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HE 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 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 And even in madness itself,

their combination.

when the soul is resigned over to the tyranny of a distempered imagination, she revives past perception, 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.

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SWEET MEMORY, wafted by thy 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 1
Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp.

The friends of Reason, and the guides of Youth, Whose language breath'd the eloquence of Truth Whofe life, beyond perceptive wisdom, taught The great in conduct, and the pure in thought

These still exist, by thee to fame consign'd, (u)
Still speak and act, the models of mankind.

From Thee sweet Hope her airy colouring draws;
And fancy's flights are fubject to thy laws.
From thee that bosom 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 thro' 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 controul Chas'd the gay visions of her opening soul: with iron tongue, the vesper bell

And ere,

Bursts thro' the cypress walk, the convent cell,

Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive,.

To love and joy still tremblingly alive

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The whisper'd vow, the chaste caress prolong,
Weave the light dance, and swell the choral song;
With rapt ear drink th' enchanting seranade;
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 heav'n'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 fixt gaze, the wild and phrensied glare, The racks of thought, and freezings of despair! But pause not then-beyond the western wave, Go, view the capti ve barter'd as a slave! Crush'd till his high, heroic spirit bleeds, And from his nerveless frame indignantly recedes.

Yet here, ev'n here, with pleasures long resign'd, Lo! MEMORY burst the twilight of the mind : Her dear delusions sooth his sinking soul,

When the rude scourge affumes its base controul :: And o'er Futurity's blank page diffuse

The full reflexion of their vivid hues.

"Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more,

Then will be wake on Congo's distant shore ;;

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