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**b *WAIL, queen of thought sublime! proun v pitious Power,

Who o'er th’unbounded waste art joy'd

to roam, . Led by the Moon, when at the midnight hour Her pale rays tremble thro’ the dusky gloom.

O bear me, Goddess, to thy peaceful seat!
Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey’d,
Or lodg’d, where mountains screen thy deep retreat,
Or wandering wild thro’ Chili's boundless shade,
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Say, rove thy steps o'er Libia’s naked waste?
Or seek fome distant folitary shore ?
Or on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd
Do'st fit and hear the solemn thunder roar?

Fix'd on some hanging rock's projected brow,
Hear’st Thou low murmurs from the distant dome!
Or ftrays thy feet where pale dejected Woe
Pours her long wail from some lamented tomb?

Hark! yon deep Echo strikes the trembling ear ! See Night's dun curtain wraps the darksome pole! O'er heav’n’s blue arch yon rolling worlds appear, And rouse to folemn thought th' aspiring soul,

O lead my steps beneath the Moon's dim ray,
Where Tadmor stands all-desert and alone!
While from Her time-look tow'rs, the bird of prey
Sounds thro' the night her long-resounding moan.

Or bear me far to yon bleak dismal plain,
Where fell-eyed Tygers all-athirst for blood
Howl to the desert;—while the horrid train
Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel stood.

That Queen of nations ! whose superior call
Rous’d the broad East, and bid Her arms destr :y!

When warm'd to mirth-let Judgment mark her Fall, And deep Reflection dalh the lip of Joy.

Short is Ambition's gay deceitful dream;
Though wreaths of blooming laurel bind her brow,
Calm Thought dispels the visionary scheme,
And Time's cold breath diffolves the withering bough.

Slow as fome Miner saps th' aspiring tow'r,
When working secret with destructive aim ;
Unseen, unheard, thus moves the stealing Hour,
But works the fall of Empire, Pomp, and Name.

Then let thy pencil mark the traits of Man ;
Full in the draught be keen-eyed Hope pourtray'd;
Let fluttering Cupids croud the growing plan:
Then give one touch, and dash it deep with shade.

Beneath the plume that flames with glancing rays,
Be Care's deep engines on the soul impress’d;
Beneath the helmet's keen refulgent blaze,
Let Grief fit pining in the canker'd breast.

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Let Love's gay sons, a smiling train, appear,
With Beauty pierc'd,~-yet heedless of the dart :
While closely couch’d, pale fick’ning Envy near
Whets her fell sting, and points it at the heart.

F 4 : Perch'd

Perch'd like a raven on some blasted yew, :
Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting fin;
Scared,—while her eyes survey th’etherial blue,
Lest heav'n's strong lightning burst the Dark within.'

Then paint, --impending o'er the maddening deep That rock, where heart-struck Sappho vainly brave Stood firm of soul;--then from the dizzy steep Impetuous sprung, and dash'd the boiling wave.

Here wrapt in studious thought let Fancy rove,
Still prompt to mark Suspicion's secret snare ;
To see where Anguish nips the bloom of Love,
Qr trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care.

Should e'er Ambition's towering hopes inflame,
Let judging Reason draw the veil aside;
Or fir'd with envy at some mighty name,
Read o'er the monument that tells-He dyed,

What are the ensigns of imperial fway ?
What all that Fortune's liberal hand has brought!
Teach they the voice to pour a sweeter lay?
Or rouse the soul to more exalted thought?.

When bleeds the heart as Genius blooms unknown, When melts the eye o'er Virtue's mournful bier;


Not wealth, but Pity swells the bursting groan; Not pow'r, but whispering Nature prompts the tear.

Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault,
Where the worm fattens on some scepter'd brow,
Beneath that roof with sculptured marble fraught,
Why sleeps unmoved the breathless dust below ?

Sleeps it more sweetly than the simple swain, Beneath some mossy turf that rests his head ? Where the 'lone Widow tells the Night her pain, And Eve' with dewy tears embalms the dead.

The lily, screen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur'd spot where roses spring;
But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
And scents the zephirs balmy breathing wing.

The busts of grandeur, and the pomp of power,
Can these bid Sorrow's gushing tears subside?
Can these avail, in that tremendous hour,
When Death's cold hard congeals the purple tide ?

Ah no!-the mighty names are heard no more: Pride's thought sublime and Beauty's kindling bloom


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