The Enquirer

FOR THE ENQUIRER.
PINDARIC ODES.—ODE XIII
TO J. R.—M. C.

"Ho! Mount Parnassus ho! the Bard, fair maid,
Knocks at thy door and supplicates thy aid:
I have no female friend but thee, sweet muse!
Then leave thy mountain, and with me come dwell,
Oh! be a smiling Goddess to my cell;
Thou ought'st not this, my Bardship's wish refuse;
I would not give thee for a modern Belle—
That is—I’ve not the liberty to chuse.

Then, Thalia, here expand thy burnished wing,
And strike to John again, the lyric string,
Altho' our song, is but with him I fear—
"Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear."

Sir, thou was't once the darling of the nation.
The Cynosure of public admiration;
Round thee the patriot's best affections hang,
The breast that throb'd for freedom, throb'd for you.
Wide o'er a generous land thy praises flew;
And fame enamoured, dwelt upon thy tongue;
Corruption withering, shrunk beneath thy frown,
And every virtue hail'd thee as her own.

Lo! what a change—“the cloud cap't tower" in dust!
With Mister Key! "how are the mighty fall'n?"
Thy once pure gold, with copper's pois'nous rust;
Oh! tell it not in Gath or Askelon!

—Lo, bathed in Orient streams of radiant light,
Th' effulgent dew-ball, glitters on the sight;
A thousand charms its rainbow tints display,
While budding jasmines round, admiring play.

See! slightly touched—just to edit—it dies,
And in a moment, all its lustre dies;
Mournful I saw, its brilliant hues dispers'd.
Yet, ah! twas but a bubble, Sir, at first.

R—, strange things I hear,
Yes: passing strange, and true, I fear—
What! sympathise with
Accord with P—k—, M—t—, K— and H—p—y
Wretches, who deem fair liberty a jilt;
Who'd basely knuckle to a tyrant's throne,
A gang, that infamy would scorn to own;
Putrid, rotting in their own vice and guilt;
Pirates, "hungry, and gaunt, & grim," who wait
Anxious to seize a time, "no watch on deck,"
(A lawless crew!) to board the ship of state:
And clap the bow-string round fair freedom's neck.

Hast thou a heart? or is it made of steel?
Can aught the thunders of thy conscience hush?
Hast thou a soul that ever knew to feel?
Hast thou a cheek that ever owned a blush?

Impetuous urged by passion's furious tide,
To strike on some dread rock, thou could'st not fail;
Let no one follow thee, let all bewail!
Serve as a beacon—never as a guide.

A few lines more, and I am done,
Thou can'st not think this Ode too long,
Sweet chit chat of the muse, Sir, o'er her tea
(Tea! I love thee very much indeed,
Thou mad'st the Hydra's heads not bleed,
And proved the way for millions to be free.)

Yes; a moment more pray lend an ear,
And ope thy spheres—here's a Lady, Sir,
Forgot by you, behold the patriot's queen,
Fair Liberty! advance with smile serene;
See round the Goddess, joyful millions throng,
Adore in a dance and sacred song!

See Virtue, late by tyranny oppress'd,
Recline with modest simper on her breast!
See History, ope the book of every age,
And dedicate to her, the brightest page;
Lo! hoary Wisdom, rich in human lore,
Receive her favours, and solicit more;
Lo Wit, with laughing eye and comic glance,
Offer his tribute—bound on tiptoe dance;
Science, resign the scorpion thong awhile,
Unlock his iron heart, and learn to smile:
While truth in sweet simplicity arrayed,
Predicts not many a triumph to the maid;
Love shouts! Beauty expands her wing,
Apollo listens, and the muses sing.

Tho' greatly thou hast erred, the goddess meetly
Go, fall contrite and worship at her feet,
Give all thy way-ward aberrations o'er;
The maid will view thee, with benignant eye,
Extend her hand, and cherubimic cry,
John! I forgive thee—“Go and sin no more."

SEDLEY.