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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-
All cold the land, that sooth'd 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 fly 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. Scaped the dark dungeon does the slave complain, Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain? Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn, On this dark wild condenin'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 seas in storm perpetual toss’d, And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost. O happy stroke that bursts 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. O THOU, who glad'st the pensive soul, More than Aurora's smile the swain forlorn, Left all night long to mouin 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 indigent chear'd And soothed him into rest.
I. Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye Deep flashing through the midnight of their mind, The sable bands combined, Where Fear's black banner bloats the troubled sky,
Appall'd retire. Suspicion hides her head,
Ten thousand forms, by pining Fancy view'd,