ODE TO THE MUSE. James Scott Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1135 K093079.002 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. II. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 203-207. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ODE TO THE MUSE . BY THE SAME . I. 1. YET once more , sweetest Queen of Song , Thy humble suppliant lead along , Thro' Fancy's flowery plains : Oh bear me to th' ideal grove , Where hand in hand the Graces rove , And sooth me with seraphic strains ! 'Tis thine , harmonious maid , to cull Delicious balm to heal our cares ; 'Tis thine to take the prison'd soul , And lap it in Elysian airs ; While quick as thought at thy divine command The realms of Grace and Harmony expand . I. 2. And lo ! before my ravish'd eyes The visionary scenes arise ! I hear the tender lute complain , While Sappho breathes her amorous pain ; ( O guard me from such fierce desires , Thou God of Raptures , God of Fires ! ) I hear Anacreon's honey'd tongue To Love and Wine repeat the song ; His flight sublime the Theban swan prepares , And louder music wakes the wondering spheres . I. 3. But hark ! how sweet the numbers swell , While Homer waves his soul-enchanting wand ! Entranc'd the listening Passions stand , Charm'd with the magic of his shell . Whether to arms his trump resounds , The heart with martial ardor bounds ; Or sprightly themes his hand employ , Instant we catch the spreading joy ; Or when in notes majestic , deep , and slow , He bids the solemn streams of Sorrow flow , Amaz'd we hear the sadly-pleasing strain , While tender anguish steals thro' every vein . II . 1. Father of Verse , whose eagle flight Fatigues the gazer's aching sight , And strains th' aspiring mind : Teach me thy wonderous heights to view , With trembling wings thy steps pursue , And leave the lessening world behind . Fond , foolish wish ! — Can human eyes The rapid arrow's track descry ? Can gross Mortality arise , And spring beyond the vaulted sky ? Lost is the momentary path , and bound By cumbrous chains we creep along the ground ! II . 2. Yet some there are with power endow'd To soar above the groveling croud ; By thee , fair Fancy , rapturous maid , By thee , O sweet enthusiast , led , Sublime beyond the milky way With strong seraphic plumes they stray ; Or pierce within the sacred shade , Where Nature's plastic forms are laid ; Then strike with daring hand the magic strings , And warm to life a new creation springs . II . 3. Hail chosen few , whose happier birth The Muse beheld , and bad your due feet climb Fame's slippery hill , and paths sublime , Untrod by vulgar sons of earth ! When Virtue droops , all sick and pale , In bleak Misfortune's desart vale , 'Tis yours to steal away her care , And softly sooth the pensive fair : 'Tis yours to cull from Fancy's fairy stores , The brightest gems , and sweetest-breathing flowers . Then bind with Daedal art such wreaths divine , As bloom secure on Truth's immortal shrine . III . 1. Haste then ! — for soft Etesian gales Supply the Pind . pilot's welcome sails , And waft him o'er the main : And gentle showers , the daughters fair Of pregnant clouds , and balmy air , Rejoice the faint , and thirsty plain : O haste , your sweetest numbers shed , Fraught with the genial dew of praise , On Glory's favourite sons , who tread Unweary'd Danger's thorny maze ; Who tear fresh laurels from War's ghastly brow , Or steer the stedfast bark , tho' tides of Faction flow . III . 2. But , O ye delegates of Jove , Sent from the starry realms above To guard the clime , with dragon eyes , When all the Muse's treasures rise , Should Gothic Ignorance invade With lawless foot the virgin shade , And too incontinent presume Rashly to pluck the golden bloom ; Wide wave the flaming sword , and send , O send Your brightest shafts to quell the Stygian fiend ! III . 3. With holy dread , ye guardians of her store , Fulfil your charge , not too profuse of praise Embalm , with her immortal lays , The carrion corps of Pride , or Power ! Let Dulness her vain favours shed On smiling Folly's kindred head ; Or Vice , in tinsel trappings drest , Promote the wretch who flatters best ; Disdain the crew ! — and in some distant grove , To Worth afflicted , friendless , raise your voice ; So shall the Muse your honest songs approve , And deathless Fame reward your uncorrupted choice !