  Far in the depth of Ida's inmost grove, A scene for love and solitude design'd, Where flowery woodbines wild by Nature wove Form'd the lone bower, the Royal Swain reclin'd. All up the craggy cliffs, that tower'd to heaven, Green wav'd the murmuring pines on every side; Save where, fair opening to the beam of even, A dale slop'd gradual to the valley wide. Echoed the vale with many a cheerful note; The lowing of the herds resounding long. The shrilling pipe, and mellow horn remote, And social clamours of the festive throng. For now, low hovering o'er the western main, Where amber clouds begirt his dazzling throne, The sun with ruddier verdure deck'd the plain, And lakes, and streams, and spires triumphal shone. And many a band of ardent youths were seen; Some into rapture fir'd by glory's charms, Or hurl'd the thundering car along the green, Or march'd embattled on in glittering arms. Others more mild, in happy leisure gay, The darkening forest's lonely gloom explore, Or by Scamander's flowery margin stray, Or the blue Hellespont's resounding shore. But chief the eye to Ilion's glories turn'd That gleam'd along th' extended champaign far, And bulwarks, in terrific pomp adorn'd, Where Peace sat smiling at the frowns of War. Rich in the spoils of many a subject-clime, In pride luxurious blaz'd th' imperial dome; Tower'd mid th' encircling grove the fane sublime, And dread memorials mark'd the hero's tomb, Who from the black and bloody cavern led The savage stern, and sooth'd his boisterous breast; Who spoke, and Science rear'd her radiant head, And brighten'd o'er the long benighted waste; Or, greatly daring in his country's cause, Whose heaven-taught soul the awful plan design'd, Whence Power stood trembling at the voice of laws, Whence soar'd on Freedom's wing th' ethereal mind. But not the pomp that royalty displays, Nor all the imperial pride of lofty Troy, Nor Virtue's triumph of immortal praise, Could rouse the languor of the lingering boy. Abandon'd all to soft Enone's charms, He to oblivion doom'd the listless day; Inglorious lull'd in Love's dissolving arms, While flutes lascivious breath'd th' enfeebling lay. To trim the ringlets of his scented hair, To aim, insidious, Love's bewitching glance, Or cull fresh garlands for the gaudy fair, Or wanton loose in the voluptuous dance; These were his arts; these won Enone's love, Nor sought his fetter'd soul a nobler aim. Ah, why should beauty's smile those arts approve, Which taint with infamy the lover's flame? Now laid at large beside a murmuring spring, Melting he listen'd to the vernal song, And Echo listening wav'd her airy wing, While the deep winding dales the lays prolong. When slowly floating down the azure skies A crimson cloud flash'd on his startled sight; Whose skirts gay-sparkling with unnumber'd dyes Launch'd the long billowy trails of flickering light. That instant, hush'd was all the vocal grove, Hush'd was the gale, and every ruder sound, And strains aËrial, warbling far above, Rung in the ear a magic peal profound. Near, and more near, the swimming radiance roll'd; Along the mountains stream the lingering fires, Sublime the groves of Ida blaze with gold, And all the heaven resounds with louder lyres. The trumpet breath'd a note: and all in air The glories vanish'd from the dazzled eye; And three ethereal forms, divinely fair, Down the steep glade were seen advancing nigh. The flowering glade fell level where they mov'd, O'erarching high the clustering roses hung, And gales from heaven on balmy pinion rov'd, And hill and dale with gratulation rung. The first with slow and stately step drew near, Fix'd was her lofty eye, erect her mien: Sublime in grace, in majesty severe, She look'd and mov'd a goddess and a queen. Her robe along the gale profusely stream'd, Light lean'd the sceptre on her bending arm; And round her brow a starry circlet gleam'd, Heightening the pride of each commanding charm. Milder the next came on with artless grace, And on a javelin's quivering length reclin'd: T' exalt her mien she bade no splendour blaze, Nor pomp of vesture fluctuate on the wind. Serene, though awful, on her brow the light Of heavenly wisdom shone; nor rov'd her eyes, Save to the shadowy cliff's majestic height, Or the blue concave of th' involving skies. Keen were her eyes to search the inmost soul; Yet Virtue triumph'd in their beams benign, And impious Pride oft felt their dread control, When in fierce lightning flash'd the wrath divine. With awe and wonder gaz'd th' adoring swain; His kindling cheek great Virtue's power confess'd; But soon 'twas o'er; for Virtue prompts in vain, Where Pleasure's influence numbs the nerveless breast. And now advanc'd the queen of melting joy, Smiling supreme in unresisted charms. Ah, then, annoy, No flattering hope thy longing hours beguile. "Ah! why should man pursue the charms of Fame, For ever luring, yet forever coy? Light as the gaudy rainbow's pillar'd gleam, That melts illusive from the wondering boy! "What though her throne irradiate many a clime, If hung loose-tottering o'er th' unfathom'd tomb? What though her mighty clarion, rear'd sublime, Display the imperial wreath and glittering plume? "Can glittering plume, or can the imperial wreath Redeem from unrelenting fate the brave? What note of triumph can her clarion breathe, T' alarm th' eternal midnight of the grave? "That night draws on: nor will the vacant hour Of expectation linger as it flies; Nor Fate one moment unenjoy'd restore: Each moment's flight how precious to the wise! "O shun th' annoyance of the bustling throng, That haunt with zealous turbulence the great; Their coward Office boasts th' unpunish'd wrong, And sneaks secure in insolence of state. "O'er fancy'd injury Suspicion pines, And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound; Deceit the rage-embitter'd smile refines, And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around. "Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard thy throne, Though Truth and Bounty prompt each generous aim, Though thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown, The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame: "Hope not, though all that captivates the wise, All that endears the good exalt thy praise; Hope not to taste repose; for Envy's eyes At fairest worth still point their deadly rays. "Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart, Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm? Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart, Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm? "Ah no. Where Winter Scythia's waste enchains, And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm, Not Phoebus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains, Or soil accurs'd with balmy life inform. "Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour, When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme; When Insult mocks the clemency of Power, And loud Dissension's livid firebrands gleam; "When squint-ey'd Slander plies th' unhallow'd tongue, From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line, And Muse apostate (infamy to song!) Grovels, low-muttering, at Sedition's shrine. "Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade, The whispering grove, the fountain, and the plain: Power, with th' oppressive weight of pomp array'd, Pants for simplicity and ease in vain. "The yell of frantic Mirth may stun his ear, But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart forlorn; And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous sphere; Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn. "She loves to wander on th' untrodden lawn, Or the green bosom of reclining hill, Sooth'd by the careless warbler of the dawn, Or the lone plaint of ever-murmuring rill. "Or from the mountain-glade's aËrial brow, While to her song a thousand echoes call, Marks the wild woodland wave remote below, Where shepherds pipe unseen, and waters fall. "Her influence oft the festive hamlet proves, Where the high carol cheers th' exulting ring; And oft she roams the maze of wildering groves, Listening th' unnumber'd melodies of spring. "Or to the long and lonely shore retires; What time, loose-glimmering to the lunar beam, Faint heaves the slumberous wave, and starry fires Gild the blue deep with many a lengthening gleam. "Then, to the balmy bower of Rapture borne, While strings self-warbling breathe Elysian rest, Melts in delicious vision, till the morn Spangle with twinkling dew the flowery waste. "The frolic Moments, purple-pinion'd, dance Around, and scatter roses as they play: And the blithe Graces, hand in hand, advance, Where, with her lov'd compeers, she deigns to stray; "Mild Solitude, in veil of russet dye, Her sylvan spear with moss-grown ivy bound; And Indolence, with sweetly-languid eye, And zoneless robe that trails along the ground; "But chiefly Love—O thou, whose gentle mind Each soft indulgence Nature fram'd to share; Pomp, wealth, renown, dominion, all resign'd, O haste to Pleasure's bower, for Love is there! "Love, the desire of gods! the feast of Heaven: Yet to Earth's favour'd offspring not denied! Ah, let not thankless man the blessing given Enslave to Fame, or sacrifice to Pride! "Nor I from Virtue's call decoy thine ear; Friendly to Pleasure are her sacred laws. Let Temperance' smile the cup of gladness cheer; That cup is death, if he withhold applause. "Far from thy haunt be Envy's baneful sway, And Hate, that works the harass'd soul to storm: But woo Content to breathe her soothing lay, And charm from Fancy's view each angry form. "No savage joy th' harmonious hours profane! Whom Love refines, can barbarous tumult please? Shall rage of blood pollute the sylvan reign? Shall Leisure wanton in the spoils of Peace? "Free let the feathery race indulge the song, Inhale the liberal beam, and melt in love; Free let the fleet hind bound her hills a |
|
