WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. But dearly must we prize thee; we who find WORDSWORTH. ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR.1 Τοῦ, τού, ὢ ὢ κακά. Υπ' αὖ μὲ δεινὸς ὁρθομαντείας πόνος * * * Τὸ μέλλον ἥξει. Καὶ σὺ μὲ ἐν τάχει παρών Eschyl. Agam. 1225. ARGUMENT. THE Ode commences with an address to the Divine Providence, that regulates into one vast harmony all the events of time, however calamitous some of them may appear to mortals. The second strophe calls on men to suspend their private joys and sorrows, and devote them for a while to the cause of human nature in general. The first epode speaks of the empress of Russia, who died of an apoplexy on the 17th of November, 1796; having just concluded a subsidiary treaty with the kings combined against France. The first and second antistrophe describe the image of the departing year, &c. as in a vision. The second epode prophecies, in anguish of spirit, the downfall of this country. 1. SPIRIT who sweepest the wild harp of time! 1 This Ode was composed on the 24th, 25th, and 26th days of December, 1796: and was first published on the last day of that year. Yet, mine eye fixed on heaven's unchanging clime, Long had I listened, free from mortal fear, With inward stillness, and a bowed mind; When lo! its folds far waving on the wind, I saw the train of the departing year! Starting from my silent sadness Then with no unholy madness, Ere yet the entered cloud foreclosed my sight, 11. Hither, from the recent tomb, From the prison's direr gloom, Or where o'er cradled infants bending Ye Woes! ye young-eyed Joys! advance! By Time's wild harp, and by the hand Raises its fateful strings from sleep, 1 bid you haste, a mixed tumultuous band! And each domestic hearth, Haste for one solemn hour; And with a loud and yet a louder voice, O'er Nature struggling in portentous birth, Weep and rejoice! Still echoes the dread name that o'er the earth III. I marked Ambition in his war-array! I heard the mailed monarch's troublous cry"Ah! wherefore does the northern conqueress stay! Groans not her chariot on its onward way?" Stunned by Death's twice mortal mace, The insatiate hag shall gloat with drunken eye! Ye that gasped on Warsaw's plain! When human ruin choked the streams, Sudden blasts of triumph swelling, Oft, at night, in misty train, Rush around her narrow dwelling! |