From storms of hate thy mariner

And blast of chill indifference save!

So to thy pow'r I'll frame the votive lay,

And moor'd in LESBIA's arms confess thy sov'reign

sway.

Amid ensanguin'd fields of war,

Valour, be thy votary found:

Where crimson banners wave around

The martial clarion echoing far;

In vain gigantic Terror calls

His spectre shapes, a ghastly band:

Nor Discord hurling high his brand,

Nor Danger's horrid front, appals;

Nor Death his unrelenting soul can tame,

Or from his grasp withhold the glorious meed of Fame:

But let me wander far away

From the loud drum and neighing steed,

Thro' many a pansie-painted mead,
Where Isis' bright-hair'd naiads stray;
High o'er my head a pendant bow'r
Let the broad elm and branching pine

With intermingling umbrage twine;

There Love's impassion'd song I'll pour,

And summon every wave that dances near, Bridling his wanton speed, my LESBIA's praise to hear.

Where the pale lamp's waining eye,
At ev❜ning from some cloyster'd nook
Casts o'er the gloom a lingering look,
There let the Sage his labours ply;
And many a feat of champion bold,
And many a legendary rhime,

Snatch from the sepulchre of time;

And frequent, as the night grows old,

At fear-engender'd forms recoil aghast,

And hear unhallow'd ghosts wail in each hollow blast:

But o'er my haunts with influence bland

Let Ev'ning fling her welcome shade:
Then mid the dance, O beauteous Maid!
Let me thine unreluctant hand
Enraptur'd seize :-or let the lyre,
Obedient to thy soft control,

Bind in harmonious chains my soul,

And ecstasy and bliss inspire:

While to the charmed ear in heav'nly strains, Enamour'd of thy touch, each trembling chord complains.

Then, Fairest! let my bosom feel
Thy smile's exhilarating pow'r,
Grateful as, mid noon's sultry hour,
The grot where trickling dews congeal:
And, in the rich grape's purple tide
When Joy and genial Pleasure swim,
Do Thou but kiss its chrystal brim,
And, to thy bard the goblet guide;

So shall my song exalt thy praise above

Hebe, who bids o'erflow the nectar'd cup of Jove,

ODE II.

Now hath the Sun his evanescent fires Quench'd in the billows of the western main: Sequester'd brakes enshroud the feathery choirs, And shelt'ring folds th' imprison'd herds retain.

Fall, ye deep shades! unhear'd ye waters roll!
Spread thy dominion, Silence, o'er the grove!
For LESBIA sleeps:-nor cheers my pensive soul
The glance of rapture, nor the voice of love.

Ye Winds, whose havoc-spreading pinions ply
Their furious speed, and with dire yell invade
This nether world, whose wasteful tyranny
Pale Dryads mourn in many a ruin'd shade,

Wake not my love!-let not your thund'ring cry
With dread alarm the haunts of peace infest ;
Here breathe in soft Æolian melody

Each cadence sweet that sooths 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 lies
Like some rich pearl in its enamell'd shell,
Or sainted relick from profaner eyes

Secluded in the dim shrine's silver cell.

Wanton, ye Fairies! round her tranquil bower,
With blissful elves fantastic measures tread;
O'er her soft eyelids dews of opiate power,

Cull'd from choice blooms, in show'rs of fragrance shed: