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The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears

With sounds seraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O grave! where is thy victory?

O death! where is thy sting?

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usherst in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the ballow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,

To live one day of parting love ! Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace;.

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore,

O’erhung with wild woods, thickening, green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,

And fondly broods with miser care; Time but the' impression deeper makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

MUTABILITY OF HUMAN LIFE,

My friend, forbear th' unmanly cry,
Nor let thy bosom heave the sigh,

Nor cloud thy looks with woe,
If Phæbus' rays should be restrain’d,
And fortune from her fickle hand

Some luckless die should throw,

To-day th' unprison'd whirlwinds sweep,
And rouse to rage the boiling deep,

And warring billows roar ;
But, ere the morn her sway resumes,
Zephyr shall wave his silken plumes,

And gen'ral peace restore.

The sun, that sunk with clouds opprest, To-morrow rising in the east,

In his full fame shall glow. Griefs and gay sıniles alternate rise ; Joy wipes the dew-drop from our eyes,

And transports tread on woe.

Dauger and disappointment wait,
To burst in sudden storms of fate,

Where hope's proud progress rolls; Thus 'uis decreed, 'till time's last day Shall sweep this phantom-world away,

And rest our tossing souls.

He, who last night his oxen drove,
To-day to Rome makes his remove,

A sphere supreme to fill;
The yokes his oxen wore he throws,
Resistless on his country's foes,

The vassals of his will.

The evening star the man beheld
An humble ploughman in the field;

But, when the morning came,
He, by the senate's suff'rage rais'd
In highest rank of glory blaz'd,

And realms rever'd his name.

Should fortune, who delights to twine
A sable with a silver line,

Assume a diff'rent thread,
He, a poor swain, hiss'd by the throng,
Who with his triumph swelld their song,

Must seek his straw-built shed.

The axes that, with laurels crown'd,
Once struck a trembling terror round,

His stubborn billets rend;
His rods, which once the world controld,
To mend his fire, and chase the cold,

Their last assistance lend.

THE VANITY OF WEALTH.

No more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With avarice painful vigils keep:
Still unenjoy'd the present store,
Still endless sighs are breathed for more.
0! quit the shadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!

To purchase Heaven has gold the power ?
Can gold remove the mortal hour?
In life can love be bought with gold ?
Are friendship's pleasures to be sold ?
No-all that's worth a wish—a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.

With science tread the wondrous way,
Or learn the muses’ moral lay;
In social hours indulge thy soul,
Where nirth and temperance mix the bowl ;
To virtuous love resign thy breast,
And be by blessing beauty-blest.

Thus taste the feast by nature spread, Ere youth and all its joys are fled ; Come taste with me the balm of life, Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife. I boast whate'er for man was meant, In health, and Stella, and content; And scorn! Oh! let that scorn be thine; Mere things of clay, that dig the mine.

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