And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.

5 Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,
Dread Goddess! lay thy chastening hand,
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band:
(As by the impious thou art seen),
With thundering voice and threatening mien,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

6 Thy form benign, O Goddess! wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philosophic train be there,
To soften, not to wound, my heart:
The generous spark extinct revive;
Teach me to love and to forgive;
Exact my own defects to scan;
What others are to feel, and know myself a Man.

* * * * *


V.--THE PROGRESS OF POESY.

PINDARIC.

ADVERTISEMENT.--When the author first published this and the following
ode, he was advised, even by his friends, to subjoin some few
explanatory notes, but had too much respect for the understanding of