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Then did the horse the homeward track descry, 14
Recal the traveller, whose alter'd form Has borne the buffet of the mountain-storm; And who will first his fond impatience meet? His faithful dog's already at his feet! Yes, though the porter spurn him from his door, Though all that knew him know his face no more, His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, With that mute eloquence which passes speech. And see, the master but returns to die ! Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly? The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth, The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth ; These, when to guard Misfortune's sacred grave, Will firm Fidelity exult to brave.
Led by what chart, transports the timid dove The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love?
Say, thro' the clouds what compass points her flight?
Sweet bird! thy truth shall Harlem's walls attest, And unborn ages consecrate thy nest 15 When with the silent energy of grief, With looks that ask'd, yet dar'd not hope relief, Want, with her babes, round generous valour clung, To wring the slow surrender from his tongue, 'Twas thine to animate her closing eye; Alas! 'twas thine perchance the first to die, Crush'd by her meagre hand, when welcom'd from
Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow horn, Blythe to salute the sunny smile of morn. 16 O'er thimy downs she bends her busy course, And many a stream allures her to its source. 'Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely wrought, Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought,
Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind;
END OF PART FIRST.
ANALYSIS OF THE SECOND PART.
THE 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 mate
rials which 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 hav. ing acted well. When sleep has suspended the organs of sense from their office, she not only supplies the mind with images, but assists in their combination. And even in madness itself, when the soul is resigned over to the tyranny of a distempered imagination, she revives past perceptions, and awakens that 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 cherish'd in remembrance with a degree of enthusiasm.