Ode[35:2]

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 Along the lilied Vale, The alter'd Eye of Conquest weeps, And 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 To rouse thy gentler Sense, As bending o'er the chilly bloom The Morning wakes its soft Perfume With breezy Influence.

1792.