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a conjecture that superior beings are blest with a Beneath his plantain's ancient shade, renew nobler exercise of this faculty.

The simple transports that with freedom flew;

Catch the cool breeze that musky evening blows, SWEET MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale,

And quaff the palm's rich nectar as it glows;

The oral tale of elder time rehearse, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail,

And chant the rude, traditionary verse To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours,

With those, the loved companions of his youth, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.

When life was luxury, and friendship truth.
Ages and climes remote to Thee impart
What charms in Genius, and refines in Art;

Ah! why should Virtue fear the frowns of Fate!

Hers what no wealth can buy, no power create! Thee, in whose hand the keys of Science dwell,

A liule world of clear and cloudless day, The pensive portress of her holy cell;

Nor wreck'd by storms, nor moulder'd by decay; Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp.

A world, with Memory's ceaseless sunshine blest,

The home of Happiness, an honest breast. The friends of Reason, and the guides of Youth,

But most we mark the wonders of her reign, Whose language breathed the eloquence of Truth;

When Sleep has lock'd the senses in her chain. Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, taught

When sober Judgment has his throne resign'd The great in conduct, and the pure in thought;

She smiles away the chaos of the mind; These still exist, (22) by Thee to Fame consign'd,

And, as warm Fancy's bright Elysium glows, Sull speak and act, the models of mankind.

From Her each image springs, each color flows. From Thee sweet Hope her airy coloring draws; She is the sacred guest! the immortal friend! And Fancy's flights are subject to thy laws.

Oft seen o'er sleeping Innocence to bend, From Thee that bosom-spring of rapture flows, In that dead hour of night to Silence given, Which only Virtue, tranquil Virtue, knows.

Whispering seraphic visions of her heaven. When Joy's bright sun has shed his evening-ray, When the blithe son of Savoy, journeying round And Hope's delusive meteors cease to play; With humble wares and pipe of merry sound, When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close,

From his green vale and shelter'd cabin hies, Still through the gloom thy star serenely glows : And scales the Alps to visit foreign skies ; Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night

Though far below the forked lightnings play,
With the mild magic of reflected light.

And at his feet the thunder dies away,
The beauteous maid, who bids the world adieu, Oft, in the saddle rudely rock'd to sleep,
Oft of that world will snatch a fond review; While his mule browses on the dizzy steep,
Oft at the shrine neglect her beads, to trace With Memory's aid, he sits at home, and sees
Some social scene, some dear, familiar face: His children sport beneath their native trees,
And ere, with iron tongue, the vesper-bell

And bends to hear their cherub-voices call,
Bursts through the cypress-walk, the conveni-cell, O'er the loud fury of the torrent's fall.
Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive,

But can her smile with gloomy Madness dwell? To love and joy still tremblingly alive ;

Say, can she chase the horrors of his cell? The whisperd vow, the chaste caress prolong,

Each fiery flight on Frenzy's wing restrain, Weave the light dance and swell the choral song; And mould the coinage of the sever'd brain? With rapt ear drink the enchanting serenade,

Pass but that grate, which scarce a gleam supplies, And, as it melts along the moonlight-glade,

There in the dust the wreck of Genius lies! To each soft note return as soft a sigh,

He, whose arresting hand divinely wrought And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly.

Each bold conception in the sphere of thought; But not till Time has calm'd the ruffled breast,

And round, in colors of the rainbow, threw
Are these fond dreams of happiness confest. Forms ever fair, creations ever new!
Not till the rushing, winds forget to rave,

But, as he fondly snatch'd the wreath of Fame, Is Heaven's sweet smile reflected on the wave.

The spectre Poverty unnerved his frame. From Guinea's coast pursue the lessening sail, Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl sho wore, And catch the sounds that sadden every gale. And Hope's soft energies were felt no more. Tell, if thou canst, the sum of sorrows there; Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art! (23) Mark the fir'd gaze, the wild and frenzied glare, From the rude wall what bright ideas start! The racks of thonght, and freezings of despair! Even now he claims the amaranthine wreath, But pause not then-beyond the western wave, With scenes that glow, with images that breathe! Go, view the captive barter'd as a slave!

And whence these scenes, these images, declare: Crush'd till his high, heroic spirit bleeds,

Whence but from Her who triumphs o'er despair? And from his nerveless frame indignantly recedes. Awake, arise! with grateful fervor fraught,

Yet here, even here, with pleasures long resign'd, Go, spring the mine of elevating thought. Lo! MEMORY bursts the twilight of the mind. He, who, through Nature's various walk, surveys Her dear delusions soothe his sinking soul,

The good and fair her faultless line portrays; When the rude scourge assumes its base control ; Whose mind, profaned by no unhallow'd guest, And o'er Futurity's blank page diffuse

Culls from the crowd the purest and the best ; The full reflection of her vivid hues.

May range, at will, bright Fancy's golden clime, Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more, Or, musing, mount where Science sits sublime Then will he wake on Congo's distant shore ; Tor wake the Spirit of departed Timon

the sky

Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rise, Want with her babes round generous Valor clung, And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs.

To wring the slow surrender from his tongue, Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm: 'T was ihine to animate her closing eye; Say why Vespasian loved his Sabine farm ; (15) Alas! 't was thine perchance the first to die, Why great Navarre, (16) when France and freedom Crush'd by her meagre hand, when welcomed from

bled, Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed.

Hark! the bee (21) winds her small but mellow When Diocletian's self-corrected mind (17)

horn, The imperial fasces of a world resign'd,

Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. Say why we trace the labors of his spade,

O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course, In calm Salona's philosophic shade.

And many a stream allures her to its source. Say, when contentious Charles renounced a throne, (18) "T is noon, 't is night. That eye so finely wrought, To muse with monks unletter'd and unknown, Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought, What from his soul the parting tribute drew? Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind; What claim'd the sorrows of a last adieu ?

Its orb so full, its vision so confined ! The still retreats that soothed his tranquil breast Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell ? Ere grandeur dazzled, and its cares oppress'd. Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell!

Undamp'd hy time, the generous Instinct glows With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows;

Of varied scents, that charm'd her as she flew ? Glows in the tiger's den, the serpent's nest, Hail

, MEMORY, hail! thy universal reign On every form of varied life imprest.

Guards the least link of Being's glorious chain.
The social tribes its choicest influence hail :-
And when the drum beats briskly in the gale,
The war-worn courser charges at the sound,
And with young vigor wheels the pasture round.

PART II.
Oft has the aged tenant of the vale
Lean'd on his staff to lengthen out the tale;
Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breathed,

Delle cose custode, e dispensiera.

Tasso.
From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath'd.
When o'er the blasted heath the day declined,

ANALYSIS.
And on the scathed oak warr'd the winter-wind;
When not a distant taper's twinkling ray

The Memory has hitherto acted only in subservi. Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his way; ence to the senses, and so far man is not eminently When a sheep-bell soothed his listening ear, distinguished from other animals: but, with respect And the big rain-drops told the tempest near; to man, she has a higher province; and is often busily Then did his horse the homeward track descry, (19) employed, when excited by no external cause whatThe track that shunnid his sad, inquiring eye ; ever. She preserves, for his use, the treasures of art And win each wavering purpose to relent, and science, history and philosophy. She colors all With warmth so mild, so gently violent,

the prospects of life: for “ we can only anticipate the That his charm'd hand the careless rein resign'd, future, hy concluding what is possible from what is And doubts and terrors vanish'd from his mind. past.” On her agency depends every effusion of the Recall the traveller, whose alter'd form

Fancy, who with the boldest effort can only comHas borne the buffet of the mountain-storm : pound or transpose, augment or diminish, the mateAnd who will first his fond impatience meet? rials which she has collected. His faithful dog's already at his feet!

When the first emotions of despair have subsided, Yes, though the porter spurn him from the door, and sorrow has softened into melancholy, she amuses Though all, that knew him, know his face no more, with a retrospect of innocent pleasures, and inspires His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each,

that noble confidence which results from the conscious With that mute eloquence which passes speech.- ness of having acted well. When sleep has suspended And see, the master but returns to die!

the organs of sense from their office, she not only sup Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly? plies the mind with images, but assists in their combiThe blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth, nation. And even in madness itself, when the soul is The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth,

resigned over to the tyranny of a distempered imagiThese, when to guard Misfortune's sacred grave, nation, she revives past perceptions, and awakens that Will firm Fidelity exult to brave.

train of thought which was formerly most familiar. Led by what chart, transports the timid dove Nor are we pleased only with a review of the The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love? brighter passages of life. Events, the most distressing Say, through the clouds what compass points her flight? in their immediate consequences, are often cherished Monarchs have gazed, and nations bless'd the sight. in remembrance with a degree of enthusiasm. Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise, But the world and its occupations give a mechanical Eclipse her native shades, her native skies :- impulse to the passions, which is not very favorable Tis vain! through Ether's pathless wilds she goes, to the indulgence of this feeling. It is in a calm and And lights at last where all her cares repose. well-regulated mind that the Memory is most perfect; Sweet bird! thy truth shall Haarlem’s walls at- and solitude is her best sphere of action. With this test, (20)

sentiment is introduced a Talc illustrative of her inAnd unborn ages consecrate thy nest.

Auence in solitude, sickness, and sorrow. And the subWhen, with the silent energy of grief,

ject having now been considered, so far as it relates to With looks that ask'd, yet dared not hope relief, man and the animal world, the Poem concludes with

8 conjecture that superior beings are blest with a Beneath his plantain's ancient shade, renew nobler exercise of this faculty.

The simple transports that with freedom New;

Catch the cool breeze that musky evening blows, SWEET MEMORY, wasted by thy gentle gale,

And quaff the palm's rich nectar as it glows;

The oral tale of elder time rehearse,
Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail,
To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours,

And chant the rude, traditionary verse
Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.

With those, the loved companions of his youth,

When life was Juxury, and friendship truth.
Ages and climes remote to Thee impart
What charms in Genius, and refines in Art;

Ah! why should Virtue fear the frowns of Fate!

Hers what no wealth can buy, no power create! Thee, in whose hand the keys of Science dwell,

A little world of clear and cloudless day, The pensive portress of her holy cell;

Nor wreck'd by storms, nor moulder'd by decay; Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp.

A world, with Memory's ceaseless sunshine blest,

The home of Happiness, an honest breast. The friends of Reason, and the guides of Youth,

But most we mark the wonders of her reign, Whose language breathed the eloquence of Truth ;

When Sleep has lock'd the senses in her chain. Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, taught The great in conduct, and the pure in thought;

When sober Judgment has his throne resign'd

She smiles away the chaos of the mind;
These still exist, (22) by Thee to Fame consign'd,
Still speak and act, the models of mankind.

And, as warm Fancy's bright Elysium glows,

From Her each image springs, each color flows. From Thee sweet Hope her airy coloring draws; She is the sacred guest! the immortal friend! And Fancy's flights are subject to thy laws.

Oft seen o'er sleeping Innocence to bend, From Thee that bosom-spring of rapture flows,

In that dead hour of night to Silence given, Which only Virtue, tranquil Virtue, knows.

Whispering seraphic visions of her heaven.
When Joy's bright sun has shed his evening-ray, When the blithe son of Savoy, journeying round
And Hope's delusive meteors cease to play; With humble wares and pipe of merry sound,
When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close, From his green vale and shelter'd cabin hies,
Still through the gloom thy star serenely glows : And scales the Alps to visit foreign skies;
Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night Though far below the forked lightnings play,
With the mild magic of reflected light.

And at his feet the thunder dies away,
The beauteous maid, who bids the world adieu, Oft, in the saddle rudely rock'd to sleep,
Oft ofa that world will snatch a fond review; While his mule browses on the dizzy steep,
Oft at the shrine neglect her beads, to trace With Memory's aid, he sits at home, and sees
Some social scene, some dear, familiar face: His children sport beneath their native trees,
And ere, with iron tongue, the vesper-bell

And bends to hear their cherub-voices call,
Bursts through the cypress-walk, the convent-cell, O'er the loud fury of the torrent's fall.
Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive,

But can her smile with gloomy Madness dwell? To love and joy still tremblingly alive ;

Say, can she chase the horrors of his cell ? The whisper'd vow, the chaste caress prolong,

Each fiery flight on Frenzy's wing restrain, Weave the light dance and swell the choral song;

And mould the coinage of the sever'd brain? With rapt ear drink the enchanting serenade,

Pass but that grate, which scarce a gleam supplies, A'd, as it melts along the moonlight-glade,

There in the dust the wreck of Genius lies! To each soft note return as soft a sigh,

He, whose arresting hand divinely wrought And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly.

Each bold conception in the sphere of thought; But not till Time has calm'd the ruffled breast,

And round, in colors of the rainbow, threw Are these fond dreams of happiness confest.

Forms ever fair, creations ever new! Not till the rushing winds forget to rave,

But, as he fondly snatch'd the wreath of Fame, Is Heaven's sweet smile reflected on the wave.

The spectre Poverty unnerved his frame. From Guinea's coast pursue the lessening sail, Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl she wore, And catch the sounds that sadden every gale. And Hope's soft energies were felt no more. Tell, if thou canst, the sum of sorrows there ; Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art! (23) Mark the fix'd gaze, the wild and frenzied glare, From the rude wall what bright ideas start! The racks of thonght, and freezings of despair! Even now he claims the amaranthine wreath, But pause not then-beyond the western wave, With scenes that glow, with images that breathe! Go, view the captive barter'd as a slave!

And whence these scenes, these images, declare : Crush'd till his high, heroic spirit bleeds,

Whence but from Her who triumphs o'er despair? And from his nerveless frame indignantly recedes. Awake, arise! with grateful fervor fraught,

Yet here, even here, with pleasures long resign'd, Go, spring the mine of elevating thought. Lo! MEMORY bursts the twilight of the mind. He, who, through Nature's various walk, surveys Her dear delusions soothe his sinking soul, The good and fair her faultless line portrays; When the rude scourge assumes its base control; Whose mind, profaned by no unhallow'd guest, And o'er Futurity's blank page diffuse

Culls from the crowd the purest and the best ; The full reflection of her vivid hues.

May range, at will, bright Fancy's golden clime, Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more, Or, musing, mount where Science sits sublime Then will he wake on Congo's distant shore ; Or wake the Spirit of departed Time

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Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral Muse, And, with a brother's warmth, a brother's smile,
A blooming Eden in his life reviews !

The stranger greets each native of his isle ;
So rich the culture, though so small the space, So scenes of life, when present and confest,
Its scanty limits he forgets to trace.

Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;
But the fond fool, when evening shades the sky, Yet not an image, when remotely view'd,
Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh! (24) However trivial, and however rude,
The weary waste, that lengthen'd as he ran, But wins the heart, and wakes the social sigh,
Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span!

With every claim of close affinity!
Ah! who can tell the triumphs of the mind, But these pure joys the world can never know;
By truth illumined, and by taste refined ?

In geniler climes their silver currents flow.
When age has quench'd the eye, and closed the ear, Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day,
Still nerved for action in her native sphere, When the hush'd grove has sung his parting lay;
Oft will she rise—with searching glance pursue When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car,
Some long-loved image vanish'd from her view; Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star;
Dart through the deep recesses of the past,

Above, below, aērial murmurs swell,
O'er dusky forms in chains of slumber cast; From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell !
With giant-grasp fling back the folds of night, A thousand nameless us, that shun the light,
And snatch the faithless fugitive to light.

Stealing soft music on ihe ear of night.
So through the grove the impatient mother flies, So oft the finer movements of the soul,
Each sunless glade, each secret pathway tries; That shun the sphere of Pleasure's gay control,
Till the thin leaves the truant boy disclose, In the still shades of calm Seclusion rise,
Long on the wood-moss stretch'd in sweet repose. And breathe their sweet, seraphic harmonies!
Nor yet to pleasing objects are confined

Once, and domestic annals tell the time,
The silent feasts of the reflecting mind;

(Preserved in Cumbria's rude, romantic clime) Danger and death a dread delight inspire,

When Nature smiled, and o'er the landscape threw And the bald veteran glows with wonted fire,

Her richest fragrance, and her brightest hue, When, richly bronzed by many a summer-sun,

A blithe and blooming Forester explored
He counts his scars, and tells what deeds were done. Those loftier scenes Salvator's soul adored ;

Go, with old Thames, view Chelsea's glorious pile; The rocky pass half-hung with shaggy wood,
And ask the shatter'd hero, whence his smile?

And the cleft oak flung boldly o'er the flood;
Go, view the splendid domes of Greenwich-go,

Nor shunnd the track, unknown to human tread, And own what raptures from Reflection flow.

That downward to the night of caverns led;
Hail, noblest structures imaged in the wave!

Some ancient cataract's deserted bed.
A nation's grateful tribute to the brave!
Hail, blest retreats from war and shipwreck, hail !

High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose (27)
That oft arrest the wondering stranger's sail.

And blew his shrill blast o'er perennial snows; Long have ye heard the narratives of age,

Ere the rapt youth, recoiling from the roar, The battle's havoc, and the tempest's rage;

Gazed on the fumbling tide of dread Lodoar; Long have ye known Reflection's genial ray

And through the risied cliffs, that scaled the sky, Gild the calm close of Valor's various day.

Derwent's clear mirror (28) charm'd his dazzled eye. Time's sonbrous touches soon correct the piece,

Each osier isle, inverted on the wave, Mellow each tint, and bid each discord cease:

Through morn's grey mist its melting colors gave ; A softer tone of light pervades the whole,

And o'er the cygnet's haunt, the mantling grove

Its emerald arch with wild luxuriance wove.
And steals a pensive languor o'er the soul.
Hast thou through Eden's wild-wood vales pur.

Light as the breeze that brush'd the orient dew,
sued (25)

From rock to rock the young Adventurer flew; Each mountain scene, majestically rude ;

And day's last sunshine slept along the shore, To note the sweet simplicity of life,

When lo, a path the smile of welcome wore. Far from the din of Folly's idle strife;

Imbowering shrubs with verdure veild the sky, Nor there awhile, with lifted eye, revered

And on the musk-rose shed a deeper dye; That modest stone which pious Pembroke rear'd;

Save when a bright and momentary gleam Which still records, beyond the pencil's power,

Glanced from the white foam of some shelter'd stream The silent sorrows of a parting hour;

O'er the still lake the bell of evening tollid,
Still to the musing pilgrim points the place, And on the moor the shepherd penn'd his fold;
Her sainted spirit most delights to trace?

And on the green hill's side the meteor play'd,
Thus, with the manly glow of honest pride, When, hark! a voice sung sweetly through the shade
O'er his dead son the gallant Ormond sigh’d. (26) It ceased—yet still in Florio's fancy sung,
'Thus, through the gloom of Shenstone's fairy-grove, Still on each note his captive spirit hung ;
Maria's urn still breathes the voice of love. Till o'er the mead a cool, sequester'd grot

As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower From its rich roof a sparry lustre shot.
A wes us less deeply in its morning-hour,

A crystal water cross'd the pebbled floor,
Than when the shades of Time serenely fall And on the front these simple lines it bore :
On every broken arch and ivied wall;
The tender images we love to trace,

Hence away, nor dare intrude!
Steal from each year a melancholy grace!

In this secret, shadowy cell And as the sparks of social love expand,

Musing MEMORY loves to dwell, As the heart opens in a foreign land;

With her sister Solitude.

Far from the busy world she flies, Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove,
To taste that peace the world denies. Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove ; (29)
Entranced she sits ; from youth to age, Whence erst the chanted hymn, the taper'd rite
Reviewing Life's eventful page;

Amused the fisher's solitary night:
And noting, ere they fade away,

And still the mitred window, richly wreathed,
The little lines of yesterday.

A sacred calm through the brown foliage breathed.

The wild deer, starting through the silent glade Florio had gain'd a rude and rocky seat,

With fearful gaze their various course survey'd. When lo, the Genius of this still retreat!

High hung in air the hoary goat reclined, Fair was her form—but who can hope to trace His streaming beard the sport cf every wind; The pensive softness of her angel-face?

And, while the coot her jet-wing loved to lave, Can Virgil's verse, can Raphael's touch, impart Rock'd on the bosom of the sleepless wave; Those finer features of the feeling heart,

The eagle rush'd from Skiddaw's purple crest, Those tend'rer tints that shun the careless eye, A cloud still brooding o'er her giant-nest. And in the world's contagious climate die?

And now the moon had dimm'd with dewy ray She left the cave, nor mark'd the stranger there; The few fine flushes of departing day. Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air

O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung, Had breathed a soft enchantment o'er his soul! And her broad lights on every mountain flung ; In every nerve he felt her blest control!

When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew,(30) What pure and white-wing'd agents of the sky, And to the surge consign'd the little crew. Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy,

All, all escaped—but ere the lover bore Inforin congenial spirits when they meet?

His faint and faded Julia to the shore, Sweet is their office, as their natures sweet! Her sense had fied Exhausted by the storm,

Florio, with fearful joy, pursued the maid, A fatal trance hung o'er her pallid form ; Till through a vista's moonlight-chequer'd shade, Her closing eye a trembling lustre fired; Where the bat circled, and the rooks reposed, "T was life's last spark—it flutter'd and expired ! (Their wars suspended, and their councils closed) The father strew'd his white hairs in the wind, An antique mansion burst in awful state,

Callid on his child—nor linger'd long behind : A rich vine clustering round the Gothic gate. And Florio lived to see the willow wave, Nor paused he there. The master of the scene With many an evening-whisper, o'er their grave. Saw his light step imprint the dewy green; Yes, Florio lived-and, still of each possess'd, And, slow advancing, hail'd him as his guest, The father cherish'd, and the maid caress'd! Won by the honest warmth his looks express'd. For ever would the fond enthusiast rove, He wore the rustic manners of a 'Squire ;

With Julia's spirit, through the shadowy grove; Age had not quench'd one spark of manly fire; Gaze with delight on every scene she plann'd, But giant Gout had bound him in her chain, Kiss every flow'ret planted by her hand. And his heart panted for the chase in vain.

Ah! still he traced her steps along the glade, Yet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing Power! When hazy hues and glimmering lights betray'd Wing'd with delight Confinement's lingering hour. Half-viewless forms ; still listen'd as the breeze The for's brush still emulous to wear,

Heaved its deep sobs among the aged trees; He scour'd the county in his elbow-chair;

And at each pause her melting accents caught, And, with view-halloo, roused the dreaming hound, In sweet delirium of romantic thought! That rung, by starts, his deep-toned music round. Dear was the grot that shunn'd the blaze of day; Long by the paddock's humble pale confined, She

gave

its sjars to shoot a trembling ray. His aged hunters coursed the viewless wind : The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell, And each, with glowing energy pori ray’d,

Murmur'd of Julia's virtues as it fell; The far-famed triumphs of the field display'd; And o'er the dripping moss, the fretted stone, Usurp'd the canvas of the crowded hall,

In Florio's ear breathed language not its own, And chased a line of heroes from the wall.

Her charm around the enchantress MEMORY threw There slept the horn each jocund echo knew, A charm that soothes the mind, and sweetens too! And many a smile and many a story drew!

But is Her magic only felt below? High o'er the hearth his forest-trophies hung, Say, through what brighter realms she bids it flow And their fantastic branches wildly flung.

To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere,(31) How would he dwell on the vast anters there! She yields delight but faintly imaged here: These dash'd the wave, those fann'd the mountain-air. All that till now their rapt researches knew; All, as they frown'd, unwritten records bore Not call'd in slow succession to review, Of gallant feats and festivals of yore.

But, as a landscape meels the eye of day, But why the tale prolong ?-His only child, At once presented to their glad survey ! His darling Julia on the stranger smil'd.

Each scene of bliss reveald, since chaos fled, Her little arts a fretful sire to please,

And dawning light its dazzling glories spread ; Her gentle gaiety, and native ease

Each chain of wonders that sublimely glow'd, Had won his soul; and rapturous Fancy shed Since first Creation's choral anthem flow'd; Her golden lights, and tints of rosy red.

Each ready flight, at Mercy's call divine, But ah! sew days had pass’d, ere the bright vision fled! To distant worlds that undiscover'd shine;

When evening tinged the lake's ethereal blue, Full on her tablet flings its living rays, And her deep shades irregularly threw;

And all, combined, with blest effulgence blaze.

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