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To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refined,
Ah what is mirth but turbulence un noly, When with the charan compared of heavenly melancholy!
LVI. Is there a heart that music cannot melt ? Ah me! how is that rugged heart forlorn ! Is there who ne'er those mystic transports felt Of solitude and melancholy born? He necds not woo the Mufe ; he is her scorn. The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall twine; Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page ; or mourn,
And delve for life, in Mammon's dirty mine ;
And Edwin gain’d at last this fruit so rare :
At last, though long by penury controld,
When Sol from Cancer sends the season bland,
emerge ; and lo, The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are crown'd;
Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go; And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart o'erflow.**
on this labour smile,
Spring and Autumn are hardly known to the Laplanders. About the time the sun enters Cancer, their fields, which a week before were covered with snow, appear of a sudden full of grass and flowers.
SCHEFFER's History of Lapland, p. 61.
Doctrina sed vim promovet infitam,
And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entomb’d, And where th’ Atlantick rolls wide continents have
See Plato's Timeus.
But sure to foreign climes we need not range,
Of canduur, love, or sympathy divine,
gay, Each vale romantick, tuneful every tongue, Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.
IV. • Perith the lore that deadens young
defire' Is the loft tenor of my song no more. Edwin, though loved of Heaven, must not aspire To bliss, which mortals never new before. On treinbling wings let youthful fancy foar, Nor always haunt the-funny realors of joy; But now and then the shades of life explore ;
Though many a sound and fight of woe annoy. And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.
And from the stormy promontory tower,
And toss their giant arms amid the skies, While cach affailing blast cocrease of strength supplies.
VI. And now the downy cheek and deepen'd voice Gave dignity to Edwins blooming prime ; And walks of wider circuit was his choic, And vales more wide, and mountains more sublime. One evening as he framed the careless rhyme, It was his chance to wander far abroad, And o'er a lonely eminence to climb,
Which heretofore his foot had never trode i A vale appeared below, a deep retir'd abude.
VII. Thither he hied, enamour'd of the scene; For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell, Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green, Fenced from the north and east this favage dell; Soathward a mountain rose with easy swell, Whofe long long groves eternal murmur made ; And towards the western fun a streamlet fell,
Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, survey'd Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold array'd.
The perching eagle oft was heard to cry,