MS. O.
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60] feverous] feverish MS. O. [70] Brookes's, a famous gaming-house in Fleet Street. Hackett's, abrothel under the Covent Garden Piazza. Note MS. O. ON IMITATION[26:1] All are not born to soar--and ah! how fewIn tracks where Wisdom leads their paths pursue!Contagious when to wit or wealth allied,Folly and Vice diffuse their venom wide.On Folly every fool his talent tries; 5It asks some toil to imitate the wise;Tho' few like Fox can speak--like Pitt can think--Yet all like Fox can game--like Pitt can drink. ? 1791 FOOTNOTES: [26:1] First published in 1834. In _MS. O_ lines 3, 4 follow lines 7, 8of the text. INSIDE THE COACH[26:2] 'Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to tryUnclos'd to keep the weary eye;But ah! Oblivion's nod to getIn rattling coach is harder yet.Slumbrous God of half-shut eye! 5Who lovest with limbs supine to lie;Soother sweet of toil and careListen, listen to my prayer;And to thy votary dispenseThy soporific influence! 10What tho' around thy drowsy headThe seven-fold cap of night be spread,Yet lift that drowsy head awhileAnd yawn propitiously a smile;In drizzly rains poppean dews 15O'er the tired inmates of the Coach diffuse;And when thou'st charm'd our eyes to rest,Pillowing the chin upon the breast,Bid many a dream from thy dominionsWave its various-painted pinions, 20Till ere the splendid visions closeWe snore quartettes in ecstasy of nose.While thus we urge our airy course,O may no jolt's electric forceOur fancies from their steeds unhorse, 25And call us from thy fairy reignTo dreary Bagshot Heath again! 1791. FOOTNOTES: [26:2] First published in 1834. LINENOTES: Title] Ode to sleep. Travelling in the Exeter Coach with three otherpassengers over Bagshot Heath, after some vain endeavours to composemyself I composed this Ode--August 17, 1791. MS. O. [12] Vulgo yclept night-cap MS. O. [13] that] thy MS. O. DEVONSHIRE ROADS[27:1] The indignant Bard composed this furious ode,As tired he dragg'd his way thro' Plimtree road![27:2]Crusted with filth and stuck in mireDull sounds the Bard's bemudded lyre;Nathless Revenge and Ire the Poet goad 5To pour his imprecations on the road. Curst road! whose execrable wayWas darkly shadow'd out in Milton's lay,When the sad fiends thro' Hell's sulphureous roadsTook the first survey of their new abodes; 10Or when the fall'n Archangel fierceDar'd through the realms of Night to pierce,What time the Bloodhound lur'd by Human scentThro' all Confusion's quagmires floundering went. Nor cheering pipe, nor Bird's shrill note 15Around thy dreary paths shall float;Their boding songs shall scritch-owls pourTo fright the guilty shepherds sore,Led by the wandering fires astrayThro' the dank horrors of thy way! 20While they their mud-lost sandals huntMay all the curses, which they gruntIn raging moan like goaded hog,Alight upon thee, damnéd Bog! 1791. FOOTNOTES: [27:1] First published in 1834. [27:2] Plymtree Road, August 18, 1791. _Note, MS. O._ [Plimtree is about8 miles N. of Ottery St. Mary. S. T. C. must have left the mail coach atCullompton to make his way home on foot.] LINENOTES: _Devonshire Roads_] No title MS. O. MUSIC[28:1] Hence, soul-dissolving HarmonyThat lead'st th' oblivious soul astray--Though thou sphere-descended be--Hence away!--Thou mightier Goddess, thou demand'st my lay, 5Born when earth was seiz'd with cholic;Or as more sapient sages say,What time the Legion diabolicCompell'd their beings to enshrineIn bodies vile of herded swine, 10Precipitate adown the steepWith hideous rout were plunging in the deep,And hog and devil mingling grunt and yellSeiz'd on the ear with horrible obtrusion;--Then if aright old legendaries tell, 15Wert thou begot by Discord on Confusion! What though no name's sonorous powerWas given thee at thy natal hour!--Yet oft I feel thy sacred might,While concords wing their distant flight. 20Such Power inspires thy holy sonSable clerk of Tiverton!And oft where Otter sports his stream,I hear thy banded offspring scream.Thou Goddess! thou inspir'st each throat; 25'Tis thou who pour'st the scritch-owl note!Transported hear'st thy children allScrape and blow and squeak and squall;And while old Otter's steeple rings,Clappest hoarse thy raven wings! 30 1791. FOOTNOTES: [28:1] First published in 1834. LINENOTES: Title] Ode on the Ottery and Tiverton Church Music MS. O. SONNET[29:1]
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