Oft, as he turn'd the greensward with his spade,
He lectur'd ev'ry youth that round him play'd;
And, calmly pointing where his fathers lay,
Rous'd him to rival each, the hero of his day.
Hush! ye fond flutt'rings, hush! while here alone
I search the records of each mould'ring stone.
Guides of my life! instructors of my youth!
Who first unveil'd the hallow'd form of Truth,
Whose ev'ry word enlighten'd and endear'd,
In age belov'd, in poverty rever'd,

In Friendship's silent register ye live,
Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give―

But when the sons of peace and pleasure sleep,
When only Sorrow wakes, and wakes to weep,
What spells entrance my visionary mind
With sighs so sweet, with raptures so refin❜d!..
Ethereal Pow'r! whose smile, at noon of night,
Recalls the far fled spirit of delight;

Instils that musing, melancholy mood,
Which charms the wise, and elevates the good;
Blest Mem'ry, hail! Oh! grant the grateful Muse,
Her pencil dipt in Nature's living hues,
To pass the clouds that round thy empire roll,
And trace its airy precincts in the soul!

Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain,
Our thoughts are link'd 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
Conven'd the subject-spirits 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.

Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore; From Reason's faintest ray to Newton soar→ What diff'rent spheres to human bliss assign'd! What slow gradations in the scale of mind! Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought; Oh! mark the sleepless energies of thought!

Th' advent'rous boy that asks his little share, And hies from home with many a gossip's prayer, Turns on the neighb'ring 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,2
All rouse Reflection's sadly-pleasing train,
And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again.

So, when the mild Tupia dar'd explore
Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before,
And, with the sons of Science, woo'd the gale
That rising swell'd their strange expanse of sail;
So, when he breath'd his firm yet fond adieu, 3
Borne from his leafy hut, his carv'd canoe,
And all his soul best lov'd, such tears he shed,
While each soft scene of summer-beauty fled:

Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast,
Long watch'd the streaming signal from the mast,
Till twilight's dewy tints deceiv'd his eye,
And fairy forests fring'd the ev'ning sky.

4

So Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawn'd the day,
Rose on her couch, and gaz'd her soul away:
Her eyes had bless'd the beacon's glimm'ring height
That faintly tipt the feath'ry surge with light;
But now the morn with orient hues portray'd
Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade:
All touch'd 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
This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. [sigh;
For this Foscari, whose relentless fate 7
Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,
When exile wore his blooming years away,
To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey,

When reason, justice, vainly urg'd his cause,
For this he rous'd her sanguinary laws;
Glad to return, tho' Hope could grant no more,
And chains and torture hail'd him to the shore.

And hence the charm historic scenes impart:
Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart.
Aerial forms, in Tempe's classic vale,
Glance thro' the gloom, and whisper in the gale;
In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell,
And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell,

8

'Twas ever thus. As now at Virgil's tomb
We bless the shade, and bid the verdure bloom,
So Tully paus'd, amid the wrecks of Time, 1°
On the rude stone to trace the truth sublime;
When at his feet, in honour'd dust disclos'd,
Th' immortal Sage of Syracuse repos'd,
And as his youth in sweet delusion hung
Where once a Plato taught, a Pindar sung,
Who now but meets him musing when he roves
His ruin'd Tusculan's romantic groves!

In Rome's great forum who but hears him roll
His moral thunders o'er the subject soul!

And hence that calm delight the portrait gives: We gaze on ev'ry feature till it lives!

Still the fond lover views the absent maid,
And the lost friend still lingers in his shade!
Say why the pensive widow loves to weep
When on her knee she rocks her babe to sleep!
Tremblingly still she lifts his veil to trace
The father's features in his infant face!
The hoary grandsire smiles the hour away
Won by the charm of Innocence at play;
He bends to meet each artless burst of joy,
Forgets his age, and acts again the boy.
What tho' the iron school of War erase
Each milder virtue, and each softer grace;
What tho' the fiend's torpedo-touch arrest
Each gentler, finer impulse of the breast;
Still shall this active principle preside,
And wake the tear to Pity's self denied.

Th' intrepid Swiss that guards a foreign shore, Condemn'd to climb his mountain-cliffs no more,

12

If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild Which on those cliffs his infant hours beguil'd, Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rise, And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs.

14

Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm: Say why Vespasian lov'd his Sabine farm! 13 Why great Navarre, when France and freedom Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed! [bled, '* When Diocletian's self-corrected mind '5 Th' imperial fasces of a world resign'd, Say, why we trace the labours of his spade In calm Salona's philosophic shade!

Say, when ambitious Charles renounc'd a throne 16
To muse with monks unletter'd and unknown,
What from his soul the parting tribute drew!
What claim'd the sorrows of a last adieu!-
The still retreats that sooth'd his tranquil breast
Ere grandeur dazzled, and its cares oppress'd.
Undamp'd by time, the gen'rous Instinct glows
Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows;
Glows in the tiger's den, the serpent's nest,
On ev'ry form of varied life imprest.
The social tribes its choicest influence hail-
And, when the drum beats briskly in the gale,
The war-worn courser charges at the sound,
And with young vigour wheels the pasture round,
Oft has the aged tenant of the vase

Lean'd on his staff to lengthen out the tale;
Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breath'd
From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath'd,
When o'er the blasted heath the day declin❜d,
And on the scath'd oak warr'd the winter wind;