Snatch screaming infants from the breast, Regardless of the frantic mother's woes:

Thou led'st the ruthless sons of Spain

To wondering India's golden plain,

From deluges of blood where tenfold harvests rose.

But lo how swiftly art thou fled,

When Reason lifts his radiant head; When his resounding, awful voice they hear, Blind Ignorance, thy doating sire,

Thy daughter, trembling Fear, retire; And all thy ghastly train of terrors disappear.

So by the Magi hail'd from far,

When Phoebus mounts his early car, The shrieking ghosts to their dark charnels flock; The full-gorg'd wolves retreat, no more

The prowling lionesses roar,

But hasten with their prey to some deep cavern'd rock.

Hail then, ye friends of Reason hail,

Ye foes to Mystery's odious veil,

To Truth's high temple guide my steps aright,
Where Clarke and Wollaston reside,

With Locke and Newton by their side,

While Plato sits above enthron'd in endless light.

ODE XLVIII.

ΤΟ

TASTE.

BY MR. H.

SAY, Goddess, wilt thou never smile
Indulgent on Britannia's isle!
Hither thy gentle footsteps bend,
On Albion's sea-girt cliffs descend;
O come, and with thy genial ray
Chase every gloomy cloud away:
No more shall Ignorance preside,
Or Gothic Rage in triumph ride.
Let Judgment, thy unshaken friend,
With polish'd elegance attend:
Simplicity, meek rural queen,

With downcast looks and modest mien,

In loosely-flowing neat attire,

Shall charm thee with her rustic lyre.

To that in her enchanting court
The frolic Graces ever sport,

And guarded by their watchful aid,

The finer Arts shall never fade.

Blest power! whose charms alone dispense
A keener rapture to each sense :
If Melody enchant my breast,
Or sooth my soften'd soul to rest,
By thee may every strain be crown'd,
May'st thou still harmonize each sound.
If blooming colours seem to live,
May you fresh life and vigour give;
May you restrain each poet's rage,
Or animate his purer page.

Dost thou his savage wrath appease,
Ev'n Terror's giant form can please;
'Mid shadowy shapes in dead of night
That shoot across my dazzled sight;
'Mid spectres of enormous size,

'Mid ghosts that from their charnels rise,
'Mid shrouded friends who solemn stalk,
And haunt me in my midnight walk;
While wild-winds blust'ring round my head,
Inspire me with poetic dread;

Thro' closing shades, o'er valleys green,

May'st thou still solemnize the scene;

And as the storms innoxious roll,
Pour thy lov'd horrors o'er my soul.

Yet not alone Britannia's shore
Thy fatal absence shall deplore.
See old Achaia's genius mourn,
His bosom bare, his garments torn;

See his generous patriot breast

By all his country's wrongs opprest.
See him with haughty fix'd disdain
Lament his dastard sons in vain!
To fairer happier climes belong
The painter's tints, the poet's song.
Lo! conscious of approaching night,
Where Picture wings her destin'd flight:
Behold dejected Sculpture stand
Prepar'd to leave our desert land.
Yet, Goddess, yet thy secret fire
With wond'ring rapture we admire.
By thee 'mid rugged rocks we find
Each speaking passion of the mind.
With awful horror we behold

Th' immense Alcides' monstrous mould:
While Venus, queen of soft desires,
Each tender, gentler thought inspires.

O Alexander! not alone

The warrior's skill to thee was known;
Fair Science, heaven-descended maid,
Confesses thy propitious aid :

To thee the grateful Arts shall raise
Eternal monuments of praise.
Behold with thee they die away,
To Roman ignorance a prey,
And lo! again in conquering Rome
With all their usual vigour bloom;