With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed:

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Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short, shrill shriek, flits by on leathern

wing;

Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,

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As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,

Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum:
Now teach me, maid composed,

To breathe some soften'd strain,

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale,

May, not unseemly, with its stillness suit,

As, musing slow, I hail

Thy genial loved return!

For when thy folding-star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant hours, and elves
Who slept in flowers the day,

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows

with sedge,

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And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,

The pensive pleasures sweet

Prepare thy shadowy car.

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Then lead, calm votaress, where some sheety

lake

Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd

pile,

Or up-land fallows grey

Reflect its last cool gleam.

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But when chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,

That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires;
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.

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While spring shall pour his showers, as oft he

wont,

And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest eve!
While summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light;

While sallow autumn fills thy lap with leaves;
Or winter, yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes;

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So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed,
Shall fancy, friendship, science, rose-lipp'd

health,

Thy gentlest influence own,

And hymn thy favourite name!

1746.

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William Collins.

"WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE?"

An Ode in Imitation of Alcaus

WHAT constitutes a State?

Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Not bays and broad-armed ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; Not starred and spangled courts,

Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.

No; men, high-minded men,

With powers as far above dull brutes endued

In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; Men who their duties know,

But know their rights, and, knowing, dare

maintain,

Prevent the long-aimed blow,

And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain: These constitute a State,

And sovereign Law, that State's collected will, O'er thrones and globes elate

IC

Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill.
Smit by her sacred frown,

The fiend, Dissension, like a vapor sinks;
And e'en the all-dazzling crown

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Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks.
Such was this heaven-loved isle,

Than Lesbos fairer, and the Cretan shore!
No more shall freedom smile?

Shall Britons languish, and be men no more?
Since all must life resign,

Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 30 'T is folly to decline,

And steal inglorious to the silent grave.

1781.

Sir William Jones.

ODE

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and
stream,

The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem

Apparell'd in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no

more.

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The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose,

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath pass'd away a glory from the

earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And again am strong:

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the
steep;

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May

Doth every beast keep holiday;—
Thou child of joy,

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou

happy Shepherd-boy!

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