ODE.

(GRAY)

Lo! where the gaily vestur'd throng,

Fair learning's train, are seen,

Wedg'd in close ranks her walls along,

And up her benches green.

Unfolded to their mental eye

Thy awful form, Sublimity!

The moral teacher shows—

Sublimity of Silence born,

And Solitude 'mid caves forlorn

And dimly-vision'd woes;

Or Stedfast Worth, that inly great

Mocks the malignity of fate.

While whisper'd pleasure's dulcet sound

Murmurs the crowded room around,

And Wisdom, borne on Fashion's pinions,

Exulting hails her new dominions.

Oh! both on me your influence shed,

Dwell in my heart and deck my head!

Where'er a broader, browner shade

The shaggy beaver throws,

And with the ample feather's aid

O'er-canopies the nose;

Where'er with smooth and silken pile,

Ling'ring in solemn pause awhile,

The crimson velvet glows;

From some high bench's giddy brink,

Clinton with me begins to think

(As bolt upright we sit)

That dress, like dogs, should have its day,

That beavers are too hot for May,

And velvets quite unfit.

Then taste, in maxims sweet, I draw

From her unerring lip;

How light, how simple are the straw,

How delicate the chip!

Hush'd is the speaker's powerful voice,

The audience melt away,

I fly to fix my final choice

And bless th' instructive day.

The milliner officious pours

Of hats and caps her ready stores,

The unbought elegance of spring;

Some wide, disclose the full round face,

Some shadowy, lend a modest grace

And stretch their sheltering wing.

Here clustering grapes appear to shed

Their luscious juices on the head,

And cheat the longing eye;

So round the Phrygian monarch hung

Fair fruits, that from his parched tongue

For ever seem'd to fly.

Here early blooms the summer rose;

Here ribbons wreathe fantastic bows;

Here plays gay plumage of a thousand dyes—

Visions of beauty, spare my aching eyes!

Ye cumbrous fashions, crowd not on my head!

Mine be the chip of purest white,

Swan-like, and as her feathers light

When on the still wave spread;

And let it wear the graceful dress

Of unadorned simpleness.

Ah! frugal wish; ah! pleasing thought;

Ah! hope indulged in vain;

Of modest fancy cheaply bought,

A stranger yet to Payne.

With undissembled grief I tell,—

For sorrow never comes too late,—

The simplest bonnet in Pall Mall

Is sold for £1 8s.

To Calculation's sober view,

That searches ev'ry plan,

Who keep the old, or buy the new,

Shall end where they began.

Alike the shabby and the gay

Must meet the sun's meridian ray;

The air, the dust, the damp.

This, shall the sudden shower despoil;

That, slow decay by gradual soil;

Those, envious boxes cramp.

Who will, their squander'd gold may pay;

Who will, our taste deride;

We'll scorn the fashion of the day

With philosophic pride.

Methinks we thus, in accents low,

Might Sydney Smith address,

'Poor moralist! and what art thou,

Who never spoke of dress!

'Thy mental hero never hung

Suspended on a tailor's tongue,

In agonizing doubt;

Thy tale no flutt'ring female show'd,

Who languish'd for the newest mode,

Yet dar'd to live without.'