The abfent day; the broken dream; The vision wild; the fudden scream; Ah! let no sense of griefs profound The wild enchanter Youth beguiles, A hand advancing strikes the belt! That found diffolves the magic spell, The visionary landscape flies: At once th' aërial music dies; Howe'er Howe'er the wind of Fortune blows, Or fadly-fevering Fate dispose Our everlasting doom; Impressions never felt before, And transports to return no more, Will haunt me to the tomb! My God! the pangs of nature past, Will e'er a kind remembrance last Of pleasures fadly sweet? Can Love assume a calmer name? My eyes with Friendship's angel-flame An Angel's beauty meet? Ah! should that first of finer forms Require, thro' life's impending storms, A fympathy of foul; t The loved Maria of the mind Will fend me, on the wings of wind, To Indus or the Pole. D 3 D E TO A MAN OF LETTERS. LO, Winter's hoar dominion past! Arrested in his Eastern blast The fiend of Nature flies; Breathing the Spring the zephyrs play, And re-inthron'd the Lord of Day Attendant on the genial hours, The voluntary shades and flowers Wild choirs unseen in concert join, And round Apollo's rustic shrine The sylvan Muses sing. The The finest vernal bloom that blows, The sweetest voice the forest knows, Arise to vanish soon; The Rofe unfolds her robe of light, And Philomela gives her night To Richmond and to June. With bounded ray, and tranfient grace, Thus, Varro, holds the human race Their place and hour affign'd; Loud let the venal trumpet sound, Responsive never will rebound The echo of mankind. Yon forms divine that deck the sphere, The radiant rulers of the year, Confefs a nobler hand; Thron'd in the majesty of Morn, The skies, the fea, the land. Nor did th' Almighty raise the sky, Nor hang th' eternal lamps on high On one abode to shine; The circle of a thousand Suns Extends, while Nature's period runs Thus fome, whom smiling nature hails And streams of old renown; Bright in the firmament of Fame The lights of antient ages flame With never-setting ray, On worlds unfound from history torn, O'er ages deep in time unborn, To pour the human day. 1 Won |