ODE X.

ON

ENVY.

BY R. SHEPHERD, D.D.

BENEATH yon chain of barren rocks,
Where niggard Nature ne'er unlocks
One hoard of cheerful green;

The brown yew forms a gloomy shade,
The blasted oak erects its head,

A dreary wasteful scene.

O haste, O fly th' accursed cell,
Where Envy's fiendly faction dwell!
Else shall her glance, malignant cast,
The fairest shoots of Merit blast:
He risks his ease, who ventures nigh
The baleful witchcraft of her eye.

Ev'n now from her infernal dark abyss,
At Merit's name she lifts her head,
At Merit's name prepar'd to shed
Their influence all her snaky tresses hiss.

Ev'n now the languid mind opprest,

Droops under horrors damp and chill,

Whilst heaves the sigh from the distended breast,
Slow winds the tide of life along each azure rill.
Arise, my Muse, the chorded shell prepare,
Awake the drowsy string;

For thou canst lull the gathering storms of Care,
Thou canst disarm dire Envy of her sting,
And smooth the haggard brow of fell Despair.

Ah strange reverse of honest joys!

The pale-ey'd fiend elate
Smiles, if Adversity annoys

Her neighbour's hapless state.
Yet Spleen oppressive mars her chear,
And signs the bitter day :

For Envy drops the scalding tear,
When all the world is gay.

The tenant of some narrow mind,

She bids suspicion launch the dart ;
Whilst all her secret powers combin'd
Excite the poignant smart.
Slow halts Ill-nature in the rear,

That poisons as she probes the wound,
And Rumor's noisome breath is near,
To waft the poison round.

Say, Theron, yet shall torpid Fear
Obstruct thy virtue's high career,

Shall Envy's menace wrest
Thy merit's well-directed aim,

And quench the noble thirst of fame
That warms thy youthful breast?
O no! pursue the glorious road
A Bacon, Hyde, and Osborne trod :
Her snaky head tho' Envy rear,

Fame's eagle wing thy name shall bear

O'er black Oblivion's frozen sea,

Rank'd with great chiefs of old in immortality.

ODE XI.

ΤΟ

FANCY.

BY THE REV. J. MERRICK, M. A.

FANCY, whose delusions vain

Sport themselves with human brain,
Rival thou of Nature's pow'r,
Canst, from thy exhaustless store,
Bid a tide of sorrow flow,

And whelm the soul in deepest woe:
Or, in the twinkling of an eye,
Raise it to mirth and jollity.

Dreams and shadows by thee stand,

Taught to run at thy command,

And along the wanton air
Flit like empty gossimer.

Thee, black Melancholy of yore
To the swift-wing'd Hermes bore;
From the mixture of thy line,
Different natures in thee join,
Which thou chusest to express
By the variance of thy dress.

Now like thy sire thou lov'st to seem,
Light and gay with pinions trim,
Dipt in all the dyes that glow
In the bend of Iris's bow:

Now like thy mother drear and sad,
(All in mournful vestments clad,
Cypress weeds and sable stole,)
Thou rushest on th' affrighted soul.
Oft I feel thee coming on,

When the night hath reach'd her noon,
And darkness, partner of her reign,
Round the world hath bound her chain,
Then with measur'd step and slow,
In the church-yard path I go,
And while my outward senses sleep,
Lost in contemplation deep,
Sudden I stop, and turn my ear,

And list'ning hear, or think I hear.
First a dead and sullen sound

Walks along the holy ground;

Then through the gloom alternate break

Groans, and the shrill screech-owl's shriek.

Lo! the moon hath hid her head,

And the graves give up their dead:

By me pass the ghastly crowds,
Wrapt in visionary shrouds ;

Maids, who died with love forlorn,
Youths, who fell by maiden's scorn,

Helpless sires, and matrons old
Slain for sordid thirst of gold,