Piled on the steep, her blazing faggots burn

To hail the bark that never can return;

And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep

That constant love can linger on the deep.

And, mark the wretch, whose wanderings never knew The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue, Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore,

But found not pity when it err'd no more.

Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye

Th' unfeeling proud one looks-and passes by;
Condemn'd on Penury's barren path to roam,
Scorn'd by the world, and left without a home-
Even he, at evening, should he chance to stray
Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way,

Perkins, Fairman & leath.

Where, round the cot's romantic glade, are seen The blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green, Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the whileOh! that for me some home like this would smile, Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form

Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm!

There should my hand no stinted boon assign

To wretched hearts with sorrow such as mine!—

That generous wish can soothe unpitied care,

And HOPE half mingles with the poor man's

prayer.

HOPE! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind,

The

wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind,

Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see

The boundless fields of rapture yet to be;

I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan,

And learn the future by the past of man.

Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time, And rule the spacious world from clime to clime; Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore. On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along, And the dread Indian chaunts a dismal song, Where human fiends on midnight errands walk, And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk; There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray, And shepherds dance at Summer's op'ning day; Each wandering genius of the lonely glen

Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men,