He, whose arresting hand sublimely wrought
Each bold conception in the sphere of thought;
Who from the quarried mass, like Phidias drew
Forms ever fair, creations ever new!

But as he fondly snatch'd the wreath of Fame,
The spectre Poverty unnerv'd his frame.
Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl she wore;
And Hope's soft energies were felt no more.
Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art!
From the rude stone what bright ideas start!
Ev'n now he claims the amaranthine wreath,
Withscenes that glow, with images that breathe!
And whence these scenes, these images declare,
Whence but from her who triumphs o'er despair?
Awake, arise! with grateful fervor fraught,
Go spring the mine of elevated thought.
He who thro' Nature's various walk, surveys
The good and fair her faultless line portrays;
Whose mind, prophan'd by no unhallow'd guest,
Culls from the crowd the purest and the best;
May range, at will, bright Fancy'sgolden elinie,
Or musing, moant where Science sits sublime,
Or wake the spirit of departed Time.
Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral Muse,
A blooming Eden in his life reviews!
So richly cultur'd ev'ry native grace :
Its scanty limits he forgets to trace :
But the fond fool, when evening shades the sky,
Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh!
The weary waste, that lengthen'd as he ran,
Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span!

}

Ah! who can tell the triumphs of the mind, By truth illumin'd, and by taste refin'd? When age has quench'd the eye and clos'd the ear, Still nerv'd for action in her native sphere, Oft will she rise-with searching glance pursue Some long-lov'd image vanish'd from her view; Dart thro' the deep recesses of the past, O'er dusky forms in chains of slumber cast; With giant-grasp fling back the folds of night, And snatch the faithless fugitive to light.

So thro' the grove th' impatient mother flies, Each sunless glade, each secret pathway tries; Till the light leaves the truant-boy disclose, Long on the wood-moss stretch'd in sweet repose.

§ 146. From the Same.
OFT may the spirits of the dead descend,
To watch the silent slumbers of a friend;
To hover round his evening-walk unseen,
And hold sweet converse on the dusky green;

Tohail the spot where first their friendshipgrew,
And heaven and nature open'd to their view!
Oft, when he trims his cheerful hearth, and sees
A smiling circle emulous to please;
There may these gentle guests delight to dwell,
And bless the scene they lov'd in life so well!
O thou! with whom my heart was wont to

share

[care;

From Reason's dawn each pleasure and each With whom, alas! I fondly hop'd to know The humble walk of happiness below;

If thy blest nature now unites above
An angel's pity with a brother's love,
Still o'er my life preserve thy mild control,
Correct my views, and elevate my soul:
Grant me thy peace and purity of mind,
Devont yet cheerful, active yet resign'd;
Grantme, like thee, whose heartknew nodisguise,
Whose blameless wishes never aim'd to rise,
To meet the changes Time and Chance present,
With modest dignity and calm content.
When thy last breath, ere Nature sunk to rest,
Thy meek submission to thy God express'd;
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled,
A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed;
What to thy soul its glad assurance gave,
Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave?
The sweet Remembrance of unblemish'd youth,
The inspiring voice of Innocence and Truth!

Hail, Memory, hail! in thy exhaustless mine
From age to age unnumber'd treasures shine!
Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey,
And Place and Time are subject to thy sway!
Thy pleasures most we feel when most alone;
The only pleasures we can call our own.
Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die,
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky;
If but a beam of sober Reason play,
Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away!
But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power,
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour?
These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight,
Pour round her path a stream of living light;
And gill those pure and perfect realms of rest,
Where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest.

§ 147. Verses on a Tear. From the Same.
OH! that the Chemist's magic art
Could crystallise this sacred treasure!
Long should it glitter near my heart,
A secret source of pensive pleasure.
The little brilliant ere it fell,

Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye;
Then trembling, left its coral cell-
The Spring of Sensibility!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light,
In thee the rays of Virtue shine;
More calmly clear, more mildly bright,
Than any gem that gilds the mine.
Benign restorer of the soul!
Who ever fly'st

bring relief,

When first she feels the rede control
Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief

The sage's and the poet's theme,
In every clime, in every age;
Thou charm'st in Fancy's idle dream,
In Reason's philosophic page.
That very law whien mouids a tear,
And bids it trickle from its source,
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.

§ 148. A Sketch of the Alps at Day-break. From the Same.

THE Sun beams streak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain's brow:
With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
And chase the roe-buck thro' the snow.
From rock to rock, with giant bound,
High on their iron poles they pass;
Mute, lest the air, convuls'd by sound,
Rend from above a frozen mass*.

The goats wind slow their wonted way,
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;
Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,
From desert cave or hanging wood.
And while the torrent thunders loud,
And as the echoing clifts reply,
The huts peep o'er the morning cloud,
Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.

§ 149. A Wish. From the Same.

MINE be a cot beside the hill;
A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near,
The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy at her wheel shall sing,
In russet gown and apron blue.
The village-church, among the trees,
Where first our marriage vows were giv'n,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to heav'n.

Who shall make the current stray
Smooth along the channell'd way?
Who shall, as it runs, refine?
Who? but CLASSIC DISCIPLINE.

She, whatever fond desire,
Stubborn deed or guileful speech,
Inexperience might inspire,
Or absurd indulgence teach,
Timely cautious shall restrain,
Bidding childhood hear the rein
She with sport shall labor mix,
She excursive fanev fix.

Prime support of learned lore, PERSEVERANCE joins her train, Pages oft turn'd o'er and o'er Turning o'er and o'er again; Giving, in due form of school, Speech its measure, pow'r, and rule: Meanwhile memory's treasures grow Great tho' gradual; sure, the slow.

Patient CARE by just degrees Word and image learns to class; Those compounds, and sep'rates these, As in strict review they pass; Joins, as various features strike, Fit to fit and like to like, Till in meek array advance. Concord, Method, Elegance. TIME meanwhile, from day to day, Fixes deeper Virtue's root; Whence, in long succession gay, Blossoms many a lively shoot: Meek OBEDIENCE, following still, Frank and glad, a Master's will; Modest CANDOR, hearing prone Any judgement save its own: EMULATION, whose keen eye Forward still and forward strains, Nothing erer deeming high

Down the steep abrupt of hills
Furious foams the headlong tide,
Thro' the meads the streamlet trills,
Swelling slow in gentle pride.
Ruin vast and dread dismay

Mark the clam'rous cataract's way.
Glad increase and sweets benign
Round the riv'let's margin shine.

Youth! with stedfast eye peruse Scenes to lesson thee display'd; Yes-in these the moral Muse Bids thee see thyself portray'd. Thou with headstrong wasteful force May'st reflect the torrent's course; Or resemble streams, that flow Blest and blessing as they go.

SHAME ingenuous, native, free,
Source of conscious dignity:
ZEAL impartial to pursue
Right, and just, and good, and true.

These and ev'ry kindred grace
More and more perfection gain;
While ATTENTION toils to trace
Grave record or lofty strain;
Learning how, in Virtue's pride,
Sages liv'd or heroes died;
Marking how in virtue's cause
Genius gave and won applause.

Thus with EARLY CULTURE blest,

Infant sens to all our kind Pure the young ideas brings, From within the fountain mind

Thus to early rule inur'd,
Infancy's expanding breast
Glows with sense and pow'rs matur'd,
Whence, if future merit raise
Private love or public praise,
Thine is all the work - be thine

Issuing at a thousand springs.

The glory CLASSIC DISCIPLINE.

Audit currus habenas. VIRGIL.

To poinp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace;
And, breathing high ambition thro' his soul,
Set science, wisdom, glory in his view,
And bade him be the Lord of all below.

Then, gathering men their natural pow'rs combin'd,

And form'd a Public; to the general good
Submitting, aiming, and conducting all.
For this the Patriot Council met, the full,
The free, and fairly-represented whole;
For this they plann'd the holy guardian laws,
Distinguish'd orders, animated arts,
And with joint force, Oppression chaining, set
Imperial justice at the helm, yet still
To them accountable: nor slavish dream'd
That toiling millions must resign their weal,
And all the honey of their search, to such
As for themselves alone themselves have rais'd.

Hence every form of cultivated life
In order set, protected, and inspir'd,
Into perfection wrought. Uniting all,
Society grew numerous, high, polite,
And happy. Nurse of art! the city rear'd
In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head:
And, stretching street on street, by thousands
drew,

From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew, To hows strong-straining, her aspiring sons.

Then Commerce brought into the public walk The busy merchant; the big warehouse built; Rais'd the strong crane; choak'd up the loaded

street

With foreign plenty; and thy stream, OThames!
Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods!
Chose for his grand resort. On either hand,
Like a long wint'ry forest, groves of masts
Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between
Possess'd the breezy void: the sooty hulk
Steer'd sluggish on; the splendid barge along
Row'd, regular, to harmony; around,

The boat light-skimming, stretch'd its oary wings;

While deep the various voice of fervent toil From bank to bank increas'd; whence ribb'd

with oak,

To bear the British Thunder, black, and bold, The roaring vessel rush'd into the main.

Then too the pillar'd dome, magnific heav'd
Its ample roof, and luxury within
Pour'd out the glittering stores: the canvass
smooth,

With glowing life protuberant, to the view
Embodied rose; the statue seem'd to breathe,
And soften into flesh, beneath the touch
Of forming art, imagination flush'd.

All is the gift of Industry: whate'er
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life
Delightful. Pensive Winter cheer'd by him
Sits at the social fire, and happy hears
Th' excluded tempest idly rave along,
His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring,
Without him Summer were an arid waste,

Nor to the Autumnal months could thus tran

Those full, mature, immeasureable stores, That waving round, recal my wandering song. Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, And, unperceiv'd unfolds the spreading day; Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand, In fair array; each by the lass he loves, To bear the rougher part, and mitigate By nameless gentle offices her toil. At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves; While thro' their cheerful band the rural talk, The rural scandal, and the rural jest, Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious lime, And steal unfelt the sultry hours away. Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks; And, conscious, glancing oft' on every side His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. The gleaners spread around, and here and

there,

Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick. Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but fling From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth, The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think! How good the God of Harvest is to you: Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields; While these unhappy partners of your kind Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven,

And ask their humble dole. The various turns Of fortune ponder: that your sons may want What now, with hard reluctance, faint, je

give.

The lovely young Lavinia once had friends; And fortune smil'd, deceitful, on her birth. For, in her helpless years depriv'd of all; Of every stay, save Innocence and Heav's, She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old, And poor, liv'd in a cottage far retir'd Among the windings of a woody vale: By solitude and deep surrounding shades, sha But more by bashful modesty conceal'd. Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet From giddy passion and low-minded pride: Almost on Nature's common bounty fed: Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. Her form was fresher than the morning-rose, When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and

pure

As

As in the hollow breast of Appenine,
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills,
A myrtle rises far from human eye,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild;
So flourish'd blooming, and unseen by all,
The sweet Lavinia, till, at length, compell'd
By strong necessity's supreme command,
With smiling patience in her looks, she went
To glean Palemon's field. The pride of swains
Palemon was, the generous, and the rich;
Who led the rural life in all its joy
And elegance, such as Arcadian song
Transmits froin antient uncorrupted times;
When tyrant custom had not shackled man,
But free to follow nature was the mode.
He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes
Amusing, chanc'd beside his reaper train
To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his eye :
Unconscious of her power, and turning quick
With unaffected blushes from his gaze;
He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.
That very moment love and chaste desire

Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown;
For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh,
Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn,
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field,
And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd:

"

"What pity! that so delicate a form,

By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense "And more than vulgar goodness seem to "dwell,

"Should be devoted to the rude embrace

"Of some indecent clown! She looks, me, "thinks,

"Of old Acasto's line: and to my mind "Recals that patron of my happy life, "From whom my liberal fortune took its rise: "Now to the dust gone down; his houses, "lands,

"And once fair-spreading family, dissolv'd. "Tis said, that in some lone obscure retreat, "Urg'd by remembrance sad, and decent pride, "Far from those scenes which knew their bet" ter days,

"His aged widow and his daughter live, "Whom yet my fruitless search could never

" find.

"showers

"Diffuse their warmest, largest influence: "And of iny garden be the pride, and joy! "Ill it hefits thee, oh it ill befits "Acasto's daughter, his whose open stores, "Tho' vast, were little to his ampler heart, "The father of a country, thus to pick "The very refuse of those harvest-fields, "Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy, "Then throw that shameful pittance from thy " hand,

"But ill applied to such a rugged task!

"The fields, the master, all, my Fair! are

"thine!

Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul,
With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'd.
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irresistible, and all

In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent.
The news immediate to her mother brought,
While, pierc'd with anxious thought, she pin'd
away

The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate;
Amaz'd, and scarce believing what she heard,
Joy seis'd her wither'd veins, and one bright
gleam

Of setting life shone on her evening hours:
Not less enraptur'd than the happy pair!
Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good, the grace of all the country round,
Defeating oft the labors of the year,
The sultry south collects a potent blast.
At first the groves are scarcely seen to stir
Their trembling tops: and a still murmur runs
Along the soft inclining fields of corn.
But as the aërial tempest fuller swells,
And in one mighty stream, invisible,
Immense, the whole excited atmosphere
Impetuous rashes o'er the sounding world;

Mm4

Strain'd