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THE

MINSTREL;

BOOK SECOND.

Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam, Rectique cultus pectora roborant.

HORAT.

THE

MINSTREL;

OR,

THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.

BOOK SECOND,

I. Of chance or change, 0 let not man complain, Else shall he never never cease to wail : For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale, All feel the assault of fortune's fickle gale; Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doomed; Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale;

And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed ; And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have

bloomed.

II.

But sure to foreign climes we need not range,
Nor search the ancient records of our race,
To learn the dire effects of time and change,
Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.
Yet, at the darkened eye, the withered face,
Or hoary hair, I never will repine:
But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace,

Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,
Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame, is mine.

III.

So I, obsequious to Truth's dread command,
Shall here, without reluctance, change my lay,
And smite the Gothic lyre with harsher hand ;
Now when I leave that flowery path, for aye,
Of childhood, where I sported many a day,
Warbling, and sauntering carelessly along;

face was innocent and gay, Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue, Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.

Where every

IV.

Perish the lore that deadens young desire,'

Is the soft tenor of my song no more.
Edwin, though loved of heaven, must not aspire
To bliss, which mortals never knew before.
On trembling wings let youthful fancy soar,
Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy,
But now and then the shades of life explore;

Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy, And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.

V.

Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows.
The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower,
Some tints of transient beauty may disclose;
But ah, it withers in the chilling hour.
Mark yonder oaks ! Superior to the power
Of all the warring winds of heaven, they rise,
And from the stormy promontory tower,

And toss their giant arms amid the skies,
While each assailing blast increase of strength supplies.

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