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For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread ; No more I climb those toilsome heights
By guileful Hope misled; Leaps my fond Auttering heart no more
To Mirth’s enlivening strain; For present pleasure soon is o'er,
And all the past is vain.
BY THE REV. THOMAS PENROSE.
Mildly beam'd the
of night, Sailing thro' the grey serene : Silver'd by her modest light,
But faintly shone the solitary scene, With deep’ning shadows mixt, and glitt'ring breaks
High on a cliffy steep, o'erspread
With many an oak, whose ancient head
Did in its neighbour's top itself inwreath, And cast an umbered gloom and solemn awe beneath.
High on a cliffy steep a Hermit sat,
Weighing in his weaned mind
The various woes of human kind;
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,
What 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
“ 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's cheek and stupid gaze, Withering before life's sunny noon,
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;
Upheld by Falshood's feeble power.
€ 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 ;