'Tis vain! thro' Ether's pathless wilds fhe goes,

And lights at last where all her cares repose.

335

Sweet bird! thy truth fhall Harlem's walls attest, 18

And unborn ages confecrate thy nest.

When with the filent energy of grief,

With looks that ask'd, yet dar'd not hope relief, 340

Want, with her babes, round generous Valour clung, To wring the flow furrender from his tongue, 'Twas thine to animate her clofing eye;

Alas! 'twas thine perchance the first to die,

Crush'd by her meagre hand, when welcom❜d from

the sky.

345

Hark! the bee winds her fmall but mellow horn, 19

Blithe to falute the funny smile of morn.

O'er thymy downs fhe bends her busy course,

And many a stream allures her to its fource.

'Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye fo finely wrought, 350

Beyond the search of sense, the foar of thought,

Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind ;

Its orb fo full, its vifion fo confin'd!

Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell ?

Who bids her foul with conscious triumph fwell? 355

With confcious truth retrace the mazy clue

Of varied scents, that charm'd her as fhe flew ?

Hail, MEMORY, hail! thy universal reign

Guards the leaft link of Being's glorious chain.

THE END OF THE FIRST PART.

THE

PLEASURES

OF

MEMORY.

PART II.

-Degli anni e de l'obblio nemica,

Delle cofe cuftode, e difpenfiera.

TASSO.