The soul-inflaming image dwells.

Why didst thou, cruel Love, again

Thus drag me back, to earth and pain?
Well hop'd I, Love, thou would'st retire
Before the blessed Jessean Lyre,
Devotion's harp would charm to rest,
The evil Spirit in my breast;
But the deaf adder fell disdains,
Unlistning to the Chanter's strains.

Contemplation, baffled Maid,
Remains there yet no other aid?
Helpless and weary must thou yield
To Love supreme in ev'ry field?
Let Melancholy last engage,
Rev'rend hoary-mantled Sage.
Sure, at his sable flag's display
Love's idle troop will flit away:
And bring with him his due compeer,
Silence, sad, forlorn, and drear.

Haste thee, Silence, haste and go, To search the gloomy world below. My trembling steps O Sybil lead, Thro' the dominions of the dead : Where Care, enjoying soft repose, Lays down the burden of his woes; Where Meritorious-want, no more Shiv'ring begs at Grandeur's door;

Unconscious Grandeur, seal'd his eyes,

On the mould'ring purple lies..
In the dim and dreary round,
Speech in eternal chains lies bound.
And see a tomb, its gates displaid,
Expands an everlasting shade.
O ye inhabitants, that dwell
Each forgotten in your cell,
O say, for whom of human race
Has fate decreed this hiding place?

And hark! methinks a spirit calls, Low winds the whisper round the walls, A voice, the sluggish air that breaks, Solemn amid the silence speaks. Mistaken man thou seek'st to know, What known will but afflict with woe; There thy MONIMIA shall abide, With the pale Bridegroom rest a bride, The wan assitants there shall lay, In weeds of death, her beauteous clay.

O words of woe! what do I hear? What sounds invade a Lover's ear? Must then thy charms, my anxious care, The fate of vulgar beauty share? Good Heav'n retard (for thine the pow'r) The wheels of time, that roll the hour.

Yet ah! why swells my breast with fears? Why start the interdicted tears? Love dost thou tempt again? depart Thou Devil, cast out from my heart. Sad I forsook the feast, the ball, The sunny bow'r and lofty hall, And sought the dungeon of despair; Yet thou overtak'st me there. How little dream'd I, thee to find, In this lone state of human kind? Nor Melancholy can prevail,

The direful deed, nor dismal tale:

Hop'd I for these thou would'st remove?

How near akin is Grief to Love?

Then no more I strive to shun

Love's chains: O Heav'n! thy will be done.
The best Physician here I find,
To cure a sore diseased mind,
For soon this venerable gloom
Will yield a weary sufferer room;
No more a slave to Love decreed,
At ease and free among the dead.
Come then ye tears, ne'er cease to flow,
In full satiety of woe:

Tho' now the Maid my heart alarms,
Severe and mighty in her charms,
Doom'd to obey, in bondage prest,
The Tyrant Love's commands unblest;
Pass but some fleeting moments o'er,
This rebel heart shall beat no more;

34

Then from my dark and closing eye,
The form belov'd shall ever fly.
The Tyranny of Love shall cease,
Both laid down to sleep in peace;
To share alike our mortal lot,
Her beauties and my cares forgot.

ODE VII.

TO

CONTENTMENT.

BY THE REV. THOMAS COLE.

To these lone shades, where Peace delights to dwell,
May Fortune oft permit me to retreat:

Here bid the world, with all its cares, farewel,
And leave its pleasures to the rich and great.

Oft as the summer's sun shall cheer this scene
With that mild gleam which points his parting

ray,

Here let my soul enjoy each eve serene,

Here share its calm, 'till life's declining day.

No gladsome image then should 'scape my sight, From these gay flowers, which border near my eye, To yon bright cloud, that decks, with richest light, The gilded mantle of the western sky.