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TRANQUILLITY! thou better name
To thee I gave my early youth,
Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,
And dire Remembrance interlope
But me thy gentle hand will lead
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune,
(moon. Light as the busy clouds, calm as he gliding
The feeling heart, the searching soul,
The present works of present man-
FAINT gleams the evening radiance through the
sky, The sober twilight dimly darkens round; In short quick circles the shrill bat ilits by,
And the slow vapour curls along the ground. Now the pleased eye from yon lone cottage sees
On the green mead the smoke long-shadowing The redbreast on the blossom'd spray (play;
Warbles wild her latest lay,
When Ocean stills his waves to rest;
And whiten o'er his breast;
When the low gales of evening moan along,
I love with thee to feel the calm cool breeze, And roam the pathless forest wilds among,
Listening the mellow murmur of the trees Full foliaged, as they lift their arms on high, And wave their shadowy heads in wildest melody. Or lead me where, amid the tranquil vale,
The broken stream flows on in silver light,
O'er the bank of violets sighs,
And hearken the dull beetle's drowsy flight:
And mark where, radiant through the night, Moves in the grass-green hedge the glowworm's
living light. Thee, meekest Power! I love to meet, As oft with ever solitary pace
The scatter'd Abbey's hallow'd rounds I trace, And listen to the echoings of my feet.
Or on the half demolish'd tomb,
Mark the clear orb of night
light. Nor will I not in some more gloomy hour Invoke with fearless awe thine holier power, Wandering beneath the sainted pile When the blast moans along the darksome aisle, And clattering patters all around The midnight shower with dreary sound.
But sweeter 'tis to wander wild
O Contemplation! when to Memory's eyes
THE REV. JOHN IRELAND.
IMITATION OF HORACE, LIB. III. ODE XVI.
WHEN howling winds and louring skies
Near Orkney's boisterous seas,
To ask a little ease.
For ease the Turk, ferocious, prays,
Which Palk could ne'er obtain; Which Bedford lack'd amidst his store, And liberal Clive, with mines of ore,
Oft bade for—but in vain.
For not the liveried troop that wait
Can keep, my friend, aloof
Around the lordly roof.
• 0, well is he' to whom kind Heaven
Rich in the blessing sent,
And fattens on content.