ODES. 151 



Arrests the phantom's fleeting course ; 

 It lives — it lives — the canvas glows. 

 And tenfold vigour o'er it flows. 



The Bard beholds the work achieved, 

 And as he sees the shadow rise, 

 (Sublime before his wandering eyes, 



Starts at the image his own mind conceived. 



ODE. 



Addressed to the Earl of Carlisle, E.G. 



Retired, remote from human noise, 



A humble Poet dwelt serene, 

 His lot was lowly, yet his joys 



Were manifold I ween. 

 He laid him by the brawling brook 

 At eventide to ruminate, 



He watched the swallow swimming round, 



And mused, in reverie profound, 

 On wayward man's unhappy state, 

 And pondered much, and paused on deeds of ancient date. 



II. 1. 



" Oh, 'twas not always thus," he cried, 

 " There was a time when genius claimed 



Respect from even towering pride, 

 Nor hung her head ashamed : 



But now to wealth alone we bow, 

 The titled, and the rich alone. 



Are honoured, while meek merit pines. 



On penury's wretched couch reclines, 

 Unheeded in his dying moan. 

 As, overwhelmed with want and woe, he sinks unknown. 



III. 1. 



Yet was the Muse not always seen 

 In poverty's dejected mien. 

 Not always did repining rue, 



