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Whose dark eyes flashed thro' locks of blackest shade,
Ah, then, what honest triumph flushed my breast;
But hark! thro' those old firs, with sullen swell,
On yon grey stone, that fronts the chancel-door,
Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth,
The glow-worm loves her emerald-light to shed,
Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone
But when the sons of peace, of pleasure sleep,
Ethereal Power! who at the noon of night
Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! * Each stamps its image as the other flies. Each, as the various avenues of sense Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, Controul the latent fibres of the heart. As studious PROSPERO's mysterious spell Drew every subject-spirit to his cell ; Each, at thy call, advances or retires, As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. Each thrills the seat of sense, 'that sacred source Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course, And thro' the frame invisibly convey The subtle, quick vibrations as they play; Man's little universe at once o'ercast, At once illumined when the cloud is past.
Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore; From Reason's faintest ray to Newton soar. What different spheres to human bliss assigned ! What slow gradations in the scale of mind ! Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought; Oh mark the sleepless energies of thought!
* Namque illic posuit solium, et sua templa sacravit
Mens animi: hanc circum coëunt, densoque feruntur
The adventurous boy, that asks his little share, And hies from home with many a gossip's prayer, Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see The dear abode of peace and privacy; And as he turns, the thatch among the trees, The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with the breeze, The village-common spotted white with sheep, The church-yard yews round which his fathers sleep; All rouse Reflection's sadly-pleasing train, And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again.
So, when the mild Tupia dared explore Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before, And, with the sons of Science, wooed the gale That, rising, swelled their strange expanse of sail; So, when he breathed his firm yet fond adieu, Borne from his leafy hut, his carved canoe, And all his soul best loved-such tears he shed, While each soft scene of summer-beauty fled. Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast, Long watched the streaming signal from the mast; Till twilight's dewy tints deceived his
eye, And fairy-forests fringed the evening-sky.
So Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawned the day, Rose on her couch, and gazed her soul away. Her eyes had blessed the beacon's glimmering height, That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light; But now the morn with orient hues pourtrayed Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade: All touched the talisman's resistless spring, And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing!
Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, As summer-clouds flash forth electric fire. And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth, Warm as the life, and with the mirror's truth. Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the Patriot's sigh; This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. For this young Foscari, whose hapless fate Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,