In regions where the Almighty's chastening hand
With livid pestilence afflicts the land,
Or where pale famine blasts the hopeful year,
Parent of want and misery severe;
Or where, all-dreadful in the embattled line,
The hostile ships in naming combat join, 70
Where the torn vessel wind and waves assail,
Till o'er her crew distress and death prevail.
Such joyless toils in early youth endured,
The expanding dawn of mental day obscured,
Each genial passion of the soul oppress'd,
And quench'd the ardour kindling in his breast.
Then censure not severe the native song,
Though jarring sounds the measured verse prolong,
Though terms uncouth offend the softer ear,
Yet truth and human anguish deign to hear: 80
No laurel wreath these lays attempt to claim,
Nor sculptured brass to tell the poet's name.
And, lo! the power that wakes the eventful song
Hastes hither from Lethean banks along:
She sweeps the gloom, and rushing on the sight,
Spreads o'er the kindling scene propitious light.
In her right hand an ample roll appears,
Fraught with long annals of preceding years,
With every wise and noble art of man,
Since first the circling hours their course began: 90
Her left a silver wand on high display'd,
Whose magic touch dispels oblivion's shade:
Pensive her look; on radiant wings that glow
Like Juno's birds, or Iris' flaming bow,