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3. Night reigns, in silence, o'er the pole,
And spreads her gems unheard:
Her lessons penetrate the soul,
Yet borrow not a word.
Noiseless the sun emits his fire,
And pours his golden streams;
And silently the shades retire
Before his rising beams.

4. The hand that moves, and regulates,
And guides the vast machine,—
That governs wills, and times, and fates,—
Retires, and works unseen.
Angelic visitants forsake

Their amaranthine bowers;
On silent wing their stations take,
And watch th' allotted hours.

5. Sick of the vanity of man,-
His noise, and pomp, and show-
I'll move upon great Nature's plan,
And, silent, work below.
With inward harmony of soul,
I'll wait the upper sphere;
Shining, I'll mount above the pole,
And break my silence there.

1.

SECTION XI.

The Man of Benevolence.

Let me record
His praise the man of great benevolence,
Who charity with glowing heart embraced,
And to her gentle bidding, made his feet
Swift ministers.-Of all mankind, his soul
Was most in harmony with heaven: as one
Sole family of brothers, sisters, friends;
One in their origin, one in their rights
To all the common gifts of providence,
And in their hopes, their joys, and sorrows one,
He viewed the universal human race,

2. He needed not a law of state to force
Grudging submission to the law of God;
The law of love was in his heart alive.
What he possessed, he counted not his own,
But, like a faithful steward in a house
Of public alms, what freely he received,

He freely gave; distributing to all

The helpless, the last mite beyond his own
Temperate support, and reckoning still the gift
But justice, due to want; and so it was;
Altho' the world, with compliment not ill
Applied, adorned it with a fairer name.

3. Nor did he wait till to his door the voice
Of supplication came, but went abroad,
With foot as silent as the starry dews,
In search of misery that pined unseen,

And would not ask. And who can tell what sights
He saw! what groans he heard in that cold world
Below! where Sin, in league with gloomy Death,
March'd daily thro' the length and breadth of all
The land, wasting at will, and making earth,
Fair earth! a lazar-house, a dungeon dark;
Where Disappointment fed on ruined Hope;
Where guilt, worn out, leaned on the triple edge
Of want, remorse, despair; where Cruelty
Reached forth a cup of wormwood to the lips
Of sorrow, that to deeper sorrow wailed;
Where Mockery, and Disease, and Poverty,
Met miserable Age, erewhile sore bent
With his own burthen; where the arrowy winds
Of winter pierced the naked orphan babe,
And chilled the mother's heart who had no home,
And where, alas! in mid-time of his day,
The honest man, robb'd by some villain's hand,
Or with long sickness pale, and paler yet

With want and hunger, oft drank bitter draughts
Of his own tears, and had no bread to eat.

4. Oh! who can tell what sights he saw, what shapes Of wretchedness! or who describe what smiles Of gratitude illumed the face of wo,

While from his hand he gave the bounty forth!
As when the sun, from cancer wheeling back,
Returned to capricorn, and showed the north,
That long had lain in cold and cheerless night,
His beamy countenance ;-all nature then
Rejoiced together glad; the flower looked up
And smiled; the forest from his locks shook off
The hoary frosts, and clapp'd his hands; the birds
Awoke, and, singing, rose to meet the day;
And from his hollow den, where many months
He slumbered sad in darkness, blithe and light
Of heart the savage sprung, and saw again

His mountains shine; and with new songs of love,
Allured the virgin's ear; so did the house,
The prison-house of guilt, and all th' abodes
Of unprovided helplessness, revive,

As on them looked the sunny messenger
Of charity,-by angels tended still,

That marked his deeds, and wrote them in the book
Of God's remembrance:-careless he to be
Observed of men; or have each mite bestowed,
Recorded punctual with name and place
In every bill of news: pleased to do good,
He gave and sought no more.

SECTION XII.

The Passions:-An Ode.

Pollok.

1. WHEN music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart,
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each-for madness rul'd the hour-
Would prove his own expressive power.
2. First, Fear, his hand its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made.

3. Next Anger rush'd;-his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own'd his secret stings;
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
4. With woful measures wan Despair,
In sullen sounds his grief beguil❜d-
A solemn, strange, and mingled air-
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

5. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on Echo still through all her song: And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair.

6. And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose.

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And, with a withering look, •

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo:

And, ever and anon, he beat,

The doubling drum with furious heat:

And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,

While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.

7. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixedSad proof of thy distressful state

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd;

And now it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate.

8. With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd,
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;

And, from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes, by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul;

And, dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound:

Through glades and glooms the mingled measures stole, Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,

(Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,)

In hollow murmurs died away.

9. But, O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung!-
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.

The oak crown'd Sisters, and their chaste eyed Queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green:

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear.

10. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd-
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amidst the festal-sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing;
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth, a gay fantastic round;
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,

Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.-Collins.

SECTION XIII.

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard.

1. THE curfew tolls-the knell of parting day-
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

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2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds;
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;—
3. Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

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