5.

But chief, what joys thy bosom own,
New born to raptures never known,

While flock thy offspring round!

Oft heard oft felt-but never seen, Till now, with beauty's kindling mien, They in thy presence bound!

6.

How will the strong poetic fire,

That, darkling, o'er the wondering lyre
Could guide thy master hand,

Now kindling in a blaze of light,
To bolder raptures urge thy flight,
And with thy joys expand!

7.

Oh friend!-that I the tear might see

That streams, in silent ecstacy,

O'er every form belov'd!

Might hear the murmurs of that tongue, When first it pours the grateful song,

By cordial rapture mov'd!

8.

But tho forbade the tear to see,
That flows in cordial ecstacy,

Or hear the murmur'd song;

Yet Sympathy's omniscient art

In every feeling bears a part

That warms the circling throng.

9.

The father's joy, the poet's fire,

That soon shall wake thy trembling lyre,

A string in unison compleat,

A throb, that to thy throb shall beat;— Bliss-full, that thou art blest!

ODE IV.

THE SONG OF ALI,

THE LION OF GOD.

1.

TELL not me of fragrant bowers,
Nectarine dews and genial showers,
Which to those that shelter'd lay,
Mitigate the fervid ray!

Be

my shade of rattling spears,

And the shield the warrior rears;

Dew-drops, from the limbs of might
Wearied in the deathful fight;

And my fields with showers be fed
By my slaughter'd foemen shed!

2.

Love-lorn youths, the myrtle crown,Sloth, the bed of eider down,

Palaces and robes of state,

And prostrate vassals, soothe the great; Warbling boys and dancing girls, Bounding light in giddy whirls,

Groves and lawns and cooling springs, Where the night-bird sweetly sings;These, in spacious walls embrac'd, Charm the voluptuous sons of taste.

Be

3.

Lovelier, on my helmed brow,
Shall the nodding plumage bow,
Gore-besprinkled;-and my bed,
Be the field with slaughter spread;
my palace, be my throne,
Tent, and warrior steed alone;
And for pomp of Tyrian vest,
Gorgeous mail engird my breast;
Slaughter's train my vassals be,
And their homage, victory!

4.

For your soft lascivious airs,
Bid the trumpet soothe my ears;
And my dance, with armed feet,
Let the blood-smear'd soldier beat;
While, to gild a mighty name,
Groves and ravag'd cities flame!
And for birds of amorous lay,
Vultures screaming o'er their prey,
Let me hear and let me see :-

And the world my limit be!