ODE
TO
HORROR
.
IN
THE
ALLEGORIC
,
DESCRIPTIVE
,
ALLITERATIVE
,
EPITHETICAL
,
FANTASTIC
,
HYPERBOLICAL
,
AND
DIABOLICAL
STYLE
OF
OUR
MODERN
ODE-WRIGHTS
,
AND
MONODY-MONGERS
.
BY
—
.
O
GODDESS
of
the
gloomy
scene
,
Of
shadowy
shapes
thou
black-brow'd
queen
.
Thy
tresses
dark
with
ivy
crown'd
,
On
yonder
mouldering
abby
found
;
Oft
wont
from
charnels
damp
and
dim
To
call
the
sheeted
spectre
grim
,
While
as
his
loose
chains
loudly
clink
,
Thou
add'st
a
length
to
every
link
:
O
thou
,
that
lov'st
at
eve
to
seek
The
pensive-pacing
pilgrim
meek
,
And
set'st
before
his
shuddering
eyes
Strange
forms
,
and
fiends
of
giant-size
,
As
wildly
works
thy
wizzard
will
,
Till
fear-struck
Fancy
has
her
fill
:
Dark
power
,
whose
magic
might
prevails
O'er
hermit-rocks
,
and
fairy-vales
;
O
Goddess
,
erst
by
Spenser's
Fairy
Queen
,
b.
3.
canto
12.
Spenser
view'd
,
What
time
th'
enchanter
vile
embrued
,
His
hands
in
Florimel's
pure
heart
,
Till
loos'd
by
steel-clad
Britomart
:
O
thou
that
erst
on
Fancy's
wing
Didst
terror-trembling
Gierus
.
Liberat
.
b.
14.
Tasso
bring
,
To
groves
where
kept
damn'd
Furies
dire
Their
blue-tipt
battlements
of
fire
:
Thou
that
thro'
many
a
darksome
pine
,
O'er
the
rugged
rock
recline
,
Did'st
wake
the
hollow-whispering
breeze
With
care-consumed
Eloise
:
O
thou
,
with
whom
in
chearless
cell
,
The
midnight-clock
pale
pris'ners
tell
;
O
haste
thee
,
mild
Miltonic
maid
,
From
yonder
yew's
sequester'd
shade
;
More
bright
than
all
the
fabled
Nine
,
Teach
me
to
breathe
the
solemn
line
!
O
bid
my
well-rang'd
numbers
rise
Pervious
to
none
but
Attic
eyes
;
O
give
the
strain
that
madness
moves
,
Till
every
starting
sense
approves
!
What
felt
the
Gallic
I
do
not
remember
that
any
poetical
use
has
been
made
of
this
story
.
traveller
,
When
far
in
Arab-desert
drear
He
found
within
the
catacomb
,
Alive
,
the
terrors
of
a
tomb
?
While
many
a
mummy
thro'
the
shade
,
In
hieroglyphic
stole
array'd
,
Seem'd
to
uprear
the
mystic
head
,
And
trace
the
gloom
with
ghostly
tread
;
Thou
heardst
him
pour
the
stifled
groan
,
Horror
!
his
soul
was
all
thy
own
!
O
mother
of
the
fire-clad
thought
,
O
haste
thee
from
thy
grave-like
grot
!
(
What
time
the
witch
perform'd
her
rite
)
Sprung
from
th'
embrace
of
Taste
and
Night
!
O
queen
!
that
erst
did'st
thinly
spread
The
willowy
leaves
o'er
See
Isis
,
an
Elegy
.
Isis'
head
,
And
to
her
meek
mien
did'st
dispense
Woe's
most
awful
negligence
;
What
time
,
in
cave
,
with
visage
pale
,
She
told
her
elegiac
tale
:
O
thou
!
whom
wandering
Warton
saw
,
Amaz'd
with
more
than
youthful
awe
,
As
by
the
pale
moon's
glimmering
gleam
He
mus'd
his
melancholy
theme
See
The
Pleasures
of
Melancholy
,
a
poem
.
:
O
curfeu-loving
goddess
,
haste
!
O
waft
me
to
some
Scythian
waste
,
Where
,
in
Gothic
solitude
,
'Mid
prospects
most
sublimely
rude
,
Beneath
a
rough
rock's
gloomy
chasm
,
Thy
sister
sits
,
Enthusiasm
:
Let
me
with
her
,
in
magic
trance
,
Hold
most
delirious
dalliance
;
Till
I
,
thy
pensive
votary
,
Horror
,
look
madly
wild
like
thee
;
Until
I
gain
true
transport's
shore
,
And
life's
retiring
scene
is
o'er
;
Aspire
to
some
more
azure
sky
,
Remote
from
dim
mortality
;
At
length
,
recline
the
fainting
head
,
In
Druid-dreams
dissolv'd
and
dead
.