But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn! O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave! 5' 'Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd, That leads, to bewilder, and dazzles, to blind; My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. O pity, great Father of light, then I cried, Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee. Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride; From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free 6" And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." SECTION II. The Beggar's Petition. PITY the sorrows of a poor old man, BEATTIE. Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. 2 These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak; These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years: 4 Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor! 6 Oh! take me to your hospitable dome; 6 Should I reveal the sources of my grief, If scft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, And tears of pity, would not be reprost. 7 Heav'n sends misfortunes; why should we repine ? 'Tis Heav'n has brought me to the state you see And your condition may be soon like mine, The child of sorrow and of misery. 8 A little farm was my paternal lot; Then, like the lark, I sprightly hail'd the morn And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam. And left the world to wretchedness and me. 11 Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, doox Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless your store. SECTION III. Unhappy close of Life. HOW shocking must thy summons be, O Death' O, might she stay to wash away her stains! SECTION IV. Elegy to Pity. HAIL, lovely pow'r! whose bosom heaves the sigh, When fancy paints the scene of deep distress! Whose tears spontaneous, crystallize the eye, When rigid fate denies the pow'r to bless. 2 Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey From flow'ry meads, can with that sigh compare; Not dew-drops glitt'ring in the morning ray, Seem near so beauteous as that falling tear. 3 Devoid of fear the fawns around thee play; Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies No blood-stain'd traces mark thy blameless way; Beneath thy feet, no hapless insect dies. 4 Come, lovely nymph, and range the mead with me, And nature droops beneath the conqu'ring gleam, And be the sure resource of drooping age. 8 So when the genial spring of life shall fade, And sinking nature own the dread decay, Some soul congenial then may lend its aid And gild the close of life's eventful SECTION V Verses supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, dvrin, Oh solitude! where are the charms, That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. 2 I am out of humanity's reach; I must finish my journey alone: Never hear the sweet music of epeech; I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain, My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shecking to me. 8 Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestow'd upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove, How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth; Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. 4 Religion! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver or gold, Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell, These vallies and rocks never heard; Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell, Or smil'd when a sabbath appear'd. 5 Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore, Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me et have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. 6 How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compar'd with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-wing'd arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair 7 But the sea-fowl has gone to her nest, And mercy--encouraging thought! And reconciles man to his lot.-cowPER, SECTION VI. Gratitude. WHEN all thy mercies, O my God! 20 how shall words with equal warmth, That glows within my ravish'd heart 8 Thy providence my life sustain'd, 4 To all my weak complaints and cries, Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learn'd 5 Unnumber'd comforts to my soul Before my infant heart conceiv'd From whom those comforts flow'd. 6 When in the slipp'ry paths of youth, Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe, 7 Through hidden dangers, toils and deaths, It gently clear'd my way; And through the pleasing snares of vice, 8 When worn with sickness, oft hast thou, And when in sins and sorrows sunk, |