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His love-what sorer can befall ? Is doom’d to sour its sweets, and dash his cup with gall.
Before the husband's and the father's eyes
Stormy clouds in prospect rise,
These and more he makes his own-
For these the homely robe, the scanty board,
While life in toil is ling’ring on,
The drudge of science may afford :But where's the friend will cheer, when that poor life
No friend may rise, but many a foe
Will deck his visage with a smile,
Will hide in softest words the basest guile, And, while he soothes the most, will strike the deepest
Hence the pang, and hence the tear,
Swells into agony his fear
JAMES SCOTT, D.D.
Led by the Muse, my step pervades
Where Art and Sculpture reign :
And marble breathe through every vein!
To find his pow'r malignant filed; “ And what avails my dart,” he cries,
“ Since these can animate the dead? “ Since wak’d to mimic life again in stone “ The patriot seems to speak, the hero frown." There Virtue's silent train are seen, Fast fix'd their looks, erect their mien. Lol while with more than stoic soul, The Attic sage exhausts the bowl, A pale suffusion shades his eyes, 'Till by degrees the marble dies!
See there the injur'd Poet bleed !
What horror freezes every vein !
Yet not alone such themes demand
I view with melting eyes
Her infant sire with food supplies.
His squalid hair, and galling chains:
His hoary head her hand sustains;
Lo! there the wild Assyrian queen,
While pale Sedition trembling stood;
With hope, or fear, or love, by turns,
As Sculpture waves her hand;
And rise and fall by her command. When now life's wasted lamps expire,
When sinks to dust this mortal frame, She, like Prometheus, grasps the fire ;
Her touch revives the lambent Aame;
Hence, where the organ full and clear,
Where tints of thousand hues are stor’d;
Here, as Devotion, heavenly queen,
At NEWTON's shrine they bow!
Hail, mighty Mind ! hail, awful name!
I feel inspir'd my lab’ring breast; And lo! I pant, I burn for fame!
Come, Science, bright etheral guest,
Could I to one faint ray aspire,
To thee shall swell the breathing bust : Shall here (for his reward thy merits claim) “ Stand next to place in Newton, as in fame.”