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Thy form benign, oh goddess ! wear,

Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there

To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love, and to forgive,

Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a man.



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BENEATH the beech, whose branches bare,
Smit with the lightning's livid glare,

O’erhang the craggy road,
And whistle hollow as they wave;

Within a solitary grave,
A slayer of himself holds his accurs'd abode.

Lour'd the grim morn, in murky dies
Damp mists involv'd the scowling skies,

And dimm'd the struggling day;
As by the brook, that lingering laves

Yon rush-grown moor with sable waves,
Full of the dark resolves he took his sullen way.

I mark'd his desultory pace,
His gestures strange, and varying face,

With many a mutter'd sound;
And ah! too late aghast I view'd
The reeking blade,

the hand embrued ; He fell, and groaning grasp'd in agony the ground.

Full many a melancholy night
He watch'd the slow return of light;

And sought the powers of sleep,

To spread a momentary calm

O'er his sad couch, and in the balm
Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to steep.

Full oft, unknowing and unknown,
He wore his endless noons alone;

Amid th' autumnal wood
Oft was he wont, in hasty fit,

Abrupt the social board to quit,
And gaze with eagerglance upon the tumbling flood.

Beckoning the wretch to torments new,
Despair, for ever in his view,

A spectre pale, appear’d;
While, as the shades of eve arose,
And brought the day's unwelcome close,
More horrible and huge her giant-shape she rear'd.

Is this,' mistaken Scorn will cry,
• Is this the youth whose genius high

Could build the genuine rhyme ?
Whose bosom mild the favouring Muse

Had stor’d with all her ample views,
Parent of fairest deeds, and

purposes sublime."
Ah! from the Muse that bosom mild
By treacherous magic was beguild,

To strike the deathful blow :
She fill'd his soft ingenuous mind
With many a feeling too refin’d,

(wo. And rous'd to livelier pangs his wakeful sense of

Though doom'd hard penury to prove,
And the sharp stings of hopeless love :

To griefs congenial prone,

More wounds than Nature gave he knew,
While Misery's form his fancy drew
In dark ideal hues, and horrors not its own.

Then wish not o'er his earthy tomb
The baleful nightshade's lurid bloom
To drop its deadly dew:

Nor oh! forbid the twisted thorn,
That rudely binds his turf forlorn,
With Spring's green-swelling buds to vegetate


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What though no marble-piled bust
Adorn his desolated dust,

With speaking sculpture wrought? Pity shall woo the weeping Nine,

To build a visionary shrine,


Hung with unfading flowers, from fairy regions

What though refus'd each chanted rite?
Here viewless mourners shall delight

To touch the shadowy shell:

And Petrarch's harp, that wept the doom Of Laura, lost in early bloom, In many a pensive pause shall seem to ring his


To soothe a lone, unhallow'd shade,

This votive dirge sad duty paid,
Within an ivied nook:

Sudden the half-sunk orb of day More radiant shot its parting ray, And thus a cherub-voice my charm'd attention



Forbear, fond bard, thy partial praise;

Nor thus for guilt in specious lays
The wreath of glory twine;

In vain with hue of gorgeous glow
Gay Fancy gives her vest to flow,
Unless Truth's matron-hand the floating folds con-


'Just Heaven, man's fortitude to prove, Permits through life at large to rove The tribes of hell-born Wo:

Yet the same power that wisely sends
Life's fiercest ills, indulgent lends
Religion's golden shield to break the embattled foe.

· Her aid divine had lull'd to rest

Yon foul self-murderer's throbbing breast,
And stay'd the rising storm :

Had bade the sun of hope appear
To gild his darken'd hemisphere,
And give the wonted bloom to nature's blasted


• Vain man! 'tis Heaven's prerogative

To take, what first it deign'd to give,
Thy tributary breath:

In awful expectation plac'd,
Await thy doom, nor impious haste

To pluck from God's right hand his instruments of
Thomas Warton.


THOU, to whom the world unknown,
With all its shadowy shapes, is shown;
Who see'st, appall'd, th' unreal scene,
While Fancy lifts the veil between:



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Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear !
I see,

I see thee near.
I know thy hurried step; thy haggard eye!
Like thee I start; like thee disorder'd fly.
For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear!
Danger, whose limbs of giant mould
What mortal eye can fix'd behold ?
Who stalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidst the midnight storm;
Or throws him on the ridgy steep
Of some loose hanging rock to sleep:
And with him thousand phantoms join'd,
Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind:
And those, the fiends, who, near allied,
O’er Nature's wounds, and wrecks preside ;
Whilst Vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts her red arm, expos’d and bare:
On whom that raving brood of Fate,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait :
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,
And look not madly wild, like thee!
Thou who such weary lengths hast past,
Where wilt thou rest, mad Nymph, at last !
Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell,
Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell ?

Or, in some hollow'd seat

'Gainst which the big waves beat, Hear drowning seamen's cries,in tempests brought? Dark power, with shuddering, meek, submitted Be mine, to read the visions old [thought, Which thy awakening bards have told: And, lest thou meet my blasted view, Hold each strange tale devoutly true;

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