O THOU, the Friend of Man assign'd, <br />With balmy Hands his Wounds to bind, <br /> And charm his frantic Woe: <br />When first Distress with Dagger keen <br />Broke forth to waste his destin'd Scene, <br /> His wild unsated Foe! <br /> <br />2. <br /> <br />By Pella's Bard, a magic Name, <br />By all the Griefs his Thoughts could frame, <br /> Receiue my humble Rite: <br />Long, Pity, let the Nations view <br />Thy sky-worn Robes of tend'rest Blue, <br /> And Eyes of dewy Light! <br />3. <br /> <br />But wherefore need I wander wide <br />To old Ilissus' distant Side, <br /> Deserted Stream, and mute? <br />Wild Arun too has heard thy Strains, <br />And Echo, 'midst my native Plains, <br /> Been sooth'd by Pity's Lute. <br />4. <br /> <br />There first the Wren thy Myrtles shed <br />On gentlest Otway's infant Head, <br /> To Him thy Cell was shown; <br />And while He sung the Female heart, <br />With Youth's soft Notes unspoil'd by Art, <br /> Thy Turtles mix'd their own. <br />5. <br /> <br />Come, Pity, come, by Fancy's Aid, <br />Ev'n now my Thoughts, relenting Maid, <br /> Thy Temple's Pride design: <br />Its Southern Site, its Truth compleat <br />Shall raise a wild Enthusiast Heat, <br /> In all who view the Shrine. <br />6. <br /> <br />There Picture's Toils shall well relate, <br />How Chance, or hard involving Fate, <br /> O'er mortal Bliss prevail: <br />The Buskin'd Muse shall near her stand, <br />And sighing prompt her tender Hand, <br /> With each disastrous Tale. <br />7. <br /> <br />There let me oft, retir'd by Day, <br />In Dreams of Pasion melt away, <br /> Allow'd with Thee to dwell: <br />There waste the mournful Lamp of Night, <br />Till, Virgin, Thou again delight <br /> To hear a British shell!<br /><br />William Taylor Collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-to-pity-2/
