Ode to Adversity by Thomas Gray
"Ode to Adversity" is a poem written by Thomas Gray. This poem is somewhat of a prayer to Jove and adversity. Gray tells us all the things that Virtue, the child of Jove, had done to overcome what happened to her. He goes on to say that he wishes he could be that way and also learn to love, forget, and understand what others feel. He says that he wishes he could learn from his own defects and become a better person.
This poem is made up of six stanzas with eight lines in each. It is rhymed as ABABCCDD. Each of the first seven lines in each stanza are made up of eight or nine syllables while the last one is made up of at least ten syllables.
Ode to Adversity Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour, The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy Sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, designed, To thee he gave the heavenly birth, And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore: What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer friend, the flattering foe; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb arrayed, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid With leaden eye, that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend: Warm Charity, the general friend, With Justice to herself severe, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 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. Thy form benign, oh 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.
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