In imagination wild,

She fhall wander o'er this plain;

Rave, and bid her orphan child,

Seek his fire among the slain.

Gently, from the Western deep,
O ye evening breezes rife !

O'er the Lyre of MEMNON fweep,
Wake its spirit with your fighs.

Harp of MEMNON! fweetly ftrung To the mufic of the spheres;

While the Hero's dirge is fung,

Breathe enchantment to our ears.

Let thy numbers soft and flow,

O'er the plain with carnage spread

Soothe the dying, while they flow

To the memory of the dead.

None but folemn, tender tones,

Tremble from thy plaintive wires;

Hark! the wounded WARRIOR groans!

Hush thy warbling,-he expires.

Hufh!-while Sorrow wakes and weeps:

O'er his relicks cold and pale,

Night her filent vigil keeps,

In a mournful moonlight veil.

Harp of MEMNON! from afar

Ere the lark falute the sky,

Watch the rifing of the ftar,

That proclaims the morning nigh.

Soon the fun's afcending rays,

In a flood of hallow'd fire,

O'er thy kindling chords fhall blaze,

And thy magic foul inspire.

Then thy tones triumphant pour,

Let them pierce the Hero's grave; Life's tumultuous battle o'er,

O how fweetly fleep the brave!

From the duft their laurels bloom,

High they fhoot, and flourish free;

Glory's temple is the tomb!

Death is immortality!

MY FRIEND was young, the world was new;

The world was falfe, MY FRIEND was true;

Lowly his lot, his birth obfcure,

His fortune hard, MY FRIEND was poor;