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Oft let remembrance sooth his mind

With dreams of former days,
When in the lap of Peace reclined
He framed his infant lays;
When Fancy roved at large, nor Care
Nor cold Distrust alarm’d,
Nor Envy with malignant glare
His simple youth had harm'd.

'Twas then, O Solitude, to thee
His early vows were paid, '
From heart sincere, and warm, and free,
Devoted to the shade.
Ah why did Fate his steps decoy
In stormy paths to roam,
Remote from all congenial joy !
O take the Wanderer home,

Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme;
My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o’er the gloomy stream,

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Whence the scared owl on pinions grey
Breaks from the rustling houglas,
And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.

O while to thee the woodland pours
Its wildly warbling song,
And balmy from the bank of flowers,
The zephyr breathes along ;
Let no rude sound invade from far,
No vagrant foot be nigh,

from Grandeur's gilded car, Flash on the startled eye.

But if some pilgrim through the glade
Thy hallow'd bowers explore,
O guard from harm his hoary head,
And listen to his lore;
For he of joys divine shall tell
That wean from earthly woe,
And triumph o'er the mighty spell
That chains this heart below.

For me no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread;
No more I climb those toilsome heights
By guileful Hope misled;
Leaps my fond Auttering heart no more
To Mirth's enlivening strain;
For present pleasure soon is o’er,
And all the past is vain.


STILL shall unthinking man substantial deem
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream?
On clouds, where Fancy's beam amusive plays,
Shall heedless Hope the towering fabric raise?
Till at Death's touch the fairy visions fly,
And real scenes rush dismal on the eye ;
And from Elysiuni's balmy slumber torn
The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn.

Oye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of glailness dance,
Who flowery vales in endless view survey
Glittering in beams of visionary day;
O, yet while Fate delays th' impending woe,
Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow;
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;
Lest, thus encompass’d with funereal gloom,
Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,

Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.

Wise, Beauteous, Good ! O every grace combined,
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fair as the floweret opening on the morn,
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
Sweet, as the downy-pinion'd gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves !
Mild, as the strains, that, at the close of day,
Warbling remote, along the vales decay !-
Yet, why with th compared ? What tints so fine,
What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine ?
Why roam abroad ? Since still, to Fancy's eyes,
I see, I see thy lovely form arise.
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile;
That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,
Where meekness beams ineffable delight;
That brow, where Wisdom sits enthroned serene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien :
Still let me listen, while her words impart
The sweet effusions of the blameless heart,

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