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To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd
Energetic Reason and a shaping mind,
The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part,
And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart.
Sloth-jaundic'd all ! and from my graspless hand
Drop Friendship’s precious pearls, like hour-glass sand.
I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
A dreamy pang in Morning's fev'rish doze.
Is this pil'd earth our Being's passless mound ?
Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd?
Tir'd Centinel! 'mid fitful starts I nod,
And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod !



Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Yet tho' the hours flew by on careless wing,
Full heavily of sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the star of evening flung its beam
In broken radiance on the wavy stream,
My soul, amid the pensive twilight gloom,
Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo! o'er thy tomb:
Where'er I wander'd, Pity still was near,
Breath'd from the heart and glisten’d in the tear:
No knell that tolld, but fill'd my anxious eye,
And suff’ring Nature wept that one should die !

Thus to sad sympathies I sooth'd my breast,
Calm as the rainbow in the weeping West :

And my

When slumb'ring Freedom rous’d by high Disdain
With giant fury burst her triple chain !
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ;
Her Banners, like a midnight Meteor, flow'd:
Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies
She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes !
Then exultation wak'd the patriot fire
And swept with wilder hand th’ Alcon lyre:
Red from the Tyrant's wound I shook the lance,
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France !
Fall'n is th’ oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,

heart aches, tho' Mercy struck the blow.
With wearied thought once more I seek the shade,
Where peaceful Virtue weaves the Myrtle braid.
And 0! if Eyes, whose holy glances roll,
Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;
If Smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien
Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen
Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,
If these demand th' empassion'd Poet's care-
If Mirth, and soften'd Sense, and Wit refin'd,
The blameless features of a lovely mind;
Then haply shall my trembling hand assign
No fading wreath to Beauty's saintly shrine,
Nor Sara! thou these early flowers refuse-
Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues :
No purple bloom the Child of Nature brings
From Flattry's night-shade: as he feels, he sings.



Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme Elaborate and swelling : yet the heart

Not owns it. From thy spirit breathing powers
I ask not now, my friend! the aiding verse,
Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought
Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know)
From business wand'ring far and local cares,
Thou creepest round a dear-lov'd Sister's bed
With noiseless step, and watchest the faint look,
Soothing each pang with fond solicitude,
And tenderest tones medicinal of love.
I too a Sister had, an only Sister-
She lov'd me dearly, and I doted on her !
To her I pour’d forth all my puny sorrows,
(As a sick Patient in his Nurse's arms)
And of the heart those hidden maladies
That shrink asham'd from even Friendship's eye.
0! I have woke at midnight, and have wept,
Because she was not !--Cheerily, dear Charles !
Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year :
Such warm pressages feel I of high Hope.
For not uninterested the dear maid
I've view'd, her soul affectionate yet wise,
Her polish'd wit as mild as lambent glories
That play around a sainte fant's head.
He knows (the Spirit that in secret sees,
Of whose omniscient and all spreading Love
Aught to implore* were impotence of mind)
That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne,
Prepar'd, when he his healing ray vouchsafes,

pour forth thanksgiving with lifted heart, And praise Him Gracious with a Brother's Joy!

I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the Lines

Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love

Aught to implore where impotence of mind, it being written in Scripture, Ask, and it shall be given you," and my human reason being moreover convinced of the propriet# of offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity.


And sootb'd with many a dream the hour of rest;
Thou should'st have loved it most, when most oppress’d.
And nurs'd it with an agony of Care,
Ev'n as a Mother her sweet infant heir,
That wan and sickly drops upon her breast !

SONNET III. Thou gentle Look,

that didst


soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me ? Still in some fond dreain
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam :
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day
I lay me down and think of happier years ;
Of Joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.
( pleasant days of Hope-for ever flown!
Could I recal you !-But that thought is vain.
Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone
To lure the fleet-wing'd Travellers back again :
Yet fair, tho' faint, their images shall gleam
Like the bright Rainbow on an evening stream.



DEAR native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West !
How many various-fated years have past,
What blissful and what anguish'd hours, since last
I skimm’d the smooth thin stone along thy breast.
Numbering its light leaps ! Yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of Childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny blaze,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy margin's willowy mase,
And bedded sand that, vein'd with various dies,

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