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Till all my soul each tumult charm'd away,
By thee, inspired, O Virtue, Age is young,
Ah whither fled! ye dear illusions stay !
Cold the soft hand, that soothed Wo's weary head ! And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed ! And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole, Infusing balm, into the rankled soul! O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power, And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower! Why Ay thy shafts in lawless error driven ! Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven! But peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart! We, not ELIZA, felt the fatal dart. Escaped the dungeon does the slave complain, Nor bless the friendly hand that broke the chain? Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn, On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn ? Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow, O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw; Disclosing dubious to th' affrighted eye O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high, Black billowy deeps in storm perpetual toss'd, And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost. O happy stroke, that burst the bonds of clay, Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day,
And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar, Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more.
Transporting thought! here let'me wipe away The tear of grief and wake a bolder lay. But ah! the swimming eye o'erflows anew ; Nor check the sacred drops to pity due ; Lo, where in speechless, hopeless anguish, bend O'er her loved dust, the Parent, Brother, Friend! How vain the hope of man! But cease thy strain, Nor Sorrow's dread solemnity profane ; Mix'd with yon drooping Mourners, on her bier In silence shed the sympathetic tear.
ODE TO HOPE.
I. 1. 0
THOU, who glad'st the pensive soul, More than Aurora's smile the swain forlorn, Left all night long to mourn Where desolation frowns, and tempests howl; And shrieks of wo, as intermits the storm, Far o'er the monstrous wilderness resound, And cross the gloom darts many a shapeless form, And many a fire-eyed visage glares around. O come, and be once more my guest. Come, for thou oft thy suppliant's vow hast heard, And oft with smiles indulgent cheard And soothed him into rest.
Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye
Speeds to dark Phlegethon's detested maze.
green robes glittering to the morn.