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Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth,
The glow-worm loves her emerald-light to shed,
Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone I search the records of each mouldering stone. Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth ! Who first unveiled the hallowed form of Truth; Whose every word enlightened and endeared; In age beloved, in poverty revered; In Friendship’s silent register ye live, Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give. But when the sons of peace, of pleasure sleep,
Ethereal Power! who at the noon of night
, 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.
Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked 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 Drew every subject-spirit 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; Man's little universe at once o'ercast, At once illumined when the cloud is past.
Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore ; From Reason's faintest ray to NEWTON soar. What different spheres to human bliss assigned ! What slow gradations in the scale of mind! Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought; Oh mark the sleepless energies of thought !
* Namque illic posuit solium, et sua templa sacravit
Mens animi: hanc circum coëunt, densoque feruntur
The adventurous boy, that asks his little share,
among 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; All rouse Reflection's sadly-pleasing train, And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again.
So, when the mild Tupia dared explore
So Scotia’s Queen, as slowly dawned the day,
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 sigh; This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. For this young Foscari, whose hapless fate Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,
When exile wore his blooming years away,
And hence the charm historic scenes impart;