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Let then this league betwixt us made
Our mutual interests guard,
Your songs be my reward.
ODE TO TRUTH.
Say, will no white-rob’d son of light,
Swift darting from his heav'nly height, Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;
Here wave his amber locks; unfold
His pinions cloth’d with downy gold; Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand?
And you, ye hosts of saints! for ye have known Each dreary path in Life's perplexing maze,
Though now ye circle yon eternal throne With harpings high of inexpressive praise, Will not your train descend in radiant state, To break with mercy's beam this gathering cloud of fate.
'Tis silence all. No son of light
No train of radiant saints descend.
"Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,
Or saint to hear, or angel to defend."
Burst from the centre of her burning thronc,
Attend, ye sons of men! attend, and say,
Say, does not reason in this form descry
Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
With me! Shall she, whose brightest eye But emulates the diamond's blaze,
Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume, Whuse melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays,
Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form Of elemental dross, of mould'ring clay,
Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day Shall pass, and she is gone: while I appear Flush'd with the bloom of youth through heaven's Know, mortals ! know, ere first ye sprung,
Ere first these orbs in ether hung, I shone amid the heavenly throng:
These eyes beheld creation's day,
This voice began the choral lay,
Pleas'd I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth, Saw infant light with kindling lustre spread,
Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flow'ring earth,
And, as he 'rose, the high behest was given,
“That I, alone, of all the host of heaven, Should reign protectress of the godlike youth." Thus the Almighty spake : he spake, and call’d me
ODE TO THE MORNING.
BY THE SAME.
Hail to thy living light,
In varied beauty bright:
Away, ye goblins all! Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt; Whose vagrant feet have trac'd your secret haunt . Beside some lonely wall, Or shatter'd ruin of a moss-grown tow's, Where, at pale midnight's stillest hour, Through each rough chink the solemn orb of night Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.
Away, ye elves away!
Shrink at ambrosial Morning's living ray; That living ray, whose pow'r benign Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye, • Where, thron’d in artless majesty, The cherub Beauty sits on Nature's rustic shrine.
BY DR. COTTON.
Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd,
In folly's maze advance;
Nor join the giddy dance.
From the gay world we'll oft retire
Where love our hours employs;
To spoil our lieartfelt joys.
If solid happiness we prize,
And they are fools who roam.
And that dear hut, our home,