21
ODES.
ODE TO PITY.
O thou, the friend of man, assign'd
With balmy hands his wounds to bind,
And charm his frantic woe:
When first Distress, with dagger keen,
Broke forth to waste his destined scene, 5
His wild unsated foe!
With balmy hands his wounds to bind,
And charm his frantic woe:
When first Distress, with dagger keen,
Broke forth to waste his destined scene, 5
His wild unsated foe!
By Pella's[1] bard, a magic name,
By all the griefs his thought could frame,
Receive my humble rite:
Long, Pity, let the nations view 10
The sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,
And eyes of dewy light!
By all the griefs his thought could frame,
Receive my humble rite:
Long, Pity, let the nations view 10
The sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,
And eyes of dewy light!