Poems by Samuel Rogers - LightNovelsOnl.com
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NOTE n.
_Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art_.
At the pet.i.ts soupes of Choisy were first introduced those admirable pieces of mechanism, afterwards carried to perfection by Loriot, the Confidente and the Servante; a table and a side-board, which descended, and rose again covered with viands and wines. And thus the most luxurious Court in Europe, after all its boasted refinements, was glad to return at last, by this singular contrivance, to the quiet and privacy of humble life.
Vie privee de Louis XV. tom. ii. p. 43.
NOTE o.
_So thro' the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide_,
An allusion to the floating bee-house, or barge laden with bee-hives, which is seen in some parts of France and Piedmont.
NOTE p.
_And, with the swallow, wings the year away!_
It was the boast of Lucullus that he changed his climate with the birds of pa.s.sage. PLUT. in Vit. Lucull.
How often must he have felt the truth here inculcated, that the master of many houses has no home!
ODE TO SUPERSt.i.tION. [Footnote 1]
I. 1.
Hence, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence!
Thy chain of adamant can bind That little world, the human mind, And sink its n.o.blest powers to impotence.
Wake the lion's loudest roar, Clot his s.h.a.ggy mane with gore, With flas.h.i.+ng fury bid his eye-b.a.l.l.s s.h.i.+ne; Meek is his savage, sullen soul, to thine!
Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steel'd the breast, [Footnote 2]
Whence, thro' her April-shower, soft Pity smil'd; Has clos'd the heart each G.o.dlike virtue bless'd, To all the silent pleadings of his child.
At thy command he plants the dagger deep, At thy command exults, tho' Nature bids him weep!
I. 2.
When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth, [Footnote 3]
Thou dartedst thy huge head from high, Night wav'd her banners o'er the sky, And, brooding, gave her shapeless shadows birth.
Rocking on the billowy air, Ha! what withering phantoms glare!
As blows the blast with many a sudden swell, At each dead pause, what shrill-ton'd voices yell!
The sheeted spectre, rising from the tomb, Points at the murderer's stab, and shudders by; In every grove is felt a heavier gloom, That veils its genius from the vulgar eye: The spirit of the water rides the storm, And, thro' the mist, reveals the terrors of his form.
I. 3.
O'er solid seas, where Winter reigns, And holds each mountain-wave in chains, The fur-clad savage, ere he guides his deer [Footnote 4]
By glistering star-light thro' the snow, Breathes softly in her wondering ear Each potent spell thou bad'st him know.
By thee inspir'd, on India's sands, [Footnote 5]
Full in the sun the Bramin stands; And, while the panting tigress hies To quench her fever in the stream, His spirit laughs in agonies, [Footnote 6]
Smit by the scorchings of the noontide beam.
Mark who mounts the sacred pyre, Blooming in her bridal vest: She hurls the torch! she fans the fire!
To die is to be blest: [Footnote 7]
She clasps her lord to part no more, And, sighing, sinks! but sinks to soar.
O'ershadowing Scotia's desert coast, The Sisters sail in dusky state, [Footnote 8]
And, wrapt in clouds, in tempests tost, Weave the airy web of fate; While the lone shepherd, near the s.h.i.+pless main, [Footnote 9]
Sees o'er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral train,
II. 1.
Thou spak'st, and lo! a new creation glow'd.
Each unhewn ma.s.s of living stone Was clad in horrors not its own, And at its base the trembling nations bow'd.
Giant Error, darkly grand, Grasp'd the globe with iron hand.
Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light Saw prostrate worlds adore his golden height.
The statue, waking with immortal powers, [Footnote 10]
Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the spheres; The indignant pyramid sublimely towers, And braves the efforts of a host of years.
Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; And bright-ey'd Painting stamps the image of the mind.
II. 2.
Round their rude ark old Egypt's sorcerers rise!
A timbrell'd anthem swells the gale, And bids the G.o.d of Thunders hail; [Footnote 11]
With lowings loud the captive G.o.d replies.
Clouds of incense woo thy smile, Scaly monarch of the Nile! [Footnote 12]
But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee? [Footnote 13]
Go, count the busy drops that swell the sea.
Proud land! what eye can trace thy mystic lore, Lock'd up in characters as dark as night? [Footnote 14]
What eye those long, long labyrinths dare explore, [Footnote 15]
To which the parted soul oft wings her flight; Again to visit her cold cell of clay, Charm'd with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay?
II. 3.
On yon h.o.a.r summit, mildly bright [Footnote 16]
With purple ether's liquid light, High o'er the world, the white-rob'd Magi gaze On dazzling bursts of heavenly fire; Start at each blue, portentous blaze, Each flame that flits with adverse spire.
But say, what sounds my ear invade [Footnote 17]
From Delphi's venerable shade?
The temple rocks, the laurel waves!
"The G.o.d! the G.o.d!" the Sybil cries.
Her figure swells! she foams, she raves!
Her figure swells to more than mortal size!
Streams of rapture roll along, Silver notes ascend the skies: Wake, Echo, wake and catch the song, Oh catch it, ere it dies!
The Sybil speaks, the dream is o'er, The holy harpings charm no more.
In vain she checks the G.o.d's controul; His madding spirit fills her frame, And moulds the features of her soul, Breathing a prophetic flame.
The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose!
And, In the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows.
III. 1.
Mona, thy Druid-rites awake the dead!
Rites thy brown oaks would never dare Ev'n whisper to the idle air; Rites that have chain'd old Ocean on his bed.
