Swiftly the gentle charmer flies,

And to the tender grief foft Air applies,
Which warbling myftick founds
Cements the bleeding panter's wounds.
But, ah! beware of clam'rous moan;
Let no unpleafing murmur or harsh groan
Your flighted loves declare;

Your very tend'reft moving fighs forbear,
For even they will be too boift'rous here.
Hither let nought but facred Silence come,
And let all-faucy Praise be dumb.

III.

And, lo! Silence himself is here;
Methinks I fee the midnight god appear;

In all his downy pomp array'd,

Behold the rev'rend fhade;

An ancient Sigh he fits upon,

Whose memory
And purposely annihilated for his throne;
Beneath two soft tranfparent clouds do meet,
In which he seems to fink his fofter feet;
A melancholy thought, condens'd to air,
Stol'n from a lover in despair,

of found is long fince gone,

Like a thin mantle ferves to wrap

In fluid folds his vifionary shape;

A wreath of darkness round his head he wears,
Where curling mists supply the want of hairs;

25

30

35

40

45

While the still vapours, which from poppies rise,
Bedew his hoary face and lull his eyes.

IV.

But, hark! the heav'nly sphere turns round,
And filence now is drown'd

In ecftafy of found.

How on a fudden the still air is charm'd,
As if all harmony were juft alarm'd!
And ev'ry foul, with tranfport fill'd,
Alternately is thaw'd and chill'd.
See how the heav'nly choir

50

55

Come flocking to admire,

60

And with what speed and care

Defcending angels cut the thinnest air!

Hafte then, come all th' immortal throng,

65

And liften to her fong;

Leave your lov'd mansions in the sky,

And hither, quickly hither, fly:

Your lofs of heav'n nor fhall you need to fear;

While the fings 't is heav'n here.

V.

See how they crowd! fee how the little cherubs skip! While others fit around her mouth, and fip

Sweet hallelujahs from her lip;

Thofe lips where in furprise of bliss they rove;

For ne'er before did angels tafte

So exquifite a feast

Of mufick and of love.

70

Prepare, then, ye Immortal Choir!
Each facred minstrel tune his lyre,

75

And with her voice in chorus join,

Her voice which, next to yours, is most divine;
Blefs the glad earth with heav'nly lays,

And to that pitch th' eternal accents raise,

80

Which only breath infpir'd can reach,

To notes which only the can learn and you can teach; While we, charm'd with the lov'd excefs,

Are wrapt in sweet forgetfulness

Of all, of all, but of the present happiness,

Wishing for ever in that state to lie,
For ever to be dying fo, yet never die.

85

87

A PINDARICK ODE,

Humbly offered to the

QUEEN,

On the victorious progrefs of

HER MAJESTY'S ARMS

Under the conduct of the

DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.

-Cperofa parvus

Carmina fino.

HOR. Lib. iv Oce 2.

A DISCOURSE ON THE PINDARICK ODE.

THE following Ode is an attempt towards restoring the regularity of the ancient lyrick poetry, which feems to be altogether forgotten or unknown by our English writers.

There is nothing more frequent among us than a fort of poems entitled Pindarick Odes, pretending to be written in imitation of the manner and style of Pindar; and yet I do not know that there is to this day extant, in our language, one ode contrived after his model. What idea can an English reader have of Pindar, (to whofe mouth, when a child, the bees* brought their honey, in omen of the future sweetness

Paufan. Boeotic.

and melody of his songs) when he shall see fuch rumbling and grating papers of verses pretending to be copies of his works?

The character of thefe late Pindaricks is a bundle of rambling incoherent thoughts, expressed in a like parcel of irregular ftanzas, which alfo confift of such another complication of difproportioned, uncertain, and perplexed verfes and rhymes, and i appeal to any reader if this is not the condition in which these titular odes appear.

On the contrary, there is nothing more regular than the Odes of Pindar, both as to the exact obfervation of the measures and numbers of his ftanzas and verses, and the perpetual coherence of his thoughts: for tho' his digreffions are frequent, and his tranfitions fudden, yet is there ever fome fecret connexion which, though not always appearing to the eye, never fails to communicate itself to the understanding of the reader.

The liberty which he took in his numbers, and which has been fo misunderstood * and mifapplied by

For certainly they have utterly misunderstood Horace, L. iv. ode 2. who have applied numerifq; fertur lege folutis, to all the odes of Pindar, which there exprefsly relates only to his Dithyrambicks, and which are all entirely left. Nothing is plainer than the sense of Horace in that place. He fays, Pindar deferves the laurel, let him write of what or in what manner soever, viz. firft whether he writes Dithyrambicks, which break through the bounds prescribed to other odes; or, fecondly, whether he writes of gods and heroes, their warlike achievements, &c.; or, thirdly, whether he lings of the victors in the Grecian games; or, laftly, whether he fings in honour of the dead, and writes clegies, &c.