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Whose pensive ear no wakeful sounds alarm,
Me let the cheerful dance engage,
Swift urg'd along the lighted dome; While with new warmth the virgin glows,
Her cheek all flush'd with fresher bloom: Motion and music tenderest thoughts inspire, And all her yielding soul relents to soft desire.
Let the sage Hermit shun mankind,
With pale-eyed Penitence to dwell, To freeze at midnight hours of prayer
Within a solitary cell; Penurious on the verdant herb to sup, And of the chilling stream to drain his beechen cup.
Be mine, amidst the social band,
The raptures of champaign to taste, Whose vigorous juice new relish gives
To mutual converse, Reason's feast; While old Anacreon seems to‘rise, and say, “ Begone, ye toils of life, ye busy cares, away!"
BY THE REV. THOMAS PENROSE.
Hie thee hence! thou spectre foul,
Fiend of misery extreme;
Hence! nor o'er yon dwelling scowl With blasting eye, while to thy haggard scream The midnight wolf accords his famish'd howl, And madd’ning wretches loud in agony blaspheme.
Hence!—from the artless bard keep wide aloof
Fly rather to his hated roof,
Can steel with rugged edge the soul : Plund'ring, unmov'd the orphan's cry can hear, Or from the widow'd lip the scanty morsel tear :
But pass him by, the wooer mild
Constant toil, and coarsest fare,
In silent apathy may bear,
Nor aims his highest wish to know
Yet, rous'd to feeling, much he mourns his lot,
When the pale visage of Disease Frowns on his humble cot, When sinks his drooping front, and bend his feeble
There, oft, unheeded on the ground,
May Sickness, Age, and Want be found,
From the damp and earthy bed
Despair hangs weeping o'er his head :
Fly, ye rich, unbidden fly,
Wipe from tears the misty eye;
Why withhold the little boon ?
Seems it much, ye sons of wealth,
Glitt'ring moths of sunny noon
Plum'd with gold of joy and health ? O think! a blast may come, yourselves may perish
Yet, different in this common state, What different care attends your happier fate !
Fading you may sure receive All wayward fancy craves, all soothing art can give:
While, with equal wants opprest, The child of Misery heaves his lab'ring breast,
Cheer'd by no kind assisting powers, Scarce with such crumbs sustain'd as hungry
Melt, in soft compassion melt,
Yet keener far, as more severely felt,
Warm’d his soul with genial flame
To pant for science, thirst for fame,
Much he hop'd, for many a tale
Of praise was echo'd to his ear;
Foretold the wish'd-for port was near,
Awhile it blew,—then dy'd away,
Like breezes with declining day, And left him, wondring wretch! forsaken quite, In Poverty's dead calm, and Disappointment's night.
What avails th' expanded mind,
Tutor'd in the choicest lore?
Nor lets the rising spirit soar:
What avails the glowing heart,
The eye that glistens at distress; The wish all blessings to impart, Or make at least a brother's sorrow less? From Trouble's spring the deepest draught he drew, Who mourns his own hard lot, and weeps for others too.
At the sad mistaken gate When the maim'd veteran takes his suppliant stand,
Struck with the hapless warrior's state, Sudden the pitying tenant gives his hand.
--'Tis empty-See! his lids o'er flow, To send undol'd away the hoary son of woe.
Love too--for in the lowliest cell.