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Far be the ghastly crew ? and in their stead,
Let cheerful Memory from her purest cells
Lead forth a goodly train of virtues fair
Cherish'd in earliest youth, now paying back,
With tenfold usury, the pious care,
And pouring o'er my wounds the heav'nly balm
Of conscious innocence. But chiefly, Thou,
Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from heaven
To bleed for man, to teach him how to live,
And, oh! still harder lesson ! how to die,
Disdain not Thou to smooth the restless bed
Of sickness and of pain. Forgive the tear
That feeble Nature drops, calm all her fears,
Wake all her hopes, and animate her fate,
'Till my rapt soul, anticipating heaven,
Bursts from the thraldom of incumbering clay,
And, on the wing of ecstasy upborne,
Springs into liberty, and light, and life.

BEATTIE. FROM THE MINSTREL, Book i. Stanza 24. In truth he was a strange and wayward wight, Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene. In darkness, and in storm, he found delight; Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene The southern sun diffused his dazzling sheen. Even sad vicissitude amused his soul; And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,

And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control.

“O ye wild groves, where is now your bloom!" (The Muse interprets thus his tender thought,) "Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy

gloom, “Of late so grateful in the hour of drought!

Why do the birds, that song and rapture

brought “ To all your bowers, their mansions now for

sake? “ Ah! why hath fickle chance this ruin wrought? “ For now the storm howls mournful through

the brake, “ And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless


“ Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool, “ And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty,

crown'd! “ Ah! see th' unsightly slime and sluggish pool “ Have all the solitary vale imbrown'd; “ Fled each fair form, and mute each melting

sound. “ The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray; “ And hark! the river, bursting every mound, “ Down the vale thunders; and, with wasteful

sway, Uproots the grove, and rolls the shatter'd rocks

away. “ Yet such the destiny of all on earth : “ So flourishes and fades majestic man. “ Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, “ And fostering gales awhile the nursling fan. O smile, ye heavens, serene; ye mildews wan, “ Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy

prime, " Nor lessen of his life the little

span ; “ Borne on the swift, though silent, wings of

time, “ Old-age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.

“ And be it so, Let those deplore their doom, “ Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn.

“ But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, - Can smile at fate, and wonder how they


“ Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more

return ? Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed? “ Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, « And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed, Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. “ Shall I be left abandon'd in the dust, “ When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ? “ Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust, “ Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to

live? Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive “ With disappointment, penury, and pain?“ No: Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive, “ And man's majestic beauty bloom again, Bright through th' eternal year of Love's trium

phant reign." This truth sublime his simple sire had taught.In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew. No subtle nor superfluous lore he sought, Nor ever wish'd his Edwin to pursue. “ Let man's own sphere," quoth he, confine

his view, “ Be man's peculiar work his sole delight.” And much, and oft, he warn'd him to eschew

Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the right, By pleasure unseduced, unawed by lawless might. And, from the prayer of want, and plaint of

woe, O never, never turn away thine ear, Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below, " Ah! what were man, should Heaven refuse

to hear! “ To others do (the law is not severe)

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“ What to thyself thou wishest to be done.

Forgive thy foes, and love thy parents dear, “ And friends, and native land: nor those alone, All human weal and woe learn thou to make thine


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Book ii. Stanza 10.
Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled

breast, “ And woo the weary to profound repose ; “ Can Passion's wildest uproar lay to rest, And whisper comfort to the man of woes! “ Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes, “ And Contemplation soar on seraph wings. “ O Solitude, the man who thee foregoes, When lucre lures him, or ambition stings, Shall never know the source whence real gran

deur springs. “ Vain man, is grandeur given to gay attire ? “ Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid “To friends, attendants, armies, bought with

hire ? “ It is thy weakness that requires their aid ;“ To palaces, with gold and gems inlay'd ?

They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm: « To hosts, through carnage who to conquest

wade? “ Behold the victor vanquish'd by the worm ; “ Behold what deeds of woe the locust can per

form! “ True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind « Virtue has raised above the things below, “ Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resign’d, Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her dead

liest blow." This strain from ’midst the rocks was heard to


In solemn sound. Now beam'd the evening star; And, from embattled clouds emerging slow,

Cynthia came riding on her silver car; And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.

Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew, (While Edwin wrapt in wonder listening stood,) is Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu, “ Scorn’d by the wise, and hated by the good! " Ye only can engage the servile brood Of levity and lust, who, all their days, “ Ashamed of truth and liberty, have woo'd, “ And hugg'd the chain that, glittering on their

gaze, “ Seems to outshine the pomp of heaven's empy

real blaze.

• The end and the reward of toil is rest. “ Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace. «« Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power pos

sess'd, Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease! " Ah ! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece, “ The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious

string, “ The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece,

« All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring, " If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom


Along yon glittering sky what glory streams ! “ What majesty attends night's lovely queen! “ Fair laugh our vallies in the vernal beans, r And mountains rise, and oceans roll between, “ And all conspire to beautify the scene. " But, in the mental world, what chaos drear ! " What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious


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