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“Go, Child of heaven, (thy winged words proclaim) Tis thine to search the boundless fields of fame! Lo! Newton, priest of Nature, shines afar, Scans the wide world, and numbers every star! Wilt thou, with him, mysterious rites apply, And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming eye? Yes, thou shalt mark, with magic art profound,

The speed of light, the circling march of sound With Franklin, grasp the lightning's fiery wing, Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string. (c)

“ The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bowers, (d) His winged insects, and his rosy flowers ; Calls from their woodland haunts the


train With sounding horn, and counts them on the plainSo once, at Heaven's command, the wand'rers came To Eden's shade, and heard their various name.

“ Far from the world, in yon sequestered clime, Slow pass

the sons of Wisdom, more sublime; Calm as the fields of Heav'n his sapient éye

The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high
Admiring Plato, on his spotless page,
Stamps the bright dictates of the father sage;
Shall Nature bound to earth's diurnal span
The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man?'

“ Turn, Child of Heaven, thy rapture-lightened eye
Ta Wisdom's walk,—the sacred Nine are nigh:
Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height,
From streams that wander in eternal light,
Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell

The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell; Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flow, (e) And Pythia's awful organ peals below

“ Beloved of Heaven! the smiling Muse shall shed Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head; Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfined, And breathe a holy madness o’er thy mind. I see thee roam her guardian power beneath, And talk with spirits on the midnight heath; Inquire of guilty wanderers whence they came, And ask each blood-stained form his earthly name Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell, And read the trembling world the tales of hell.

“When Venus, throned in clouds of rosy

Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew,
And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ,
Sacred to love and walks of tender joy;
A milder mood the goddess shall recall,
And soft as dew thy tones of music fall;
While Beauty's deeply-pictured smiles impart
A pang more dear than pleasure to the heart-
Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain,
And plead-in Beauty's ear, nor plead in vain.

“ Or wilt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deem,
And steep thy song in Mercy's mellow stream;
To pensive drops the radiant eye beguile-
For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile;-
On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief,
And teach impassioned souls the joy of grief?

“ Yes ; to thy tongue shall seraph words be given, And power on earth to plead the cause of heaven: The proud, the cold, untroubled heart of stone, That never mused on sorrow but its own, Unlocks a generous store at thy command, Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand. (1)

The living lumber of his kindred earth,
Charmed into soul, receives a second birth;
Feels thy dread power another heart afford,
Whose passion-touched harmonious strings accord
True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan;
And man, the brother, lives the friend of man!

Bright as the pillar rose at Heaven's command, When Israel marched along the desert land, Blazed through the night on lonely wilds afar, And told the path-a never-setting star: So, heavenly Genius, in thy course divine, Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine.”

Propitious Power! when rankling cares annoy The sacred home of Hymenean joy ; When doomed to Poverty's sequestered dell, The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell, Unpitied by the world, unknown to fame, Their woes, their wishes, and their hearts the same-Oh there, prophetic hope ! thy smile bestow, And chase the pangs that worth should never knowThiere, as the parent deals his scanty store To friendless babes, and weeps to give no more, Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage Their father's wrongs, and shield his later age. What though for him no Hybla sweets distil, Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill; Tell, that when silent years have passed away, That wben his eyes grow dim, his tresses grey, These busy hands a lovelier cot shall build, And deck with fairer flowers his little field, And call from Heaven propitious dews to breathe Arcadian beauty on the barren heath; Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile endears The days of peace, the sabbath of his years


Health shall prolong to many a festive hour
The social pleasures of his humble power.

Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleers,
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps;
She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,
Smiles on her slumb’ring child with pensive eyes,
And weaves a song of melancholy joy-
“Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy:
No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine;
No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine;
Bright as his manly sire, the son shall be
In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he !
Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last,
Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past,
With many a smile my solitude

And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away.

“ And say, when summoned from the world and thee, I lay my head beneath the willow tree, Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear, And soothe my parted spirit lingʻring near? Oh, wilt thou come, at evening hour, to shed The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed; With aching temples on thy hand reclined, Muse on the last farewell I leave behind, Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low, And think on all my love, and all my wo?"

So speaks affection, ere the infant

Can look regard, or brighten in reply;
But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim
A mother's ear by that endearing name;
Soon as the playful innocent can prove
A tear of pity, or a smile of love,

Or cons his murmuring task beneath her care,
Or lisps with holy look his ev'ning prayer,
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear
The mournful ballad warbled in his ear;
How fondly looks admiring Hope the while,
At every artless tear, and every smile!
How glows the joyous parent to descry
A guileless bosom, true to sympathy!

Where is the troubled heart, consigned to share
Tumultuous toils, or solitary care,
Unblest by visionary thoughts that stray
To count the joys of Fortune's better day!
Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume
The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom,
A long-lost friend, or hapless child restored,
Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board;
Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow,
And virtue triumphs o'er remembered wo.

Chide not his peace, proud Reason! nor destroy
The shadowy forms of uncreated joy,
That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour
Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour.

Hark! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale
That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail ;
She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore
Watched the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore,
Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amaze,
Clasped her cold hands, and fixed her maddening gaze:
Poor widowed wretch! 'twas there she wept in vain,
Till memory fled her agonizing brain :-
But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of wo,
Ideal peace, that truth could ne'er bestow;

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