Made great Apollo blush for this his land. Men were thought wise who could not understand 185 His glories with a puling infant's force They sway'd about upon a rocking horse, That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face, O ye whose charge It is to hover round our pleasant hills! Whose congregated majesty so fills My boundly reverence, that I cannot trace So near those common folk; did not their shames 190 195 200 205 210 And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieu In many places; some has been upstirr'd From out its crystal dwelling in a lake, 215 220 225 By a swan's ebon bill; from a thick brake, Nested and quiet in a valley mild, Bubbles a pipe; fine sounds are floating wild About the earth: happy are ye and glad. These things are doubtless: yet in truth we 've had 230 Strange thunders from the potency of song; Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong, 235 'Tis might half slumb'ring on its own right arm. The very archings of her eye-lids charm A thousand willing agents to obey, And still she governs with the mildest sway: 240 But strength alone though of the Muses born Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn, Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres And thorns of life; forgetting the great end 245 Of poesy, that it should be a friend To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. Yet I rejoice a myrtle fairer than E'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weeds Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds 250 A silent space with ever sprouting green. All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen, Then let us clear away the choking thorns 255 From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown More boisterous than a lover's bended knee; 260 Naught more ungentle than the placid look Naught more untranquil than the grassy slopes As she was wont, th' imagination Into most lovely labyrinths will be gone, How! 265 270 If I do hide myself, it sure shall be 275 In the very fane, the light of Poesy: If I do fall, at least I will be laid Beneath the silence of a poplar shade; And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven ; And there shall be a kind memorial graven. 280 But off Despondence! miserable bane! They should not know thee, who athirst to gain What though I am not wealthy in the dower Of spanning wisdom; though I do not know 285 The shiftings of the mighty winds that blow Hither and thither all the changing thoughts Of man though no great minist'ring reason sorts To clear conceiving: yet there ever rolls 290 A vast idea before me, and I glean Therefrom my liberty; thence too I've seen The end and aim of Poesy. 'T is clear As a large cross, some old cathedral's crest, 295 Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should I A coward, did my very eye-lids wink At speaking out what I have dared to think. 300 Ah! rather let me like a madman run Over some precipice; let the hot sun Melt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down Convuls'd and headlong! Stay! an inward frown 305 An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle, For sweet relief I'll dwell On humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay 310 E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades : 315 320 325 Are fluttering round the room like doves in pairs ; 330 When first my senses caught their tender falling. Things such as these are ever harbingers ་ A butterfly, with golden wings broad parted " With over pleasure many, many more,、 Might I indulge at large in all my store Of luxuries: yet I must not forget 335 340 345 |