(No farther search the will of Heaven)
The glories of the earth hath given.—
Still may'st thou reign! enough for me
To dwell with heroes like to thee,
Myself the chief of Grecian minstrelsy.—

II.

TO THERON OF AGRAGAS, VICTOR IN THE CHARIOT RACE.

O SONG! whose voice the harp obeys,
Accordant aye with answering string ;
What god, what hero wilt thou praise,
What man of godlike prowess sing ?-
Lo! Jove himself is Pisa's king;
And Jove's strong son the first to raise
The barriers of the Olympic ring.-
And now, victorious on the wing
Of sounding wheels, our bards proclaim
The stranger Theron's honour'd name,
The flower of no ignoble race,
And prop of ancient Agragas!-

His patient sires, for many a year,
Where that blue river rolls its flood,
'Mid fruitless war and civil blood

Essay'd their sacred home to rear.—

Till time assign'd, in fatal hour,
Their native virtues, wealth and power;

I

And made them, from their low degree, The eye of warlike Sicily.

And may that

power, of ancient birth,

From Saturn sprung, and parent Earth,
Of tall Olympus' lord,

Who sees with still benignant eye
The games' long splendour sweeping by
His Alpheus' holy ford-
Appeased with anthems chanted high,
To Theron's late posterity

A happier doom accord!—

Or good or ill, the past is gone,
Nor time himself, the parent one,
Can make the former deeds undone ;-
But who would these recal,-
When happier days would fain efface
The memory of each past disgrace,
And, from the gods, on Theron's race
Unbounded blessings fall!

Example meet for such a song, The sister queens of Laius' blood;

Who sorrow's edge endured long,

Made keener by remember'd good !—
Yet now, she breathes the air of Heaven
(On earth by smouldering thunder riven)
Long-haired Semele:-

To Pallas dear is she

Dear to the sire of gods, and dear
To him, her son, in dreadful glee,
Who shakes the ivy-wreathed spear.

And thus, they tell that deep below
The sounding ocean's ebb and flow,
Amid the daughters of the sea,
A sister nymph must Ino be,
And dwell in bliss eternally

But, ignorant and blind,
We little know the coming hour!
Or if the latter day shall lower;
Or if to nature's kindly power
Our life in peace resign'd,
Shall sink like fall of summer eve,
And on the face of darkness leave
A ruddy smile behind.-
For grief and joy with fitful gale
Our crazy bark by turns assail,

And, whence our blessings flow, That same tremendous Providence Will oft a varying doom dispense, And lay the mighty low.

To Theban Laius that befel,

Whose son, with murder dyed,

Fulfill'd the former oracle,

Unconscious parricide!Unconscious!-yet avenging hell Pursued the offender's stealthy pace, And heavy, sure, and hard it fell, The curse of blood, on all his race! Spared from their kindred strife, The young Thersander's life,

Stern Polynice's heir, was left alone :

In every martial game,

And in the field of Fame,

For early force and matchless prowess known: Was left, the pride and prop to be

Of good Adrastus' pedigree.

And hence, through loins of ancient kings,
The warrior blood of Theron springs :
Exalted name! to whom belong
The minstrel's harp, the poet's song,
In fair Olympia crown'd;

And where, 'mid Pythia's olives blue,
An equal lot his brother drew;
And where his twice-twain coursers flew
The isthmus twelve times round.—
Such honour, earn'd by toil and care,
May best his ancient wrongs repair,
And wealth, unstain'd by pride,
May laugh at fortune's fickle power,
And blameless in the tempting hour
Of syren ease abide :

Led by that star of heavenly ray,
Which best may keep our darkling way
O'er life's unsteady tide!

For, whoso holds in righteousness the throne,
He in his heart hath known

How the foul spirits of the guilty dead,
In chambers dark and dread,

Of nether earth abide, and penal flame :
Where he whom none may name,

Lays bare the soul by stern necessity;
Seated in judgment high;

The minister of God whose arm is there,

In heaven alike and hell, almighty everywhere!
But, ever bright, by day, by night,
Exulting in excess of light;

From labour free and long distress,
The good enjoy their happiness.-
No more the stubborn soil they cleave,
Nor stem for scanty food the wave;
But with the venerable gods they dwell:
No tear bedims their thankful eye,
Nor mars their long tranquillity;
While those accursed howl in pangs unspeakable.—

But, who the thrice-renew'd probation
Of either world may well endure;
And keep with righteous destination
The soul from all transgression pure;
To such and such alone is given,
To walk the rainbow paths of heaven,
To that tall city of almighty time,
Where ocean's balmy breezes play,
And, flashing to the western day,
The gorgeous blossoms of such blessed clime,
Now in the happy isles are seen
Sparkling through the groves of green;
And now, all glorious to behold,

Tinge the wave with floating gold.—