ODE TO TASTE. BY THE SAME. SAY, Goddess, wilt thou never smile Indulgent on Britannia's isle! Hither thy gentie footsteps bend, On Albion's sea-girt cliffs descend; O come, and with thy genial ray Chase every gloomy cloud away: No more shall Ignorance preside, Or Gothic Rage in triumph ride. Let Judgment, thy unshaken friend, With polish'd Elegance attend: Simplicity, meek rural queen, With downcast looks and modest mien, In loosely-flowing neat attire, Shall charm thee with her rustic lyre. To that in her enchanting court The frolic Graces ever sport, And guarded by their watchful aid, The finer Arts shall never fade. Blest power! whose charms alone dispense A keener rapture to each sense: If Melody enchant my breast, Or soothe my soften'd soul to rest: By thee may every strain be crown'd, May'st thou still harmonize each sound, If blooming colours seem to live, May you fresh life and vigour give; May you restrain each poet's rage, Or animate his purer page. Do'st thou his savage wrath appease, Ev'n Terror's giant-form can please; 'Mid shadowy shapes in dead of night, That shoot across my dazzled sight; 'Mid spectres of enormous size, 'Mid ghosts that from their charnels rise, 'Mid shrouded friends who solemn stalk, And haunt me in my midnight walk; While wild winds blustering round my head, Inspire me with poetic dread; Thro' closing shades o'er valleys green, May'st thou still solemnize the scene; And as the storms innoxious roll, Pour thy lov'd horrors o'er my soul. Yet not alone Britannia's shore Thy fatal absence shall deplore. See old Achaia's genius mourn, His bosom bare, his garments torn; See his generous patriot breast By all his country's wrongs opprest. See him with haughty fix'd disdain Lament his dastard sons in vain! To fairer happier climes belong The painter's tints, the poet's song. Lo! conscious of approaching night: Where Picture wings her destin'd flight. Behold dejected Sculpture stand Prepar'd to leave our desart land. Yet, Goddess, yet thy secret fire With wondering rapture we admire. By thee 'mid rugged rocks we find Each speaking passion of the mind. With awful horror we behold Th' immense Alcides' monstrous mould; While Venus, queen of soft desires, Each tender gentler thought inspires. O Alexander, not alone The warrior's skill to thee was known. Fair Science, heaven-descended maid, Confesses thy propitious aid: To thee the grateful Arts shall raise Eternal monuments of praise. Behold with thee they die away, To Roman ignorance a prey And lo! again in conquering Rome With all their usual vigour bloom; Again they feel the fatal blow, And sink beneath the Vandal foe. Once more the Arts began to spread; Once more gay Science rear'd her head: Alas! in vain she strove t' assuage The enthusiast zealot's bigot rage. Wilt thou, O Taste, again appear, Protectress of each circling year! Wilt thou in all thy wonted prime Review this lost unhallow'd clime; Or where far distant regions lie, 'Mid dreary desarts bloom and die! Say, shall the stern Olympian god No more in living marble nod! Shall never Raphael charm the heart, Shall never Nature yield to Art, Shall never Maro's beauties shine, Except in Armstrong's classic line! And does no Leo now remain, Who yet shall chear thy drooping train! There are, who still thy aid implore, Who still thy sovereign power adore, Thy relicts with religious fear Fond Italy shall yet revere. Sweet power, in simple pomp array'd Be all thy native charms display'd. Again reviving Sculpture breathes; Fair Science trims her blasted wreaths; With suppliant willing hand to thee The pencil Picture shall decree: With one consent the Muse's choir To thee shall dedicate the Lyre. Come, Goddess, feast my longing sight, Let me direct thy pleasing flight; Whate'er voluptuous slaves could boast On fair Phaeacia's sunny coast, Whate'er the poet's fancy taught, Or imag'd to his wanton thought: For thee a happier fate remains; You still shall view more blissful plains, Where the soft guardian of thy charms Expects thee to his longing arms: He shall with fixt attention gaze, Shall crown thee with immortal bays, With lenient hand thy cares assuage, Protect thee from Time's lawless rage, The taunt of scorn, the dark revile, The languid, faint-approving smile, The noise of Mirth, the plaintive sigh, And simpering Folly's heedless eye. Would'st thou with Innocence reside, Behold the temple's modest pride; Or in the darksome cavern'd cell With solitary hermits dwell; Would'st thou with faint desponding air To melancholy vaults repair, With aching, sicken'd, cold review, Bid every sorrow stream anew: Here may'st thou weep thy favourite Rome, Sad-sighing o'er each martyr's tomb; Meek Pity, Attic maid, shall join Her tender social tears with thine, O'er every urn fresh laurels strow, And fondly emulate thy woe. Or would'st thou newer worlds survey, Where Darkness holds her barren sway, Where ne'er the Muse's chaplet blew, Where Learning's laurel never grew; Where Nature to our wondering eyes Each salutary herb supplies: Where flowers their fragrant sweets diffuse, Where trees distil their kindly dews; And blest with every power to heal, Soft slumbers o'er the senses steal. In such enchanting, artless scenes, 'Mid bowery mazes, spreading greens, Sooth'd by the breezy western gale, In scented grove, or rocky dale, Or wandering from the russet cot, To seek the deep embosom'd grot, Beneath the orange shade inclos'd, Or in the myrtle bower repos'd, Or where the flaunting flowers have wove With mingled sweets the high alcove, Each Indian wooes his favourite mate; What Nature dictates they relate: No youths by love's cold arts are won; Nor maids by easy faith undone; With eye up-rais'd the simple swain Dreads not the tortures of disdain, But, kneeling at his fair one's feet, Breathes vows unconscious of deceit: Each pleasing sound she sighs to hear Repeated on her longing ear; Amaz'd, nor anxious to controul The mutual wishes of her soul, Attests each unknown power above, As witness of her spotless love; Yet rack'd by fond distrustful fears Pours out her aching heart in tears, And tells to her admiring youth Sweet tales of innocence and truth. Fancy such raptures shall suggest, Lov'd inmate of thy ravish'd breast; Shall point where wanton zephyrs stray, And o'er th' unruffled ocean play. Or snatch thee to some wave-worn shore, Where fierce Atlantic surges roar: Where Plata with resistless force Thro' deserts rolls his rapid course, Or where Maranan proudly laves Waste regions with his circling waves: Where boundless Oroonoko fills His channels from a thousand hills, And with regardless rage destroys; While twenty mouths with hideous noise, From some immense Peruvian steep, Spout his vex'd billows to the deep. Thus while you view the tyrant flood, Wild dread shall chill thy loitering blood; And frighted Fancy, self-amaz'd, Start at the phantom she had rais'd. Should Nature's simple beauties fail, And Art's gay structures more prevail, Here too the polish'd dome is plac'd, With each Vitruvian beauty grac'd: Or wouldst thou at the early dawn Transport thee to the dew-clad lawn; Or from the mid-day fervor rove Beneath the silent plantane grove: Or with the fairy elves be seen In dances on the level green: Should baleful War, 'mid loud alarms, 'Mid vanquish'd foes, and conquering arms, 'Mid hosts o'erthrown, and myriads slain, On Britain fix his iron reign; Should Jove's fair daughter, oliv'd Peace, Bid the wild battle's tumult cease; In polish'd ease you still shall share Thy kind protector's fostering care; His faithful love shall still appear, His friendly aid shall still be near, His constant, his unweary'd power Shall lull thee in the balmy bower; Shall watch thee o'er the dewy glade, And guard thee from the midnight shade. Thou too shalt all his toils repay, Slow-lingering here with fond delay; Here shalt thou choose thy favourite seat, Here fix thy last, thy blest retreat; Each old Athenian bloom regain, And here in Attic splendor reign.