Where is the troubled heart, consign'd to share

Tumultuous toils, or solitary care,

Unblest by visionary thoughts that stray

To count the joys of Fortune's better day!
Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume

The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom,

A long-lost friend, or hapless child restored,
Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board;
Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow,
And virtue triumphs o'er remember'd woe.

Chide not his peace, proud Reason! nor destroy

The shadowy forms of uncreated joy,

That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour

Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour.

Hark! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale

That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail;

She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore

Watch'd the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore, Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amaze,

Clasp'd her cold hands, and fix'd her maddening gaze:

Poor widow'd wretch! 'twas there she wept in vain,

Till Memory fled her agonizing brain;

-

But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe,
Ideal peace, that truth could ne'er bestow;
Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam,

And aimless HOPE delights her darkest dream.

Oft when yon moon has climb'd the midnight sky, And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry,

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,

OD