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While others, consecrate to higher aims,
Whose hailow'd bosoms glow with purer flame?,
Love in their heart, persuasion in their tongue,
With words of peace shall charm the list'ning throng,
Draw the dread veil that wraps th' eternal throne,
And launch our souls into the bright unknown.
ODE TO CONTENT.
O THOU, the Nymph with placid eye!
Receive my temperate vow:
And smooth unalter'd brow.
O come, in simplest vest array'd,
To bless my longing sight;
And Chaste subdu'd delight.
No more by vaiying passions beat,
To find thy hermit cell;
The modest virtues dwell. •
Simplicity in Attic vest,
'Where in some pure and equal sky
Simplicity in Attic vest, x
And Innocence with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye;
A vista to the sky.
Their Health, thro' whose calm bosom glide
That rarely ebb or flow;
To meet the offer'd blow.
Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
With settled smiles to meet;
And kiss'd thy sainted feet.
But thou, oh Nymph retir'd and coy!
To tell thy tender tale?
And lily of the vale.
0 say what soft propitious hour
1 best may chuse \p hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway?
And shed thy milder day.
When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
And every storm, is laid;
Low whispering through the shade.
ODE TO FEAR.
THOU, to whom the world unknown
Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear!
I see, I see thee near.
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,
Thou who such weary lengths hast past,
O thou whose spirit most possest
ODE TO TRUTH.
SAY, will no white-rob'd Son of Light,
Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;
And you, ye host of Saints, for ye have known
Tho' now ye circle yon eternal throne, With harpings high of inexpressive praise,
Will not your train descend in radiant state, To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of Fate? 'Tia silence all. No Son of Light Darts swiftly from his heav'nly height:
No train of radiant Saints descend. "Mortals, in vain ye hope to find, "If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind, "Or saint to hear, or Angel to defend." So Truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound Burst from the center of her burning throne:
Where aye she sits with star-wreath'd lustre crownM; A bright Sun clasps her adamantine zone.
So Truth proclaims ; her awful voice I hear: With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.
"Attend, ye sons of Men; attend, and say,
Does not enough of my refulgent ray
Break thro' the veil of your mortality?
Say, does not reason in this form descry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing grace?
Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
With me ? Shall she, whose brightest eye
Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume, Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's
Shall she be dem'd my rival? Shall a form Of elemental dro&sy of mould'ring clay,