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Mary Darby Robinson - Ode to Eloquence
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HAIL! GODDESS of persuasive art! 
  The magic of whose tuneful tongue 
    Lulls to soft harmony the wand`ring heart 
  With fascinating song; 
    O, let me hear thy heav`n-taught strain, 
  As thro` my quiv`ring pulses steal 
    The mingling throbs of joy and pain, 
  Which only sensate minds can feel; 
      Ah ! let me taste the bliss supreme, 
    Which thy warm touch unerring flings 
    O`er the rapt sense`s finest strings, 
  When GENIUS, darting frown the sky, 
  Glances across my wond`ring eye, 
      Her animating beam. 

  SWEET ELOQUENCE! thy mild controul, 
  Awakes to REASON`s dawn, the IDIOT soul; 
    When mists absorb the MENTAL sight, 
    `Tis thine, to dart CREATIVE LIGHT; 
  `Tis thine, to chase the filmy clouds away, 
And o`er the mind`s deep bloom, spread a refulgent ray. 
  Nor is thy wond`rous art confin`d, 
    Within the bounds of MENTAL space, 
    For thou canst boast exterior grace, 
  Bright emblem of the fertile mind; 
Yes; I have seen thee, with persuasion meek, 
Bathe in the lucid tear, on Beauty`s cheek, 
Have mark`d thee in the downcast eye, 
When suff`ring Virtue claim`d the pitying sigh. 

    Oft, by thy thrilling voice subdued, 
    The meagre fiend INGRATITUDE 
      Her treach`rous fang conceals; 
    Pale ENVY hides her forked sting; 
    And CALUMNY, beneath the wing 
      Of dark oblivion steals. 

    Before thy pure and lambent fire 
    Shall frozen Apathy expire; 
  Thy influence warm and unconfin`d, 
    Shall rapt`rous transports give, 
  And in the base and torpid mind, 
    Shall bid the fine Affections live; 
  When JEALOUSY`s malignant dart, 
  Strikes at the fondly throbbing heart; 
  When fancied woes, on every side assail, 
  Thy honey`d accents shall prevail; 
  When burning Passion withers up the brain, 
  And the fix`d lids, the glowing drops sustain, 
  Touch`d by thy voice, the melting eye 
Shall pour the balm of yielding SYMPATHY. 

    `Tis thine, with lenient Song to move 
    The dumb despair of hopeless LOVE; 
    Or when the animated soul 
      On Fancy`s wing shall soar, 
    And scorning Reason`s soft controul, 
      Untrodden paths explore; 
    `Till by distracting conflicts tost, 
    The intellectual source is lost: 
  E`en then, the witching music of thy tongue 
    Stealing thro` Mis`ry`s DARKEST GLOOM, 
    Weaves the fine threads of FANCY`s loom, 
  `Till every slacken`d nerve new strung, 
    Bids renovated NATURE shine, 
Amidst the fost`ring beams of ELOQUENCE DIVINE.
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