The patriot paffion that shall strongly feel, Ardent, and glowing with undaunted zeal; With lips of fire fhall plead his country's cause, And vindicate the majefty of laws.
This cloth'd with Britain's thunder spread alarms Thro' the wide earth, and fhake the pole with arms,- That, to the founding lyre his deeds rehearse, Enshrine his name in fome immortal verse; To long pofterity his praife confign, And pay a life of hardships by a line. While others, confecrate to higher aims, Whofe hallow'd bofoms glow with purer Love in their heart, perfuafion in their tongue, With words of peace fhall charm the lift'ning throng, Draw the dread veil that wraps th' eternal throne, And launch our fouls into the bright unknown.
THOU, the Nymph with placid eye! O feldom found, yet ever nigh!
Receive my temperate vow:
Not all the ftorms that shake the pole Can e'er difturb thy halcyon foul, And smooth unalter'd brow.
O come, in fimpleft veft array'd, With all thy fober cheer difplay'd To blefs my longing fight;
Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace. Thy meek regard, thy matron grace, And chafte fubdu'd delight.
No more by varying paffions beat, O gently guide my pilgrim feet To find thy hermit cell;
Where in fome pure and equal fky Beneath thy foft indulgent eye The modeft Virtues dwell.
Simplicity in Attic veft,
And Innocence with candid breaft
And clear undaunted eye;
And Hope, who points to diftant years, Fair op'ning thro' this vale of tears
There Health, thro' whofe calm bofom glide The temperate joys in even tide, That rarely ebb or flow; And Patience there, thy fifter meek, Prefents her mild unvarying cheek To meet the offer'd blow.
Her influence taught the Phrygian fage A tyrant mafter's wanton rage
With fettled fmiles to meet;
Innur'd to toil and bitter bread, "He bow'd h's meek fubmitted head, And kifs'd thy fainted feet.
But thou, oh nymph, retir'd and coy! In what brown hamlet doft thou joy To tell thy tender tale?
The lowlieft children of the ground, Mofs-rofe and violet bloffom round, And lily of the vale.
O fay what soft propitious hour I best may choose to hail thy power, And court thy gentle fway?
When Autumn, friendly to the Muse, Shall thy own modest tints diffuse, And shed thy milder day.
When Eve, her dewy ftar beneath, Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every storm is laid;
If fuch an hour was e'er thy choice, Oft let me hear thy foothing voice Low whispering through the fhade.
ODE TO FEAR.
THOU, to whom the world unknown
With all its fhadowy fhapes is shown, Who feeft appall'd th' unreal scene,
While Fancy lifts the veil between :
Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear!
I fee, I fee thee near.
I know thy hurried ftep, thy haggard eye! Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly;
For lo, what monsters in thy train Danger, whofe limbs of giant mould What mortal eye can fix'd behold? Who ftalks his round and hideous form, Howling amidst the midnight ftorm, Or throws him on the ridgy fteep Of fome loose hanging rock to fleep; And with him thousand phantoms join'd, Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind: And thofe, the fiends, who near allied, O'er Nature's wounds, and wrecks prefide; While Vengeance, in the lurid air, Lifts her red arm, exposed and bare :
On whom that ravening brood of Fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait : Who, Fear, this ghaftly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee?
Thou who fuch weary lengths haft paft, Where wilt thou reft, mad Nymph, at last ? Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell, Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell ? Or in fome hollow'd feat,
"Gainst which the big waves beat,
Hear drowning feamen's cries in tempefts brought ? Dark power! with fhuddering meek fubmitted thought, Be mine, to read the vifions old,
Which thy awakening bards have told, And, left thou meet my blafted view, Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er aw'd, In that thrice hallowed eve abroad, When ghofts, as cottage-maids believe, Their pebbled beds permitted leave, And goblins haunt from fire, or fen! Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!
O thou whose spirit most possest The facred feat of Shakespeare's breaft! By all that from thy prophet broke, In thy divine emotions fpoke! Hither again thy fury deal,
Teach me but once like him to feel: His cyprefs wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear! will dwell with thee.
ODE TO TRUTH.
SAY, will no white-rob'd Son of Light,
Swift darting from his heav'nly height, Here deign to take his hallow'd stand; Here wave his amber locks; unfold His pinions cloth'd with downy gold; Here fmiling ftretch his tutelary wand?
And you, ye hoft of Saints! for ye have known Each dreary path in Life's perplexing maze, Tho' now ye circle yon eternal throne With harpings high of inexpreffive praise, Will not your train defcend in radiant ftate,
To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of Fate?
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