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When front to front the banner'd hosts combine,

Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line.

When all is still on Death's devoted soil,

The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil;

As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high

The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye,

Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come,

And hears thy stormy music in the drum!

And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore

The hardy Byron to his native shore

In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep

Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep,

'Twas his to mourn Misfortune's rudest shock,

Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the rock,

To wake each joyless morn, and search again

The famish'd haunts of solitary men;

Whose race, unyielding as their native storm,

Knows not a trace of Nature but the form;

Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued,

Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued,

Pierced the deep woods, and hailing from afar,

The moon's pale planet, and the northern star ;

Paus'd at each dreary cry, unheard before,

Hyænas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore;

Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime,

He found a warmer world, a milder clime,

A home to rest, a shelter to defend,

Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend !"

Congenial Hope! thy passion-kindling power,

How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour !

On yon proud height, with Genius hand in hand,

I see thee light, and wave thy golden wand.

“Go, child of Heav'n! (thy wingedwords proclaim)

'Tis thine to search the boundless fields of fame!

Lo! Newton, priest of Nature, shines afar,

Scans the wide world, and numbers ev'ry 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 Heav'n another string.

“ The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bowers,

His winged insects, and his rosy flowers;

Calls from their woodland haunts the

savage

train

With sounding born, and counts them on the plain

So once, at Heav'n's command, the wand'rers came

To Eden's shade, and heard their various name.

« Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime,

Slow

pass the sons of Wisdom, more sublime ;

Calm as the fields of Heav'n, his sapient eye

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 Heav'n, thy rapture-lighten'd eye

To Wisdom's walks, 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,

And Pythia's awful organ peals below.

“Belov'd of Heav'n! 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 pow'r beneath,

And tala with spirits on the midnight heath;

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