*M°

OTHER OF WISDOM! thou, whose sway
The throng'd ideal hofts obey;

Who bid'ft their ranks, now vanish, now appear,

Flame in the van, or darken in the rear;

Accept this votive verfe. Thy reign

Nor place can fix, nor power restrain.
All, all is thine. For thee the car, and eye
Rove thro' the realms of Grace, and Harmony:
The Senfes thee fpontaneous ferve,

That wake, and thrill thro' ev'ry nerve.
Elfe vainly foft, lov'd Philomel! would flow
The foothing sadness of thy warbled woe;
Elfe vainly sweet yon woodbine fhade
With clouds of fragrance fill the glade;

NOTE.

According to a fragment of Afranius, who makes Experience and Memory the parents of Wisdom.

Usus me genuit, Mater peperit MEMORIA,

ΣΟΦΙΑΝ vocant me Graii, vOS SAPIENTIAM,

This paffage is preferved by Aulus Gellius, lib. xiii. сар. 8.

Vainly, the cygnet spread her downy plume,
The vine gush nectar, and the virgin bloom,
But swift to thee, alive, and warm,

Devolves each tributary charm:

See modeft Nature bring her fimple stores,
Luxuriant Art exhaust her plastic powers;
While every flower in Fancy's clime,
Each gem of old heroic Time,

Cull'd by the hand of the induftrious Muse,
Around thy fhrine their blended beams diffuse,

II.

Hail, MEM'RY! hail. Behold, I lead
To that high fhrine the facred Maid :
Thy daughter fhe, the Empress of the lyre,
The first, the faireft, of Aonia's quire.

She comes, and lo, thy realms expand!
She takes her delegated ftand

Full in the midft, and o'er thy numʼrous train
Displays the awful wonders of her reign.

There thron'd fupreme in native state,

If Sirius flame with fainting heat,

She calls; ideal groves their fhade extend,

The cool gale breathes, the filent show'rs defcend.

Or,

Or, if bleak Winter, frowning round,

Difrobe the trees, and chill the ground, She, mild Magician, waves her potent wand, And ready Summers wake at her command. See, vifionary Suns arife,

Thro' filver clouds, and azure skies;

See, sportive Zephyrs fan the crifped streams;

Thro' fhadowy brakes light glance the sparkling beams; While, near the fecret mofs-grown cave,

That stands befide the crystal wave,

Sweet Echo, rising from her rocky bed,

Mimics the feather'd Chorus o'er her head.

III.

Rife, hallow'd MILTON! rise, and say,

How, at thy gloomy close of day;

How, when "depreft by Age, befet with wrongs;" When "fall'n on evil days and evil tongues ;" When Darkness, brooding on thy fight,

Exil'd the fov'reign lamp of light;

Say, what could then one chearing hope diffuse?

What friends were thine, fave Mem'ry and the Muse?

Hence the rich spoils, thy ftudious youth

Caught from the stores of antient Truth:

Hence

Hence all thy claffic wand'rings could explore,
When Rapture led thee to the Latian fhore;

Each Scene, that Tiber's bank supply'd;

;

Each Grace, that play'd on Arno's fide The tepid Gales, thro' Tuscan glades that fly; The blue Serene, that fpreads Hefperia's sky;

Were still thine own: thy ample Mind

Each charm receiv'd, retain'd, combin'd. And thence the nightly Vifitant," that came To touch thy bofom with her facred flame,

Recall'd the long-loft beams of grace,

That whilom fhot from Nature's face,

When GOD, in Eden, o'er her youthful breast Spread with his own right hand Perfection's gorgeous

veft.

ODE