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Silent was all around,
Save when the swelling breeze
Convey'd the half-expiring sound
No tinkling folds, no curfew's parting knell
Struck the sequester'd Anchoret's ear ;
Remote from men he scoop'd his narrow cell, For much he had endur'd, no more he look'd to fear.
But still, the world's dark tempests past,
Wliat tho' his skiff was drawn to shore,
Yet oft his voyage he'd ponder o'er;
Before his sage revolving eyes
Joy led the van, in rapture wild,
Thoughtless of the distant day;
Hied from the frantic pageant far away ;
In revelry untaught to stray.
Joy led the van-her painted vest,
Flowing to th' obsequious wind,
And eager tripp'd behind.
Gay she stepp'd, till busy Fear
6 How many an evil may befall !”
Aghast awhile she heard the ruthful song, Then faster seiz'd the robe, and hastier danc'd along.
Close Love follow'd in the train,
'Twixt Pride and lust of Grandeur led,
And seize the visionary prize :
Pale as the waning moon,
With tear-stain’d cheek and stupid gaze,
Grief crept along in sad amaze,
By many a stroke to keenest misery brought,
As the rous'd Tiger gaunt and fell
Kindles into cruel rage,
Thus Anger past th’ideal stage,
Too fierce for wounds or groans to feel, Onward she sprung, and shook the bloody steel.
While far behind, with silent pace and slow,
Patient the distant hour to wait,
Secret long her wrath she'd keep, 'Till time disarm’d the foe, then drove lier poniard
To Malice link'd, as near allied,
Envy march'd with baneful lour;
€. No more!--no more !” the holy Seer exclaim'd,
“ Passions wild, unbroke, untam’d,
“ Must sure the human heart o'erthrow, “ And plunge in all the energy of woe.
• Grant then the boon, all-gracious Heav'n,
“ Let reason ever take the helm ;
“ Lest, by unheeded whirlwinds driv'n, “ The pinnace frail some gust may overwhelm!
“ Hang out the friendly lamp, that clear “ From Error's perils she may safely steer ; « Till death shall bid each trial cease, “ And moor the shatter'd bark in peace!”
BY JOSEPH WARTON, D.D.
Farewell thou dimpled cherub Joy,
“ Haste, with thy poison'd dagger, haste, “ To pierce this sorrow-laden breast; “ Or lead me at the dead of night, “ To some sea-beat mountain's height, “ Whence with headlong haste I'll leap “ To the dark bosom of the deep ;