Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day; Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah! shew them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murd'rous band! Ah! tell them they are men. These shall the fury passions tear, And Shame, that skulks behind; That inly gnaws the secret heart! Ambition this shall tempt to rise, And grinning Infamy : The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defil'd, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo! in the vale of years beneath, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins, Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, To each his suff'rings; all are men The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, And Happiness too swiftly flies? ODE. To Adversity. DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The proud are taught to taste of pain! With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone. When first thy sire to send on earth With patience many a year she bore; What sorrow was thou bad'st her know, And, from her own, she learnt to melt at others' woe. Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly With Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse; and with them go The summer friend, the flatt'ring foe; By vain Prosperity receiv'd, To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd. Wisdom, in simple garb array'd, Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound, With leaden eye, that loves the ground And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess! lay thy chast'ning hand, Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with thy vengeful band: (As by the impious thou art seen) With thund'ring voice and threat'ning mien, Thy form benign, O Goddess! wear, To soften, not to wound my heart: Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a man. 'R ODE. The Bard. Pindaric. I. 1. OUIN seize thee, ruthless King! Tho' fann'd by conquest's crimson wing, Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant! shall avail Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride I. 2. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,, (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) 'Hark how each giant oak and desert cave I. 3. Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main ; Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: Mountains! ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head. On drear, Arvon's shore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale; Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail, No more I weep. They do not sleep; I see them sit; they linger yet, Avengers of their native land; With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line." II. 1. "Weave the warp and weave the woof, Mark the year, and mark the night When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roofs that ring, She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd, II. 2. Mighty victor, mighty lord, Low on his fun'ral couch he lies! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies! Is the sable warrior fled? Thy son is gone; he rests among the dead. The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born, Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, Youth on the prow and pleasure at the helm, |