ODE TO TIME.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1802.
INSCRIBED TO MISS SEWARD.
Oh Thou, whose viewless form, slow-stealing Time,
Has silent march'd o'er many a conquer'd year,
Shall thy chill pow'r pervade the glowing rhyme!
Shall thy rude hand each tuneful record tear!
Shall genius raise aloft the soul-fraught strain,
And swell the choral tide of heav'n-taught verse in vain!
Has silent march'd o'er many a conquer'd year,
Shall thy chill pow'r pervade the glowing rhyme!
Shall thy rude hand each tuneful record tear!
Shall genius raise aloft the soul-fraught strain,
And swell the choral tide of heav'n-taught verse in vain!
Tho' ages past have own'd thy tyrant sway,
Tho' many a wreck the spoiler's power reveals,
Beneath thy scythe, tho' empires pass away,
And countless charms the unconscious grave conceals,
Tho' o'er the laurel'd brow the dusky tomb
In sullen silence sheds its deep impervious gloom;—
Tho' many a wreck the spoiler's power reveals,
Beneath thy scythe, tho' empires pass away,
And countless charms the unconscious grave conceals,
Tho' o'er the laurel'd brow the dusky tomb
In sullen silence sheds its deep impervious gloom;—
Not with his ebbing breath the poet dies,
He lives, he speaks to ages yet unborn!
Then boast not Time thy earthly mould'ring prize,
Still shall the Bard thy envious efforts scorn;
Ne'er shall his triumphs to thy sway belong,
All-hail'd by distant years, victorious in his song!
He lives, he speaks to ages yet unborn!
Then boast not Time thy earthly mould'ring prize,
Still shall the Bard thy envious efforts scorn;
Ne'er shall his triumphs to thy sway belong,
All-hail'd by distant years, victorious in his song!
Direct thy glance beyond life's fragile hour,
Oh Seward! lov'd of the Aonian Nine!
On thy full gaze bid all the future pour,
And raptur'd, see the admiring future thine!
See laurels bloom thy shadowy brow to wreathe,
Hear Bards, yet uncreate, an awful tribute breathe!
Oh Seward! lov'd of the Aonian Nine!
On thy full gaze bid all the future pour,
And raptur'd, see the admiring future thine!
See laurels bloom thy shadowy brow to wreathe,
Hear Bards, yet uncreate, an awful tribute breathe!
For not to thee, with niggard hand, assign'd
The transient triumph of some local strain:
Thine, the proud empire of the enthusiast mind,
Thine, the fine chords which swell to pleasing pain;
To joy's tumultuous throb, to mystic fear,
To friendship's bosom glow, or pity's hallow'd tear!
The transient triumph of some local strain:
Thine, the proud empire of the enthusiast mind,
Thine, the fine chords which swell to pleasing pain;
To joy's tumultuous throb, to mystic fear,
To friendship's bosom glow, or pity's hallow'd tear!
Lo! where the oral Muse of former time
By thee invok'd, in gothic state descends,
With potent hand awakes the runic rhyme,
And the thick veil of dark oblivion rends!
See from the tomb the fateful weapon wave![1]
Oh cease the mutter'd rite! respect the secret grave!
By thee invok'd, in gothic state descends,
With potent hand awakes the runic rhyme,
And the thick veil of dark oblivion rends!
See from the tomb the fateful weapon wave![1]
Oh cease the mutter'd rite! respect the secret grave!
To drop soft dews on beauty's wither'd flower,
From the full breast to urge the slow-heav'd sigh,
Or bid descend the tributary shower
To wet the turf where worth and valour lie,
Snatch Fame's bright banner from the grasp of Time,
O'er the illustrious dead to wave its folds sublime.
From the full breast to urge the slow-heav'd sigh,
Or bid descend the tributary shower
To wet the turf where worth and valour lie,
Snatch Fame's bright banner from the grasp of Time,
O'er the illustrious dead to wave its folds sublime.
The gen'rous task be thine! Lo André's shade,
With flight indignant quits yon murd'rous shore!
Spirit of Song! instruct the matchless Maid,
Teach her sweet pity's seraph strain to pour,
Bid the sad tale descend to latest years,
Embalm'd to time remote, in friendship's tuneful tears!
With flight indignant quits yon murd'rous shore!
Spirit of Song! instruct the matchless Maid,
Teach her sweet pity's seraph strain to pour,
Bid the sad tale descend to latest years,
Embalm'd to time remote, in friendship's tuneful tears!
What nameless thousands crowd life's little day,
Minions of sordid wealth, or pageant pow'r!
Born but to sport in Fortune's gilded ray,
The weak ephemera of a sunshine hour!
E'en Memory o'er their urns forgets to weep,
For them how dark the tomb, the oblivious grave how deep!
Minions of sordid wealth, or pageant pow'r!
Born but to sport in Fortune's gilded ray,
The weak ephemera of a sunshine hour!
E'en Memory o'er their urns forgets to weep,
For them how dark the tomb, the oblivious grave how deep!
And are those eyes but meteors of a day?
Doom'd is that hand in mould'ring dust to sleep?
Those eyes whence Genius pours his living ray,
That hand, so skill'd the Muse's lyre to sweep!
Yes, tho' the hand must perish, yet the song
Wak'd by its touch survives, in echoes loud and long!
Doom'd is that hand in mould'ring dust to sleep?
Those eyes whence Genius pours his living ray,
That hand, so skill'd the Muse's lyre to sweep!
Yes, tho' the hand must perish, yet the song
Wak'd by its touch survives, in echoes loud and long!
Then Seward, live till Time itself shall close,
Nor mourn mortality's promiscuous doom,
Since Death in vain his dreaded ice-bolt throws,
To blast the laurel Genius bids to bloom!
Lift to thy Muse the soul-enkindled eye,
She grants a glorious boon—'tis Immortality!
Nor mourn mortality's promiscuous doom,
Since Death in vain his dreaded ice-bolt throws,
To blast the laurel Genius bids to bloom!
Lift to thy Muse the soul-enkindled eye,
She grants a glorious boon—'tis Immortality!
- ↑ See Miss Seward's Runie Dialogue, Hervar and Argantyr.