Alone he treads the autumnal shade, Alone beneath the mountain laid He sees the nightly damps ascend, And gathering storms aloft impend; He hears the neighbouring surges roll, And raging thunders shake the pole; Then, struck by every object round, And stunn'd by every horrid sound, He asks a clue for Nature's ways; But evil haunts him through the maze: 120 He sees ten thousand demons rise To wield the empire of the skies, And Chance and Fate assume the rod, And Malice blot the throne of God.-- O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, Thy lenient influence hither bring; Compose the storm, dispel the gloom, Till Nature wear her wonted bloom, Till fields and shades their sweets exhale, And music swell each opening gale: 130 Then o'er his breast thy softness pour, And let him learn the timely hour To trace the world's benignant laws, And judge of that presiding cause Who founds on discord beauty's reign, Converts to pleasure every pain, Subdues each hostile form to rest, And bids the universe be bless'd. O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, If right I touch the votive string, 140 If equal praise I yield thy name, Still govern thou thy poet's flame; Still with the Muse my bosom share, And soothe to peace intruding care. But most exert thy pleasing power On friendship's consecrated hour; And while my Sophron points the road To godlike wisdom's calm abode, Or warm in freedom's ancient cause Traceth the source of Albion's laws, 150 Add thou o'er all the generous toil The light of thy unclouded smile. But if, by fortune's stubborn sway From him and friendship torn away, I court the Muse's healing spell For griefs that still with absence dwell, Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams To such indulgent placid themes, As just the struggling breast may cheer, And just suspend the starting tear, 160 Yet leave that sacred sense of woe Which none but friends and lovers know. ODE VII. ON THE USE OF POETRY. 1 Not for themselves did human kind Contrive the parts by heaven assign'd On life's wide scene to play: Not Scipio's force nor Caesar's skill Can conquer Glory's arduous hill, If Fortune close the way. 2 Yet still the self-depending soul, Though last and least in Fortune's roll, His proper sphere commands; And knows what Nature's seal bestow'd, And sees, before the throne of God, The rank in which he stands. 3 Who train'd by laws the future age, Who rescued nations from the rage Of partial, factious power, My heart with distant homage views; Content, if thou, celestial Muse, Didst rule my natal hour.