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ANALYSIS

OF THE

SECOND PART.

THE Memory has hitherto acted only in subser

vience to the fenfes, and fo far man is not eminently diftinguished from other animals: but, with respect to man, she has a higher province; and is often bufily employed, when excited by no external cause whatever. She preferves, for his use, the treasures of art and science, hiftory and philofo

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phy. She colours all the profpects of life: for

we can only anticipate the future, by conclud

ing what is poffible from what is past.' On

her agency depends every effufion of the Fancy, whose boldeft effort can only compound or tranfpofe, augment or diminish the materials which she has collected and retained.

When the first emotions of despair have subsided, and forrow has foftened into melancholy, fhe amuses with a retrospect of innocent pleasures, and inspires that noble confidence which results from the consciousness of having acted well. When fleep has fupended the organs of sense from their office, fhe not only supplies the mind with images, but affifts in their combination.

And even in madness itself, when the foul is

refigned over to the tyranny of a distempered

imagination, fhe revives paft perceptions, and awakens the train of thought which was formerly moft familiar.

Nor are we pleased only with a review of the brighter paffages of life; events, the moft diftreffing in their immediate confequences, are often cherished in remembrance with a degree of enthusiasm.

But the world and its occupations give a mechanical impulfe to the paffions, which is not very favourable to the indulgence of this feeling. It is

in a calm and well-regulated mind that the Memory

is moft perfect; and folitude is her beft fphere of action. With this fentiment is introduced a Tale, illuftrative of her influence in folitude, fickness, and forrow. And the subject having now been confidered, fo far as it relates to man and the

animal world, the Poem concludes with a conjec

ture, that fuperior beings are bleft with a nobler exercife of this faculty.

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MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale,

the stream of Time I turn my fail,

To view the fairy-haunts of long-loft hours,
Bleft with far greener fhades, far fresher flowers.

Ages and climes remote to Thee impart

What charms in Genius, and refines in Art;

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