My hope, my God, in thee again This erring life will fly at last. ['MS. Newstead']] TRANSLATION FROM ANACREON. [1] [Greek: Eis rodon.] ODE 5 Mingle with the genial bowl The Rose, the 'flow'ret' of the Soul, The Rose and Grape together quaff'd, How doubly sweet will be the draught! With Roses crown our jovial brows, While every cheek with Laughter glows; While Smiles and Songs, with Wine incite, To wing our moments with Delight. Rose by far the fairest birth, Which Spring and Nature cull from Earth-- Rose whose sweetest perfume given, Breathes our thoughts from Earth to Heaven. Rose whom the Deities above, From Jove to Hebe, dearly love, When Cytherea's blooming Boy, Flies lightly through the dance of Joy, With him the Graces then combine, And rosy wreaths their locks entwine. Then will I sing divinely crown'd, With dusky leaves my temples bound-- Lyæus! in thy bowers of pleasure, I'll wake a wildly thrilling measure. There will my gentle Girl and I, Along the mazes sportive fly, Will bend before thy potent throne-- Rose, Wine, and Beauty, all my own. 1805. [Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed,] OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN IN "CARTHON." [1] Oh! thou that roll'st above thy glorious Fire, Round as the shield which grac'd my godlike Sire, Whence are the beams, O Sun! thy endless blaze, Which far eclipse each minor Glory's rays? Forth in thy Beauty here thou deign'st to shine! Night quits her car, the twinkling stars decline; Pallid and cold the Moon descends to cave Her sinking beams beneath the Western wave; But thou still mov'st alone, of light the Source-- Who can o'ertake thee in thy fiery course? Oaks of the mountains fall, the rocks decay, Weighed down with years the hills dissolve away. A certain space to yonder Moon is given, She rises, smiles, and then is lost in Heaven. Ocean in sullen murmurs ebbs and flows, But thy bright beam unchanged for ever glows! When Earth is darkened with tempestuous skies, When Thunder shakes the sphere and Lightning flies, Thy face, O Sun, no rolling blasts deform, Thou look'st from clouds and laughest at the Storm. To Ossian, Orb of Light! thou look'st in vain, Nor cans't thou glad his agèd eyes again, Whether thy locks in Orient Beauty stream, Or glimmer through the West with fainter gleam-- But thou, perhaps, like me with age must bend; Thy season o'er, thy days will find their end, No more yon azure vault with rays adorn, Lull'd in the clouds, nor hear the voice of Morn. Exult, O Sun, in all thy youthful strength! Age, dark unlovely Age, appears at length, As gleams the moonbeam through the broken cloud While mountain vapours spread their misty shroud-- The Northern tempest howls along at last, And wayworn strangers shrink amid the blast. Thou rolling Sun who gild'st those rising towers,