ANALYSIS

OF THE

SECOND PART.

THE Memory has hitherto acted only in subservience to the senses, and so far man is not eminently distinguished from other animals; but, with respect to man, she has a higher province, and is often busily employed, when excited by no external cause whatever. She preserves, for his use, the treasures of art and science, history and philosophy. She colours all the prospects of life: for we can only anticipate the future, by concluding what is possible from what is past. On her agency depends every effusion of the fancy, whose boldest effort can only compound or transpose, augment or diminish the materials which she has collected and retained.

When the first emotions of despair have subsided, and sorrow has softened into melancholy, she amuses with a retrospect of innocent pleasures, and inspires that noble confidence which results from the consciousness of having

acted well-When sleep has suspended the organs of sense from their office, she not only supplies the mind with images, but assists in their combination. And even in madness itself, when the soul is resigned over to the tyranny of a distempered imagination, she revives past perceptions, and awakens the train of thought which was formerly most familiar.

Nor are we pleased only with a review of the brighter passages of life; events, the most distressing in their immediate consequences, are often cherished in remembrance with a degree of enthusiasm.

But the world and its occupations give a mechanical impulse to the passions, which is not very favourable to the indulgence of this feeling. It is in a calm and well regulated mind that the memory is most perfect; and solitude is her best sphere of action. With this sentiment is introduced a tale, illustrative of her influence in solitude, sickness and sorrow. And the subject having now been considered, so far as it relates to man and the animal world, the poem concludes with a conjecture, that superior beings are blest with a nobler exercise of this faculty.

THE

PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

PART II.

SWEET MEMORY, wafted by the gentle gale,

Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail,
To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours,
Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.
Ages, and climes remote, to thee impart

What charms in genius, and refines in art;
Thee, in whose hand the keys of science dwell:
The pensive portress of her holy cell;
Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp
Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp.

The friends of reason, and the guides of youth, Whose language breathed the eloquence of truth;

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Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, taught
The great in conduct, and the pure in thought;
These still exist, by thee to fame consigned
Still speak and act, the models of mankind.
From thee sweet hope her airy colouring draws;
And fancy's flights are subject to thy laws.
From thee that bosoin-spring of rapture flows,
Which only virtue, tranquil virtue, knows.

When joy's bright sun has shed his evening-ray,
And hope's delusive meteors cease to play:
When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close,
Still through the gloom thy star serenely glows:
Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night
With the mild magic of reflected light.

The beauteous maid, that bids the world adieu,
Oft of that world will snatch a fond review;
Oft at the shrine neglect her beads, to trace
Some social scene, some dear familiar face;
Forgot, when first a father's stern control
Chased the gay visions of her opening soul:
And ere,
with iron tongue, the vesper-bell
Bursts through the cypress-walk, the convent-cell,
Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive,
To love and joy still tremblingly alive;

The whispered vow, the chaste caress prolong,
Weave the light dance, and swell the choral song;
With rapt ear drink the enchanting serenade,
And, as it melts along the moonlight-glade,
To each soft note return as soft a sigh,
And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly.
But not till time has calmed the ruffled breast,
Are these fond dreams of happiness confest;

Not till the rushing winds forget to rave,
Is heaven's sweet smile reflected on the wave.
From Guinea's coast pursue the lessening sail,
And catch the sounds that sadden every gale.
Tell, if thou canst, the sum of sorrows there;
Mark the fixed gaze, the wild and frenzied glare,
The racks of thought, and freezings of despair!
But pause not then-beyond the western wave,
Go, view the captive bartered as a slave!
Crushed till his high heroic spirit bleeds,

And from his nerveless frame indignantly recedes.
Yet here, even here, with pleasures long resigned,
Lo MEMORY bursts the twilight of the mind:
Her dear delusion sooth his sinking soul,
When the rude scourge assumes its base control;
And o'er futurity's blank page diffuse
The full reflection of their vivid hues.

'Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more,
Then will he wake on Congo's distant shore;
Beneath his plantain's ancient shade renew,
The simple transports that with freedom flew ;
Catch the cool breeze that musky evening blows,
And quaff the palm's rich nectar as it glows;
The oral tale of elder time rehearse,
And chant the rude traditionary verse;
With those, the loved companions of his youth,
When life was luxury, and friendship truth.

Ah! why should virtue dread the frowns of fate?
Hers that no wealth can win, no power create!
A little world of clear and cloudless day,

Nor wrecked by storms, nor mouldered by decay:

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