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Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel 165 The shuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheel Turn to the gentler melodies that suit Thalia's harp, or Pan's Arcadian lute;
Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page,
From clime to clime descend from age to age!
Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude
What millions died—that Cæsar might be great! 4
Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, 5 175 March'd by their Charles to Dneiper's swampy shore;
Faint in his wounds, and shivering in the blast,
The Swedish soldier sunk-and groan’d his last!
File after file, the stormy showers benumb,
Freeze every standard-sheet, and hush the drum!
And Charles beheld-nor shudder'd at the sight!
Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky,
Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie,
In yonder pensile orb, and every sphere
Pure from their God, created millions dwell,
Whose names and natures, unreveal'd below,
We yet shall learn, and wonder as we know;
For, as Iona's Saint, a giant form,
Thron’d on her tow'rs, conversing with the storm,
The vesper clock tolls mournful to the wind),
Counts every wave-worn isle, and mountain hoar,
From Kilda to the green lerne's shore;
Rapt to the shrine where motion first began,
And light and life in mingling torrent ran,
The Throne of God, -the centre of the world!
Oh! vainly wise, the moral Muse hath sung That suasive Hope hath but a Syren tongue!
True; she may sport with life's untutor'd day,
Nor heed the solace of its last decay,
But yet, methinks, when Wisdom shall assuage
The griefs and passions of our greener age,
Yet o'er her lovely hopes that once were dear,
225 And weep their falsehood, though she love them still!
Thus, with forgiving tears, and reconcild, The king of Judah mourn’d his rebel child ! Musing on days, when yet the guiltless boy
Smil'd on his sire, and fill'd his heart with joy!
My Absalom! (the voice of Nature cried!)
For bloody was the deed, and rashly done,
Unfading Hope! when life's last embers burn,
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return!