ODES. 153 



And not to know one swallow makes no summer ! 



Ah ! soon he'll find the brilliant gloam, 

 Which flashed across the hemisphere, 

 Illumining the darkness thcr" 



Was but a simple solitary beam, 

 While all around remained in customed night. 



Still leaden ignorance reigns serene, 

 In the false court's delusive height, 



And only one Carlisle is seen, 

 To illume the heavy gloom with pure and steady light. 



TO iMY LYRE. 

 An Ode. 



I. 

 Thou simple Lyre ? — Thy music wild 



Has served to charm the weary hour, 

 And many a lonely night has 'guiied, 

 When even pain has own'd and smiled, 



Its fascinating power. 



II. 

 Yet, oh, my Lyre ! the busy crowd 



Will little heed thy simple tones : 

 Them, mightier minstrels harping loud 

 Engross, — and thou, and I. must shroud 



Where dark oblivion 'thrones. 



III. 



No hand, thy diapason o'er, 



Well skill'd, I throw with sweep sublime ; 

 For me, no academic lore 

 Has taught the solemn strain to pour, 



Or build the polish'd rhyme. 



IV. 



Yet thou to Sjjlvan themes canst soarj 



Thou know'st to charm the ivoodland train 



