The Poetical Works of William Collins; With a Memoir - LightNovelsOnl.com
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And, last, this lofty mountain's weary side! 20
AGIB.
Weak as thou art, yet, hapless, must thou know The toils of flight, or some severer woe!
Still, as I haste, the Tartar shouts behind, And shrieks and sorrows load the saddening wind: In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand, 25 He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land.
Yon citron grove, whence first in fear we came, Droops its fair honors to the conquering flame: Far fly the swains, like us, in deep despair, And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care. 30
SECANDER.
Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword, In vain, unheard, thou call'st thy Persian lord!
In vain thou court'st him, helpless, to thine aid, To s.h.i.+eld the shepherd, and protect the maid!
Far off, in thoughtless indolence resign'd, 35 Soft dreams of love and pleasure soothe his mind: 'Midst fair sultanas lost in idle joy, No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.
AGIB.
Yet these green hills, in summer's sultry heat, Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat. 40 Sweet to the sight is Zabran's flowery plain, And once by maids and shepherds loved in vain!
No more the virgins shall delight to rove By Sargis' banks, or Irwan's shady grove; On Tarkie's mountain catch the cooling gale, 45 Or breathe the sweets of Aly's flowery vale: Fair scenes! but, ah! no more with peace possest, With ease alluring, and with plenty blest!
No more the shepherds' whitening tents appear, Nor the kind products of a bounteous year; 50 No more the date, with snowy blossoms crown'd!
But ruin spreads her baleful fires around.
SECANDER.
In vain Circa.s.sia boasts her spicy groves, For ever famed for pure and happy loves: In vain she boasts her fairest of the fair, 55 Their eyes' blue languish, and their golden hair!
Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send; Those hairs the Tartar's cruel hand shall rend.
AGIB.
Ye Georgian swains, that piteous learn from far Circa.s.sia's ruin, and the waste of war; 60 Some weightier arms than crooks and staves prepare, To s.h.i.+eld your harvests, and defend your fair: The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue, Fix'd to destroy, and steadfast to undo.
Wild as his land, in native deserts bred, 65 By l.u.s.t incited, or by malice led, The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey, Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way; Yet none so cruel as the Tartar foe, To death inured, and nurst in scenes of woe. 70
He said; when loud along the vale was heard A shriller shriek, and nearer fires appear'd: The affrighted shepherds, through the dews of night, Wide o'er the moonlight hills renew'd their flight.
VARIATIONS.
Ver.
49. No more the shepherds' whitening seats appear,
51. No more the dale, with snowy blossoms crown'd!
END OF THE ECLOGUES.
ODES
ON SEVERAL DESCRIPTIVE AND ALLEGORICAL SUBJECTS.
???? e???s?ep?? a?a?e?s?a?
???sf???? e? ???sa? d?f??: ???a de ?a? af??af?? d??a??
?sp??t?.
???da?. ???p. T.
~Eien heurysiepes anageisthai Prosphoros en Moisan diphro: Tolma de kai amphilaphes dynamis Espoito.~ ~Pindar. Olymp. Th.~
ODES.
ODE TO PITY.
O thou, the friend of man, a.s.sign'd With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe: When first Distress, with dagger keen, Broke forth to waste his destined scene, 5 His wild unsated foe!
By Pella's[13] bard, a magic name, By all the griefs his thought could frame, Receive my humble rite: Long, Pity, let the nations view 10 The sky-worn robes of tenderest blue, And eyes of dewy light!
But wherefore need I wander wide To old Ilissus' distant side, Deserted stream, and mute? 15 Wild Arun[14] too has heard thy strains, And Echo, 'midst my native plains, Been soothed by Pity's lute.
There first the wren thy myrtles shed On gentlest Otway's infant head, 20 To him thy cell was shown; And while he sung the female heart, With youth's soft notes unspoil'd by art, Thy turtles mix'd their own.
Come, Pity, come, by Fancy's aid, 25 E'en now my thoughts, relenting maid, Thy temple's pride design: Its southern site, its truth complete, Shall raise a wild enthusiast heat In all who view the shrine. 30
There Picture's toils shall well relate How chance, or hard involving fate, O'er mortal bliss prevail: The buskin'd Muse shall near her stand, And sighing prompt her tender hand, 35 With each disastrous tale.
There let me oft, retired by day, In dreams of pa.s.sion melt away, Allow'd with thee to dwell: There waste the mournful lamp of night, 40 Till, Virgin, thou again delight To hear a British sh.e.l.l!
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Euripides, of whom Aristotle p.r.o.nounces, on a comparison of him with Sophocles, that he was the greater master of the tender pa.s.sions, ?? t?a????te??? ~en tragikoteros~. C.
[14] The river Arun runs by the village of Trotton in Suss.e.x, where Otway had his birth.
ODE TO FEAR.
Thou, to whom the world unknown, With all its shadowy shapes, is shown; Who seest, appall'd, the unreal scene, While Fancy lifts the veil between: Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear! 5 I see, I see thee near.
I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!
Like thee I start; like thee disorder'd fly.
