Northern Drive to St Lucy

Northern Drive to St Lucy
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Sunday, March 7, 2010

Specialized Rhyme Schemes in English Poetry Versification - Part Vll

Anacreon Ode *
Dorian Ode or Choric Ode/Pindaric Ode *
Cowleyan Pindaric Ode
Epinicion Ode *
Epithalamion Ode *
Horatian Ode
Homostrophic Ode
Irregular Ode
Prothalamion Ode *

The links on this blog-list point to the topics previously discussed. If you wish to review those topics, simply click on the asterisk. Any discussion on odes is bound to cross paths with Thomas Gray who was born on Boxing Day of 1716 in Cornhill, London, England. This 18th Century English poet died at the age of 55 years on July 30, 1771. Thomas Gray began seriously writing poems has history says in 1742, and was also known as one of the "Graveyard poets" of the late 1700s. Though Pindaric meter was perceived as being better understood in the 18th Century, Pindaric odes lost their popularity. However, the 18th Century poet, Thomas Gray brought them back to the fore in his "genuine" Pindaric odes as seen in "The Bard" and "The Progress of Poesy" for which he considered his best works. Meanwhile the Cowleyan Pindaric style was revived around 1800 by William Wordsworth in one of his finest odes, "Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood". Now, turning the spotlight back on Thomas Gray it must be known that having read the odes he considered his best works, I boldly share with you that their rhyme schemes truly reflect the structure of Pindaric odes. So here are the things I have found:

In the ode, "The Progress of Poesy" Gray used this rhyme schemes: abbaccddeeff abbaccddeeff aabbaccdedefafagg abbaccddeeff abbaccddeeff aabbaccdedefgfghh abbaccddeeff abbaccddeeff aabbaccdedefgfghh. Take a look.

The Progress of Poesy

Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, a
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. b
From Helicon's harmonious springs b
A thousand rills their mazy progress take: a
The laughing flowers that round them blow c
Drink life and fragrance as they flow. c
Now the rich stream of Music winds along, d
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, d
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; e
Now rolling down the steep amain, e
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour; f
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. f

Oh! Sov'reign of the willing soul, a
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, b
Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares b
And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. a
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War c
Has curbed the fury of his car, c
And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. d
Perching on the sceptred hand d
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king e
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing: e
Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie f
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. f

Thee the voice, the dance, obey, a
Tempered to thy warbled lay. a
O'er Idalia's velvet-green b
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen b
On Cytherea's day, a
With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, c
Frisking light in frolic measures; c
Now pursuing, now retreating, d
Now in circling troops they meet: e
To brisk notes in cadence beating d
Glance their many-twinkling feet. e
Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare: f
Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay. a
With arms sublime that float upon the air f
In gliding state she wins her easy way: a
O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move g
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. g

Man's feeble race what ills await! a
Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, b
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, b
And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate! a
The fond complaint, my song, disprove, c
And justify the laws of Jove. c
Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse? d
Night and all her sickly dews, d
Her sceptres wan, and birds of boding cry, e
He gives to range the dreary sky; e
Till down the eastern cliffs afar f
Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of war. f

In climes beyond the solar road, a
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, b
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom b
To cheer the shivering Native's dull abode. a
And oft, beneath the od'rous shade c
Of Chili's boundless forests laid, c
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, d
In loose numbers wildly sweet, d
Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. e
Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, e
Glory pursue, and gen'rous Shame, f
Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. f

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, a
Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep, a
Fields that cool Ilissus laves, b
Or where Maeander's amber waves b
In lingering lab'rinths creep, a
How do your tuneful echoes languish, c
Mute, but to the voice of anguish! c
Where each old poetic mountain d
Inspiration breathed around; e
Ev'ry shade and hallowed fountain d
Murmured deep a solemn sound: e
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, f
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. g
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, f
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. g
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, h
They sought, Oh Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast. h

Far from the sun and summer-gale, a
In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, b
What time, where lucid Avon strayed, b
To him the mighty mother did unveil a
Her awful face: the dauntless child c
Stretched forth his little arms, and smiled. c
"This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear d
Richly paint the vernal year: d
Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy! e
This can unlock the gates of Joy; e
Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, f
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears." f

Nor second he, that rode sublime a
Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, b
The secrets of th' Abyss to spy. b
He passed the flaming bounds of place and time: a
The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, c
Where Angels tremble while they gaze, c
He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, d
Closed his eyes in endless night. d
Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car e
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear e
Two coursers of ethereal race, f
With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. f

Hark, his hands the lyre explore! a
Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, a
Scatters from her pictured urn b
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. b
But ah! 'tis heard no more— a
Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit c
Wakes thee now? Though he inherit c
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, d
That the Theban eagle bear, e
Sailing with supreme dominion d
Through the azure deep of air: e
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run f
Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray, g
With orient hues, unborrowed of the Sun: f
Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way g
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, h
Beneath the Good how far - but far above the Great. h

In the formation of "The Bard", Gray used this rhyme scheme: ababccddefefgg ababccddefefgg abcbacdeedfdfdghfhii ababccddefefgg ababccddefefgg abcdacdeedfgfghghfii ababccddefefgg ababcceebfbfgg abcbdceffeghihjkfkll. Take a look.

The Bard


'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! a
Confusion on thy banners wait, b
Tho' fanned by Conquest's crimson wing a
They mock the air with idle state. b
Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail, c
Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail c
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, d
From Cambria'sÊ curse, from Cambria's tears!' d
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride e
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, f
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side e
He wound with toilsome march his long array. f
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: g
'To arms!' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance. g


On a rock, whose haughty brow a
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, b
Robed in the sable garb of woe, a
With haggard eyes the Poet stood; b
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair c
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) c
And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, d
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. d
'Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, e
Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath! f
O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave, e
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breath; f
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, g
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. g


Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, a
That hush'd the stormy main: b
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: c
Mountains, ye mourn in vain b
Modred, whose magic song a
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head. c
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, d
Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale: e
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail; e
The famish'd Eagle screams, and passes by. d
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, f
Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, d
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, f
Ye died amidst your country's cries-- d
No more I weep. They do not sleep. g
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, h
I see them sit, they linger yet, f
Avengers of their native land: h
With me in dreadful harmony they join, i
And weave with bloody hands, the tissue of thy line.' i


'Weave the warp, and weave the woof, a
The winding-sheet of Edward's race. b
Give ample room, and verge enough a
The characters of hell to trace. b
Mark the year, and mark the night, c
When Severn shall re-eccho with affright c
The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that ring, d
Shrieks of an agonizing King! d
She-Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, e
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled Mate, f
From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs e
The scourge of Heav'n. What Terrors round him wait! f
Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, g
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. g


Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, a
Low on his funeral couch he lies! b
No pitying heart, no eye, afford a
A tear to grace his obsequies. b
Is the sable Warriour fled? c
Thy son is gone. He rests among the Dead. c
The Swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born? d
Gone to salute the rising Morn. d
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows, e
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm f
In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes; e
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; f
Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, g
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening-prey. g


Fill high the sparkling bowl, a
The rich repast prepare, b
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: c
Close by the regal chair b
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl a
A baleful smile upon their baffled Guest. c
Heard ye the din of battle bray, d
Lance to lance, and horse to horse? e
Long Years of havock urge their destined course, e
And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way. d
Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, f
With many a foul and midnight murther fed, g
Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame, f
And spare the meek Usurper's holy head. g
Above, below, the rose of snow, h
Twined with her blushing foe,Ê we spread: g
The bristled Boar in infant-gore h
Wallows beneath the thorny shade. f
Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom i
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. i


Edward, lo! to sudden fate a
(Weave the woof. The thread is spun) b
Half of thy heart we consecrate. a
(The web is wove. The work is done.)' b
'Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn c
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: c
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, d
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. d
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowden's height e
Descending slow their glitt'ring skirts unroll? f
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, e
Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul! f
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. g
All-hail, ye genuine Kings, Brittania's Issue, hail! g


Girt with many a Baron bold a
Sublime their starry fronts they rear; b
And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen old a
In bearded majesty, appear. b
In the midst a Form divine! c
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line; c
Her lyon-port, her awe-commanding face, e
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. e
What strings symphonious tremble in the air, b
What strains of vocal transport round her play! f
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; b
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. f
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, g
Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd wings. g


The verse adorn again a
Fierce War, and faithful Love, b
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. c
In buskin'd measures move b
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, d
With Horrour, Tyrant of the throbbing breast. c
A Voice, as of the Cherub-Choir, e
Gales from blooming Eden bear; f
And distant warblings lessen on my ear, f
That lost in long futurity expire. e
Fond impious Man, think'st thou, yon sanguine cloud, g
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the Orb of day? h
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, i
And warms the nations with redoubled ray. h
Enough for me: With joy I see j
The different doom our Fates assign. k
Be thine Despair, and scept'red Care, f
To triumph, and to die, are mine.' k
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height l
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night. l

It was widely felt during that period that Cowleyan Pindaric odes were birth from a misunderstanding of Pindar's metrical rules but John Dryden found much favor with them. John Dryden was from the county of Northamptonshire. Permit me to change gears a bit as my mind recalls the many months I have spent in Northamptonshire during the period of the Gulf War dubbed "Operation Desert Shield". I was elated when in my temporary home located in that county where Dryden was born I heard over televised news that President George H. W. Bush had achieved the war objectives against Saddam Hussein of Iraq. Saddam agreed to the cease fire and would mend his ways but he closed his televised remarks with these words, "my tail has been badly bruised but not my head" and with that remark attributed to Saddam Hussein my gut feeling was that Saddam Hussein had not changed his ways, but would take the time to lick his wounds and come back on the scene with acts more dreadful than before. Never thought though that President George W Bush, son of President George H. W. Bush would take up the struggle from where his father left off and that's another sad story in the archives for the 21st Century.

Now, As I was saying, the established fact is that John Dryden widely imitated with notable success the principles of the Cowleyan Pindaric odes in his own poetry. Here I cite three of his odes which support my contention: "The Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687", "An Ode, on the Death of Mr. Henry Purcell" and "To the Pious Memory of the Accomplished Young Lady,
Mrs Anne Killigrew, Excellent in the Two Sister-arts of Poesy and Painting".

This rhyme scheme: abcdefefcdABAbb aabacaAaA ababcddb abba abbba aabcbc aabbcbc ababccddd has given shape to the "The Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687". Take a look.

A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687

Stanza 1
From harmony, from Heav'nly harmony a
This universal frame began. b
When Nature underneath a heap c
Of jarring atoms lay, d
And could not heave her head, e
The tuneful voice was heard from high, f
Arise ye more than dead. e
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, f
In order to their stations leap, c
And music's pow'r obey. d
From harmony, from Heav'nly harmony A
This universal frame began: B
From harmony to harmony A
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, b
The diapason closing full in man. b

Stanza 2
What passion cannot music raise and quell! a
When Jubal struck the corded shell, a
His list'ning brethren stood around b
And wond'ring, on their faces fell a
To worship that celestial sound: c
Less than a god they thought there could not dwell a
Within the hollow of that shell A
That spoke so sweetly and so well. a
What passion cannot music raise and quell! A

Stanza 3
The trumpet's loud clangor a
Excites us to arms b
With shrill notes of anger a
And mortal alarms. b
The double double double beat c
Of the thund'ring drum d
Cries, hark the foes come; d
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat. b

Stanza 4
The soft complaining flute a
In dying notes discovers b
The woes of hopeless lovers, b
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. a

Stanza 5
Sharp violins proclaim a
Their jealous pangs, and desperation, b
Fury, frantic indignation, b
Depth of pains and height of passion, b
For the fair, disdainful dame. a

Stanza 6
But oh! what art can teach a
What human voice can reach a
The sacred organ's praise? b
Notes inspiring holy love, c
Notes that wing their Heav'nly ways b
To mend the choirs above. c

Stanza 7
Orpheus could lead the savage race; a
And trees unrooted left their place; a
Sequacious of the lyre: b
But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder high'r; b
When to her organ, vocal breath was giv'n, c
An angel heard, and straight appear'd b
Mistaking earth for Heav'n. c

As from the pow'r of sacred lays a
The spheres began to move, b
And sung the great Creator's praise a
To all the bless'd above; b
So when the last and dreadful hour c
This crumbling pageant shall devour, c
The trumpet shall be heard on high, d
The dead shall live, the living die, d
And music shall untune the sky. d

This rhyme scheme: abbacdccad aabBcbdeedfef aabbccdd is associated with "An Ode, On the Death of Mr. Henry Purcell". Go and take a look.

An Ode, On the Death of Mr. Henry Purcell

Late Servant to his Majesty, and Organist of the Chapel Royal,
and of St. Peter's Westminster

Mark how the Lark and Linnet Sing, a
With rival Notes b
They strain their warbling Throats, b
To welcome in the Spring. a
But in the close of Night, c
When Philomel begins her Heav'nly lay, d
They cease their mutual spite, c
Drink in her Music with delight, c
And list'ning and silent, and silent and list'ning, a
And list'ning and silent obey. d

So ceas'd the rival Crew when Purcell came, a
They Sung no more, or only Sung his Fame. a
Struck dumb they all admir'd the God-like Man, b
The God-like Man, B
Alas, too soon retir'd, c
As He too late began. b
We beg not Hell, our Orpheus to restore, d
Had He been there, e
Their Sovereign's fear e
Had sent Him back before. d
The pow'r of Harmony too well they know, f
He long e'er this had Tun'd their jarring Sphere, e
And left no Hell below. f

The Heav'nly Choir, who heard his Notes from high, a
Let down the Scale of Music from the Sky: a
They handed him along, b
And all the way He taught, and all the way they Sung. b
Ye Brethren of the Lyre, and tuneful Voice, c
Lament his Lot: but at your own rejoice. c
Now live secure and linger out your days, d
The Gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's Lays, d
Nor know to mend their Choice. c

This rhyme scheme: aabcdcdeeddffgghihhi aabbccdedeeAeAaa aabbbAccAddefefgg aabbccdedeffggg abcbccdddeeeffgfg abbacccdeededbb abbccddeeffggeeeffgghhii aabbcccddeeffgghiihjjj aabbc abcdbeffdgg aabbccddeeAaaffggg appears in "To the Pious Memory of the Pious Memory of the Accomplished Young Lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew, Excellent in the Two Sister-arts of Poesy and Painting". Take a look.

To the Pious Memory of the Accomplished Young Lady, Mrs Anne Killigrew,
Excellent in the Two Sister-arts of Poesy and Painting

Thou youngest Virgin Daughter of the skies, a
Made in the last promotion of the blest; b
Whose palms, new-plucked from Paradise, a
In spreading branches more sublimely rise, a
Rich with immortal green, above the rest: b
Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star, c
Thou roll'st above us in thy wand'ring race, d
Or, in procession fixed and regular c
Moved with the heavens' majestic pace; d
Or, called to more superior bliss, e
Thou tread'st with seraphims the vast abyss: e
Whatever happy region be thy place, d
Cease thy celestial song a little space; d
(Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine, f
Since Heaven's eternal year is thine.) f
Hear then a mortal muse thy praise rehearse g
In no ignoble verse; g
But such as thy own voice did practise here, h
When thy first fruits of poesie were given, i
To make thyself a welcome inmate there; h
While yet a young probationer h
And candidate of Heaven. i

If by traduction came thy mind, a
Our wonder is the less to find a
A soul so charming from a stock so good; b
Thy father was transfused into thy blood: b
So wert thou born into the tuneful strain, c
(An early, rich, and inexhausted vein.) c
But if thy pre-existing soul d
Was formed, at first, with myriads more, e
It did through all the mighty poets roll d
Who Greek or Latin laurels wore, e
And was that Sappho last, which once it was before; e
If so, then cease thy flight, O Heav'n-born mind! A
Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore: e
Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find A
Than was the beauteous frame she left behind: a
Return, to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind. a

May we presume to say that at thy birth a
New joy was sprung in Heav'n as well as here on earth? a
For sure the milder planets did combine b
On thy auspicious horoscope to shine, b
And ev'n the most malicious were in trine. b
Thy brother-angels at thy birth A
Strung each his lyre, and tuned it high, c
That all the people of the sky c
Might know a poetess was born on earth; A
And then if ever, mortal ears d
Had heard the music of the spheres! d
And if no clust'ring swarm of bees e
On thy sweet mouth distilled their golden dew, f
'Twas that such vulgar miracles e
Heav'n had not leisure to renew: f
For all the blest fraternity of love g
Solemnized there thy birth, and kept thy holyday above. g

O gracious God! how far have we a
Profaned thy Heav'nly gift of poesy! a
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, b
Debased to each obscene and impious use, b
Whose harmony was first ordained above, c
For tongues of angels and for hymns of love! c
Oh wretched we! why were we hurried down d
This lubrique and adult'rate age e
(Nay, added fat pollutions of our own) d
T' increase the steaming ordures of the stage? e
What can we say t' excuse our second fall? f
Let this thy vestal, Heav'n, atone for all: f
Her Arethusian stream remains unsoiled, g
gUnmixed with foreign filth and undefiled; g
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child. g

Art she had none, yet wanted none, a
For nature did that want supply: b
So rich in treasures of her own, c
She might our boasted stores defy: b
Such noble vigour did her verse adorn, c
That it seemed borrowed, where 'twas only born. c
Her morals too were in her bosom bred d
By great examples daily fed, d
What in the best of books, her father's life, she read. d
And to be read herself she need not fear; e
Each test and ev'ry light her muse will bear, e
Though Epictetus with his lamp were there. e
Ev'n love (for love sometimes her muse expressed) f
Was but a lambent-flame which played about her breast, f
Light as the vapours of a morning dream; g
So cold herself, while she such warmth expressed, f
'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream. g

Born to the spacious empire of the Nine, a
One would have thought she should have been content b
To manage well that mighty government; b
But what can young ambitious souls confine? a
To the next realm she stretched her sway, c
For painture near adjoining lay, c
A plenteous province, and alluring prey. c
A chamber of dependences was framed, d
(As conquerers will never want pretence, e
When armed, to justify th' offence), e
And the whole fief, in right of poetry, she claimed. d
The country open lay without defence; e
For poets frequent inroads there had made, d
And perfectly could represent b
The shape, the face, with ev'ry lineament; b

And all the large domains which the dumb-sister swayed, a
All bowed beneath her government, b
Received in triumph wheresoe'er she went. b
Her pencil drew whate'er her soul designed, c
And oft the happy draught surpassed the image in her mind. c
The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks, d
And fruitful plains and barren rocks; d
Of shallow brooks that flowed so clear, e
The bottom did the top appear; e
Of deeper too and ampler floods f
Which as in mirrors showed the woods; f
Of lofty trees, with sacred shades, g
And perspectives of pleasant glades, g
Where nymphs of brightest form appear, e
And shaggy satyrs standing near, e
Which them at once admire and fear. e
The ruins too of some majestic piece, f
Boasting the pow'r of ancient Rome or Greece, f
Whose statues, friezes, columns, broken lie, g
And, though defaced, the wonder of the eye; g
What nature, art, bold fiction, e'er durst frame, h
Her forming hand gave feature to the name. h
So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before, i
But when the peopled ark the whole creation bore. i

The scene then changed; with bold erected look a
Our martial king the sight with rev'rence strook: a
For, not content t' express his outward part, b
Her hand called out the image of his heart, b
His warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear, c
His high-designing thoughts were figured there, c
As when, by magic, ghosts are made appear. c
Our phoenix Queen was portrayed too so bright, d
Beauty alone could beauty take so right: d
Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace, e
Were all observed, as well as heavenly face. e
With such a peerless majesty she stands, f
As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands: f
Before a train of heroines was seen, g
In beauty foremost, as in rank, the Queen! g
Thus nothing to her genius was denied, h
But like a ball of fire, the farther thrown, i
Still with a greater blaze she shone, i
And her bright soul broke out on ev'ry side. h
What next she had designed, Heaven only knows: j
To such immod'rate growth her conquest rose, j
That Fate alone its progress could oppose. j

Now all those charms, that blooming grace, a
That well-proportioned shape, and beauteous face, a
Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes; b
In earth the much-lamented virgin lies! b
Not wit nor piety could Fate prevent; c

Nor was the cruel destiny content a
To finish all the murder at a blow, b
To sweep at once her life and beauty too; c
But, like a hardened felon, took a pride d
To work more mischievously slow, b
And plundered first, and then destroyed. e
O double sacrilege on things divine, f
To rob the relic, and deface the shrine! f
But thus Orinda died: d
Heaven, by the same disease, did both translate; g
As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate. g

Meantime, her warlike brother on the seas a
His waving streamers to the winds displays, b
And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays. b
Ah, gen'rous youth! that wish forbear, c
The winds too soon will waft thee here! c
Slack all thy sails, and fear to come, d
Alas, thou know'st not, thou art wrecked at home! d
No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face, e
Thou hast already had her last embrace. e
But look aloft, and if thou kenn'st from far f
Among the Pleiads a new-kindled star, f
If any sparkles than the rest more bright, g
'Tis she that shines in that propitious light. g

When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound, a
To raise the nations underground; a
When in the valley of Jehosaphat b
The judging God shall close the book of Fate; b
And there the last assizes keep c
For those who wake and those who sleep; c
When rattling bones together fly d
From the four corners of the sky, d
When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread, e
Those clothed with flesh, and life inspires the dead; e
The sacred poets first shall hear the sound, A
And foremost from the tomb shall bound: a
For they are covered with the lightest ground; a
And straight with in-born vigour, on the wing, f
Like mounting larks, to the New Morning sing. f
There thou, sweet saint, before the choir shall go, g
As harbinger of Heav'n, the way to show, g
The way which thou so well hast learned below. g

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Haiti Under Rubble from 7.0 Earthquake

Natural disasters whenever and wherever they occur impact on all of our lives. The Good Book says we are our brothers and sisters keepers lead by the Holy Spirit. Hence, we must do our part when disaster shows its ugly face. Any assistance, great or small, given from generous and loving hearts has equal weight. I'm passing on this information I received that Barbadians can go to First Caribbean Bank to donate to the Disaster Relief Fund for Haiti. The banking information is shown below:

First Caribbean Bank Account--2645374-- Cheques can be written to: HELP #2645374

For more information click on this link

My thoughts and prayers are with the people of Haiti.

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