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I see the column’d arches fail!
And structures hoar, the boast of years !
What mould'ring piles decay’d
Gleam thro' the moon-streak'd shade,
Where Rome's proud Genius rear'd her awful brow!
Sad monument !—Ambition near,
Rolls on the dust and pours a tear ;
Pale Honour drops the flutt'ring plume,
And Conquest weeps o'er Cæsar's tomb,
Slow Patience fits with eye deprest,
And Courage beats his sobbing breast;
Ev’n War’s red cheek the gushing streams o’erflow,
And Fancy's list’ning ear attends the plaint of Woe.
III. 3. Lo on yon Pyramid sublime, Whence lies Old Egypt's desert clime, Bleak, naked, wild! where Ruin low'rs, Mid Fanes, and Wrecks, and tumbling tow'rs: .. On the steep height waste and bare, Stands the Pow'r with hoary hair ! O’er His fcythe He bends ;—His hand Slowly shakes the flowing fand, While the Hours, an airy ring, Lightly fit with downy wing ;
And fap the works of man ;-and shade
With silver'd locks his furrow'd head;
Thence rolls the mighty Pow'r His broad survey,
And seals the Nations awful doom ;
He sees proud Grandeur's meteor-ray,
He yields to Joy the festive day,
Then sweeps the length’ning shade, and marks them
for the tomb.
WEET God of ease, whose opiate breath
Pour'd gently o’er the heaving breast;
Steals like the solemn hand of Death; And sheds the balm of visionary rest; Come with ev'ry pow'rful spell From the hermit's gloomy cell, From the swallow's mossy bed, When bleak Winter blasts the mead ; Come with Night's cold, cloudy brow, With sky-rob’d Thought demure, and low,
With Rest that charms the drowsy air,
And folds the wakeful eyes of melancholy Care
O by thy robe of purest white,
Thy treffes bound with fun’ral yew,
Thy voice that soothes the ear of night,
Thine ebon’ rod that sweeps the pearly dews.
By the pale moon's trembling beam,
By the ghosts on Lethe’s stream;
By the silent solemn gloom,
By the beetle's drowsy hum,
By the zephyr's dying breath,
When sleeps the ruffled wave beneath :
By the long voice of murm’ring seas,
| Lull each reposing sense in calm oblivious ease!
Pour on my soul the sweetly melting lay,
That once on Argus could prevail;
When sooth'd by Hermes' wond'rous tale,
Each listning sense diffolv'd and dy'd away:
Lulld by the magic doubling sound,
Slow-stealing Slumber lock'd his iron breast;
His thoughts in sweet delirium drown'd,
His falling arms the God confeft;
On his numb'd ear remote and dull,
The hollow murmur feebly stole ;
O’erpower'd at last he yields the beauteous prize,
And drops supinely down, and folds an hundred eyes.
Then too let bold-eyd Fancy come,
With brightning look and bosom bare;
Her features flush'd with vivid bloom,
With flutt'ring winds, and loosely-flowing hair :
Then let all the bursting soul
Boldly dart from pole to pole;
Starting from the airy steep,
Lighty skim the wavy deep;
Up the rough rock let me climb,
'Till thy strong voice with note sublime
Wakes, fires, and thrills with rapid strains,
And leads the lighten’d mind to soft Elysian plains.
Yet then let no fantastic tale;
No ruder thought disturb the dream;