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“ And many a Numbering' cottage round
“ Startles—how still their hearts will lie ! « Of them who wrapt in earth so cold,
« No more the finiling day shall view, 6. Should many a tender tale be told;
“ For many a tender thought is due. “ Haft thou not seen some lover pale,
• When evening brought the pensive hour, " Step fowly o'er the shadowy vale,
“ And stop to pluck the frequent flower ? «s Those flowers he surely meant to strew
“ On lost affection's lowly cell; 6. Though there, as fond remembrance grew,
“ Forgotten, from his hand they fell. “ Has not for thee the fragrant thorn
“ Been taught her first rose to resign? “ With vain but pious fondhess borne
“ To deck thy Nancy's honour'd shrine ?
'Tis Nature pleading in the breast,
“Fair memory of her works to find; “ And when to fate The yields the rest,
“She claims the monumental mind. • Why, else, the o'er-grown paths of time,
“ Would thus the letter'd sage explore, “ With pain these crumbling ruins elimb,
“And on the doubtful sculpture pore? “Why seeks he with unwearied toil,
" Through Death's dim walks to urge his way, « Reclaim his long-asserted spoil " And lead Oblivion into day?
''Tis Nature prompts, by toil or fear
“Unmov’d, to range through Death's domaią: « The tender parent loves to hear
“ Her children's story told again. * “ Treat not with scorn his thoughtful hours,
“ If haply near these haunts he ffray; “ Nor take the fair enlivening flowers
“That bloom to cheer his lonely way.”
TÓ MELANCHOLY. H AIL, queen of thought sublime! propitious pow'r! Who o'er th' unbounded waste art joy'd to roam,' Led by the moon, when at the midnight hour Her pale rays tremble at 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 through Chili's boundless shade. Say, rove thy steps o'er Lybia's naked walle? Or feek some distant folitary shore; Or, on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd, Dost 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 stray thy feet where pale dejected Woe Pours her long wail from some lamented tomba
Hark! yon deep echo ftrikes the trembling car !
See night's dim curtain wraps the darksome pole!
O’er heav'n's blue arch yon rolling worlds appear,
And rouse to folemn thought th' aspiring foul.
O lead my steps beneath the moon's dim ray,
Where Tadmor stands all-desert and alone!
While from her time-shook tow'rs the bird of prey
Sounds through the night her long-resounding moan,
Or bear me far to yen dark dismal plain,
Where fell-ey'd 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 destroy!
When warm’d to mirth, let judgment mark her fall,'
And deep reflection dash 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 boughi.
Slow as some miner faps th' aspiring tower,
When working secret with destructive aim;
Unseen, unheard, thus moves the sealing 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-ey'd Hope pourtray'd :
Let futtering cupids crowd the growing plan :
Then give one touch, and dash it deep with thade.
Beneath the plume that fames 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 breaft.
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 ting, and points it at the heart.
Perch'd like a raven on some blasted yew,
Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting fin;
Scar'd— while her eyes survey th' ethereal blue,
Let Heaven's strong lightning burst th' dark within.
Then paint, impending o'er th' madd’ning deep,
That rock, where heart-firuck Sappho, vainly brase,
Stood firm of soul-then from the dizzy steep
Impetuous sprung, and dafh's the boiling wave.
Here wrapt in studious thought let Fancy rove,
Still prompt to mark Suspicion's secret snare ;
To see where Anguilh nips the bloom of Love,
Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care,
Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame,
Let judging Reason draw the veil afide ;
Or fir'd with envy at some mighty name,
Read o'er the monument that tells-He dy'd.
What are the enägns of imperial sway?
What all that fortune's lib’ral hand has brought?
Teach they the voice to pour a fweeter lay?
Or rouse the soul to more exalted thought ?
When blceds 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 whisp’ring Nature, prompts the tear.
Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault,
Where the worm fattens on some scepter'd brow,
Beneath that roof with sculptur'd marble fraught,
Why feeps unmov'd the breathless dust below ?
Sleeps it more sweetly than the simple swain,
Beneath some moffy 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 zephyr's balmy breathing wing.
The busts of grandeur, and the pomp of pow's,
Can these bid Sorrow's gushing tears fubfide ?
Can these avail in that tremendous hour,
When Death's cold hand congeals the purple tide?
Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more :
Pride's thought sublime, and Beauty's kindling bloom,
Serve but to sport one flying moment o'er,
And swell with pompous verse the escutchion'd tomb.
For me-may passion ne'er my soul javade,
Nor be the whims of tow'ring phrenzy giv'n;
Let wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful shade,
Where Contemplation wings the foul to heav'n!
Oh, guard me safe from Joy's enticing snare!
With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide,
The poison'd breath of flow consuming Care,
The noise of Folly, and the dreams of Pride.
Bat oft, when Midnight's sadly, folemn knell
Sounds long and distant from the sky-topt tow'r,