Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth! Who first unveiled the hallowed form of Truth; 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 and pleasure sleep, With sighs so sweet, with transports so refined? Instils that musing, melancholy mood, Which charms the wise, and elevates the good; To pass the clouds that round thy empire roll, And trace its airy precincts in the soul. FISH! 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, as the various avenues of sense Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, As studious PROSPERO's mysterious spell b As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. The subtle, quick vibrations as they play. Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore; From Reason's faintest ray to NEWTON soar. Oh mark the sleepless energies of thought! The adventurous boy, that asks his little share, Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see And as he turns, the thatch among the trees, 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; " And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again. So, when the mild TUPIA dared explore Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before, And all his soul best loved-such tears he shed, Long watched the streaming signal from the mast; C Till twilight's dewy tints deceived his eye, So Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawned the day, e er eyes had blessed the beacon's glimmering height, faintly tipt the feathery surge with light; but now the morn with orient hues pourtrayed Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade: All touched the talisman's resistless spring, And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing! Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, f As summer-clouds flash forth electric fire. And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth, Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the Patriot's sigh; s When exile wore his blooming years away, To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey, When reason, justice, vainly urged his cause, Glad to return, tho' Hope could grant no more, And hence the charm historic scenes impart: Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. Aërial forms in Tempe's classic vale Glance thro' the gloom, and whisper in the gale; Who now but meets him musing, when he roves |