Hymn To Adversity

 by Thomas Gray

The Curse Upon Edward 

WEAVE the warp, and weave the woof,

The winding-sheet of Edward's race.

Give ample room, and verge enough

The characters of hell to trace.

Mark the year, and mark the night,

When Severn shall re-echo with affright

The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that ring,

Shrieks of an agonizing King!

She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,

That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate,

From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs

The scourge of Heav'n. What terrors round him wait!

Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,

And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.

Mighty Victor, mighty Lord!

Low on his funeral couch he lies!

No pitying heart, no eye, afford

A tear to grace his obsequies.

Is the sable warrior fled?

Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.

The swarm that in thy noon tide beam were born?

Gone to salute the rising morn.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,

While proudly riding o'er the azure realm

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;

Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,

That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

Fill high the sparkling bowl,

The rich repast prepare;

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:

Close by the regal chair

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.

Heard ye the din of battle bray,

Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

Long years of havoc urge their destined course,

And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.

Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,

With many a foul and midnight murder fed,

Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,

And spare the meek usurper's holy head.

Above, below, the rose of snow,

Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:

The bristled boar in infant-gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.

Edward, lo! to sudden fate

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun)

Half of thy heart we consecrate.

(The web is wove. The work is done.) 

Ode On The Spring 

Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours,

Fair Venus' train appear,

Disclose the long-expecting flowers,

And wake the purple year!

The Attic warbler pours her throat,

Responsive to the cuckoo's note,

The untaught harmony of spring:

While whisp'ring pleasure as they fly,

Cool zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky

Their gather'd fragrance fling.

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch

A broader, browner shade;

Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech

O'er-canopies the glade,

Beside some water's rushy brink

With me the Muse shall sit, and think

(At ease reclin'd in rustic state)

How vain the ardour of the crowd,

How low, how little are the proud,

How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of Care:

The panting herds repose:

Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air

The busy murmur glows!

The insect youth are on the wing,

Eager to taste the honied spring,

And float amid the liquid noon:

Some lightly o'er the current skim,

Some show their gaily-gilded trim

Quick-glancing to the sun.

To Contemplation's sober eye

Such is the race of man:

And they that creep, and they that fly,

Shall end where they began.

Alike the busy and the gay

But flutter thro' life's little day,

In fortune's varying colours drest:

Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance,

Or chill'd by age, their airy dance

They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear in accents low

The sportive kind reply:

Poor moralist! and what art thou?

A solitary fly!

Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets,

No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,

No painted plumage to display:

On hasty wings thy youth is flown;

Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone--

We frolic, while 'tis May. 

Hymn To Adversity 

Daughter of Jove, relentless Power,

Thou tamer of the human breast,

Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour

The Bad affright, afflict the Best!

Bound in thy adamantine chain

The Proud are taught to taste of pain,

And purple Tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

When first thy Sire to send on earth

Virtue, his darling child, designed,

To thee he gave the heav'nly Birth,

And bade to form her infant mind.

Stern rugged Nurse! thy rigid lore

With patience many a year she bore:

What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know,

And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe.

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,

Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leisure to be good.

Light they disperse, and with them go

The summer Friend, the flatt'ring Foe;

By vain Prosperity received,

To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.

Wisdom in sable garb arrayed

Immersed in rapt'rous thought profound,

And Melancholy, silent maid

With leaden eye, that loves the ground,

Still on thy solemn steps attend:

Warm Charity, the gen'ral Friend,

With Justice, to herself severe,

And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.

Oh, gently on thy Suppliant's head,

Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand!

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,

Not circled with the vengeful Band

(As by the Impious thou art seen),

With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,

With screaming Horror's funeral cry,

Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear,

Thy milder influence impart,

Thy philosophic Train be there

To soften, not to wound my heart.

The gen'rous spark extinct revive,

Teach me to love and to forgive,

Exact my own defects to scan,

What others are, to feel, and know myself a Man.