Ode

Ye Gales, that of the Lark's repose

The impatient Silence break,

To yon poor Pilgrim's wearying Woes

Your gentle Comfort speak!

He heard the midnight whirlwind die,

He saw the sun-awaken'd Sky

Resume its slowly-purpling Blue:

And ah! he sigh'd—that I might find

The cloudless Azure of the Mind

And Fortune's brightning Hue!

Where'er in waving Foliage hid

The Bird's gay Charm ascends,

Or by the fretful current chid

Some giant Rock impends—

There let the lonely Cares respire

As small airs thrill the mourning Lyre

And teach the Soul her native Calm;

While Passion with a languid Eye

Hangs o'er the fall of Harmony

And drinks the sacred Balm.





Slow as the fragrant whisper creeps

       &nbspAlong the lilied Vale,

The alter'd Eye of Conquest weeps,

       &nbspAnd ruthless War grows pale

Relenting that his Heart forsook

Soft Concord of auspicious Look,

And Love, and social Poverty;

The Family of tender Fears,

The Sigh, that saddens and endears,

And Cares, that sweeten Joy.





Then cease, thy frantic Tumults cease,

Ambition, Sire of War!

Nor o'er the mangled Corse of Peace

Urge on thy scythéd Car.

And oh! that Reason's voice might swell

With whisper'd Airs and holy Spell

       &nbspTo rouse thy gentler Sense,

As bending o'er the chilly bloom

The Morning wakes its soft Perfume

       &nbspWith breezy Influence.