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But, hush!-observe that little mount of pines,
Where the breeze murmurs and the fire-fly shines,
There let thy fancy raise, in bold relief,

The sculptur❜d image of that veteran chief,
Who lost the rebel's in the hero's name,

And stept o'er prostrate loyalty to fame ;
Beneath whose sword Columbia's patriot train
Cast off their monarch, that their mob might reign!

How shall we rank thee upon glory's page? Thou more than soldier and just less than sage! Too form'd for peace to act a conqueror's part, Too train❜d in camps to learn a statesman's art, Nature design'd thee for a hero's mould,

But, ere she cast thee, let the stuff grow cold!

While warmer souls command, nay make their fate, Thy fate made thee and forc'd thee to be great. Yet Fortune, who so oft, so blindly sheds Her brightest halo round the weakest heads,

• On a small hill near the capitol there is to be an equestrian statue of General Washington.

Found thee undazzled, tranquil as before,
Proud to be useful, scorning to be more;
Less prompt at glory's than at duty's claim,
Renown the meed, but self-applause the aim;
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee,
Far less than all thou hast forborn to be!

Now turn thee, HUME, where faint the moon-light falls
On yonder dome—and in those princely halls,
If thou canst hate, as oh! that soul must hate,
Which loves the virtuous and reveres the great,
If thou canst loath and execrate with me
That Gallic garbage of philosophy,
That nauseous slaver of these frantic times,
With which false liberty dilutes her crimes!
If thou hast got, within thy free-born breast,
One pulse, that beats more proudly than the rest,
With honest scorn for that inglorious soul,

Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's controul,
Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod,
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its god!
There, in those walls—but, burning tongue, forbear!
Rank must be reverenc'd, even the rank that's there:

So here I pause—and now, my HUME! we part;
But oh! full oft, in magic dreams of heart,
Thus let us meet, and mingle converse dear

By Thames at home, or by Potowmac here!
O'er lake and marsh, through fevers and through fogs,
Midst bears and yankees, democrats and frogs,
Thy foot shall follow me, thy heart and eyes
With me shall wonder, and with me despise!
While I, as oft, in witching thought shall rove
To thee, to friendship, and that land I love,
Where, like the air that fans her fields of green,
Her freedom spreads, unfever'd and serene;
Where sovereign man can condescend to see
The throne and laws more sovereign still than he !
Once more, adieu !—my weary eye-lid winks,
The moon grows clouded and my taper sinks.

TU SEMPER AMORIS

SIS MEMOR, ET CARI COMITIS NE ABSCEDAT IMAGO.

Valerius Flaccus. Lib. iv.

LINES,

WRITTEN ON LEAVING PHILADELPHIA.

τηνδε την πολιν φίλως

Ειπων επαξια γαρ.

SOPHOCL. Edip. Colon. v. 758.

ALONE by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd
And bright were its flowery banks to his eye;
But far, very far were the friends that he lov'd,
And he gaz'd on its flowery banks with a sigh!

Oh Nature! though blessed and bright are thy rays, O'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, Yet faint are they all to the lustre, that plays

In a smile from the heart that is dearly our own!

Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain
Unblest by the smile he had languish'd to meet;
Though scarce did he hope it would soothe him again,
Till the threshold of home had been kist by his feet!

But the lays of his boy-hood had stol'n to their ear,
And they lov'd what they knew of so humble a name,
And they told him, with flattery welcome and dear,
That they found in his heart something sweeter than fame!

Nor did woman-oh woman! whose form and whose soul
Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue;
Whether sunn'd in the tropics or chill'd at the pole,
If woman be there, there is happiness too!

Nor did she her enamouring magic deny,
That magic his heart had relinquish'd so long,
Like eyes he had lov'd was her eloquent eye,
Like them did it. soften and weep at his song!

Oh! blest be the tear, and in memory oft

May its sparkle be shed o'er his wandering dream! Oh! blest be that eye, and may passion as soft,

As free from a pang ever mellow its beam!

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