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High on a mountain's lofty brow, 'Mid clouds and storms, has glory fix'd her seat;

Rock'd by the roaring winds that blow, The lightnings blast it, and the tempests beat.

Within the sun-gilt vale beneath, More moderate Hope with sweet Contentment dwells;

While gentler breezes round them breathe, And softer showers refresh their peaceful cells.

To better genius ever blind,
That points to each in varied life his share,

Man quits the path by heaven design’d,
To search for bliss among the thorns of care,

Our native powers we scorn to know ; With stedfast error still the wrong pursue ;

Instruct our forward ills to grow ; While sad successes but our pain renew.

In vain heaven tempers life with sweet,
With flowers the way, that leads us home, bestrews,

If dupes to passion, and deceit,
We drink the bitter, and the rugged choose.

Few can on Grandeur's stage appear,
Each lofty part with true applause sustain,

No common virtue safe can steer
Where rocks unnumber'd lurk beneath the main.

Then happiest he, whose timely hand To cool Discretion has the helm resign'd;

Enjoys the calm, in sight of land, From changing tides secure, and trustless wind.

ODE III.

ON

BEAUTY.

TO

BY MR. H.

And wilt thou, Romeo, still maintain That Beauty holds a boundless reign?

Soft power, by all confest! See'st thou the coward and the brave, The free-born Briton and the slave,

With equal rapture blest?

The Gods, indulgent to mankind,
The tenderest passions of the mind

With frugal hands dispense ;
For faithless I can ne'er believe
That rude untutor'd hearts perceive

The finer joys of sense.

Mark but the ruthless Indian's soul, Which no ingenuous thoughts control,

Where pity never dwelt; By Beauty, Fancy's loveliest child, 'Mid lorn savannahs waste and wild,

With human feelings melt!

Behold the powerful charm assuage
The hoary lion's lawless rage :

He owns the wanton fire;
And lordly roaming o'er the plain,
Singles the fairest of his train

To feed the loose desire !

But wouldst thou feel a purer flame Than ev’n the warmest wish can frame,

By much too fine to cloy; Far, far beyond that aching breast, With which the village hind's opprest,

Who idly terms it joy?

Has heaven, indulgent to thy make,
Form'd thee to every sense awake,

Blith hope, or frantic fear ?
Can human miseries steal a sigh,
Or from thy soft consenting eye

Can pity draw the tear :

Canst thou with wild Othello glow
In all his maddening jealous woe,

By Love's dark doubts distrest?
With treacherous Jaffier dost thou feel
Th’impending tortures of the wheel,

That wound his guilty breast :

Tell me, can Pindar's lofty strain,
Luxuriant Fancy's fruitful vein,

The noblest thoughts infuse?
Say, do you taste his generous fire,
Or canst thou feelingly expire

To Sappho's plaintive muse?

See'st thou the warmth, the grace divine,
That breathes thro' mild Correggio's line,

By heaven's peculiar care?
Does Guido wrap thee in delight ?
Can Titian's colours charm thy sight?

Or Julio's godlike air ?

Say, does thy heart with rapture spring, When Handel strikes the magic string,

With transport do you hear ? Or dost thou languish into pain When soft Correlli's tender strain

Subdues the ravish'd ear?

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