Next anger rushed; his eyes on fire, 25 With woful measures wan despair 30 Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled; But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 35 She called on echo still, through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 40 A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung;-but, with a frown, He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, down; And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, 45 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And, ever and anon, he beat 50 The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. 55 Thy numbers, jealousy, to naught were fixed; Of differing themes the veering song was And now it courted love, now raving called on With eyes upraised, as one inspired, And, from her wild sequestered seat, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 65 Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But O! how altered was its sprightlier tone, 70 When cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known! 75 The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown exercise rejoiced to hear; And sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 80 Last came joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 85 They would have thought who heard the strain They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, 90 To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic round: Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, 95 O music! sphere-descended maid, Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! ODE WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR 1746 How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By fairy hands their knell is rung; DIRGE IN CYMBELINE SUNG BY GUIDERUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD (First published in The Gentleman's Magazine, for October, 1749) To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring. 5 No wailing ghost shall dare appear 10 No withered witch shall here be seen; And dress thy grave with pearly dew! The redbreast oft, at evening hours, 20 When howling winds and beating rain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell; Each lonely scene shall thee restore; Thomas Gray 1716-1771 ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON 10 COLLEGE (1747) Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 5 And ye, that from the stately brow Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, His silver-winding way; |