Salmagundi (Huddesford, 1791)/Ode 2
ODE II.
Now hath the Sun his evanescent firesQuench'd in the billows of the western main;Cease their soft carols all the feather'd choirs,And gloomy solitude usurps the plain.
Rife, ye deep shades, ye waves in darkness roll,Ye feather'd choirs to silence yield the grove,For Lesbia sleeps:—nor cheers my pensive soulThe glance of rapture, nor the voice of love.
Ye Winds, whose havoc-spreading pinions plyTheir furious speed, and with dire yell invadeThis nether world, whose wasteful tyrannyPale Dryads mourn in many a ruin'd shade;
Wake not my Love:—Let not your thund'ring cryWith dread alarm the haunt of peace infest;Here breathe in soft Æolian melodyEach cadence sweet that charms the soul to rest.
Ye Spectres (whom belated pilgrims fear,Issuing in throngs from charnel, vault, or tomb,What time deep-shadowing clouds thy radiant sphere,Cynthia, involve in night's meridian gloom,)
Hence to deserted fane or mouldering hall,Or the gaunt felon's ruthless course control;With monitory shriek the wretch appal,And to compunction wake his torpid soul.
But walk not near the couch where Lesbia liesLike some rich pearl in its enamell'd shell,Or sainted relic, from profaner eyesSecluded in the dim shrine's silver cell.
Wanton, ye Fairies, round her tranquil bow'r,With blissful elves fantastic measures tread;O'er her soft eyelids dews of opiate pow'r,Cull'd from choice blooms, in show'rs of fragrance shed:
Let your bright tapers' visionary rayThe raven-tinctur'd robe of Night illume;And, streaming o'er your spangled crests, displayThe wave-enamour'd halcyon's emerald plume.
And bid your Minstrel-Fays, a shadowy choir,That charm the planets from their sphere sublime, Celestial songs, that love and joy inspire,Chant to their golden harps'[errata 1] harmonious chime.
And, when morn's purple streaks th' horizon stain,And Fairies fly the peal of Chanticleer,Let Fancy still your glittering hues retain,Still let your wild notes tremble on her ear.—
Then, Lesbia, wake thy beauties, fresher farThan Galatea boasted when she lav'dIn the smooth Deep her coral-axled car,And the stern heart of Neptune's son enslav'd.
Wake at His Call, to sooth whose soul in vainMorn sheds her radiant beam, her od'rous airs,Save when, attentive to his artless strain,That radiant beam, those odours Lesbia shares.
He asks no laureate wreath to deck his brows,No golden meed his bounded wishes claim,Blest if the Object of his tenderest vowsSmile on his lay—for Lesbia's smile is Fame.
Errata