Leans oer its humble gate. & thinks the whileOh that for me some home like this would smile. Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form. Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm.

Where, round the cot's romantic glade are seen
The blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green,
Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while—
Oh! that for me some home like this would smile,
Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form,

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Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm!

310

There should my hand no stinted boon assign

To wretched hearts with sorrows such as mine!—

That generous wish can soothe unpitied care,

And Hope half mingles with the poor

man's pray'r.

Hope! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, 315

The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind,

Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see

The boundless fields of rapture yet to be ;

I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan,

And learn the future by the past of man,

320

Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time, And rule the spacious world from clime to clime; Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore,

Trace every wave, and culture every shore.

On Erie's banks, where tygers steal along,

325

And the dread Indian chants a dismal song,

Where human fiends on midnight errands walk,
And bathe in brains the murd'rous tomahawk;
There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray,
And shepherds dance at Summer's op'ning day;
Each wand'ring genius of the lonely glen

Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men ;

330

And silence watch, on woodland heights around,
The village curfew, as it tolls profound.

In Libyan groves, where damned rites are done, That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the sun, Truth shall arrest the murd'rous arm profane, Wild Obi flies"-the veil is rent in twain.

335

Where barb'rous hordes on Scythian mountains roam,

Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home;

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Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines,

From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines, 8

Truth shall pervade th' unfathom'd darkness there,
And light the dreadful features of despair.—
Hark! the stern captive spurns his heavy load,
And asks the image back that heaven bestow'd!

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