ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
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e distant spires, ye antique towers,That crown the watery glade,Where grateful Science still adoresHer Henry's holy shade;And ye, that from the stately brow 5Of Windsor's heights th' expanse belowOf grove, of lawn, of mead survey,Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers amongWanders the hoary Thames alongHis silver-winding way: 10 Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!Ah, fields belov'd in vain!Where once my careless childhood stray'd,A stranger yet to pain!I feel the gales that from ye blow 15A momentary bliss bestow,As, waving fresh their gladsome wing,My weary soul they seem to soothe,And, redolent of joy and youth,To breathe a second spring. 20 Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seenFull many a sprightly raceDisporting on thy margent greenThe paths of pleasure trace;Who foremost now delight to cleave 25With pliant arm thy glassy wave?The captive linnet which enthrall?What idle progeny succeedTo chase the rolling circle's speed,Or urge the flying ball? 30 While some, on earnest business bent,Their murmuring labours ply'Gainst graver hours that bring constraintTo sweeten liberty,Some bold adventurers disdain 35The limits of their little reign,And unknown regions dare descry:Still as they run they look behind,They hear a voice in every wind,And snatch a fearful joy. 40 Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,Less pleasing when possest;The tear forgot as soon as shed,The sunshine of the breast:Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, 45Wild wit, invention ever new,And lively cheer of vigour born;The thoughtless day, the easy night,The spirits pure, the slumbers light,That fly th' approach of morn. 50 Alas! regardless of their doom,The little victims play;No sense have they of ills to come,No care beyond to-day:Yet see how all around 'em wait 55The ministers of human fate,And black Misfortune's baleful train!Ah, show them where in ambush standTo seize their prey the murtherous band!Ah, tell them, they are men! 60 These shall the fury Passions tear,The vultures of the mind,Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,And Shame that skulks behind;Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 65Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,That inly gnaws the secret heart;And Envy wan, and faded Care,Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair,And Sorrow's piercing dart. 70 Ambition this shall tempt to rise,Then whirl the wretch from high,To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,And grinning Infamy.The stings of Falsehood those shall try, 75And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;And keen Remorse with blood defil'd,And moody Madness laughing wildAmid severest woe. 80 Lo! in the vale of years beneathA grisly troop are seen,The painful family of Death,More hideous than their queen:This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 85That every labouring sinew strains,Those in the deeper vitals rage:Lo! Poverty, to fill the band,That numbs the soul with icy hand,And slow-consuming Age. 90 To each his sufferings: all are men,Condemn'd alike to groan;The tender for another's pain,Th' unfeeling for his own.Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, 95Since sorrow never comes too late,And happiness too swiftly flies?Thought would destroy their paradise.No more;--where ignorance is bliss,'Tis folly to be wise. 100 [Illustration: SEAL OF ETON COLLEGE.] [Illustration: APOLLO CITHAROEDUS. FROM THE VATICAN.] THE PROGRESS OF POESY._A Pindaric Ode_.[Greek: Phônanta sunetoisin: esDe to pan hermêneônChatizei.]--PINDAR, _Ol_. II.
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