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Thus sang the sweet sequestered bird,
Soft as the passing wind, And I recorded what I heard,
A lesson for mankind.
A RAVEN, while with glossy breast
Fate steals along with silent tread,
The lapse of time and rivers is the same,
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY
SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade,
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK DURING HIS SOLITARY
ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ
I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place. I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth. Religion ! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word !
Or all that this earth can afford.
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Or smiled when a sabbath appeared. Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends,--do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind !
Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there; But alas ! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair,
And I to my cabin repair.
And mercy, encouraging thought !
And reconciles man to his lot.
ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, Esq
TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND
Round Thurlow's head in early youth,
And in his sportive days,
And Genius shed his rays.
The experienced and the sage,
With all the skill of age !
Proclaim him born to sway
And bear the palm away.”
He sprang impetuous forth,
Attends superior worth.
Ere yet he starts is known,
What all had det med his own,
Ode to PEACE
Once more in this sad heart :
We therefore need not part.