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No sigh, no murmur the wide world shall hear, From every face he wipes off every tear. In adamantine chains shall death be bound, And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air, Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs, By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; The tender lambs he raises in his arms, Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms: Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage, The promised father of the future age. No more shall nation against nation rise, . Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes ; Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er, The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more: But useless lances into sithes shall bend, And the broad falchion in a plough-share end : Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun; Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield, And the same hand that sow'd, shall reap the field. The swain in barren deserts with surprise Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise; And starts amidst the thirsty wilds to hear New falls of water murmuring in his ear. On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes, The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods;
Waste sandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn,
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays,
remains; Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns,
EDWIN AND ANGELINA.
“ TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,
With hospitable ray.
" For here, forlorn and lost, I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Seem lengthening as I go.”
“Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries,
“ To tempt the dangerous gloom;
" Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still ;
I give it with good will.
" Then turn to-night, and freely share
Wbate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch, and frugal fare,
My blessing, and repose.
“ No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them.
“ But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring ; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.
Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell;
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay,
And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care;
Received the harmless pair.
And now when busy crowds retire,
To take their evening rest,
And cheer'd his pensive guest;
And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press’d, and smiled, And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering 'hours beguiled.
Around in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.