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The abfent day; the broken dream;

The vision wild; the fudden scream;
Tears that unbidden flow!

Ah! let no sense of griefs profound
That beauteous bosom ever wound
With unavailing woe!

The wild enchanter Youth beguiles,
And Fancy's fairy landscape smiles
With more than Nature's bloom;
The fpring of Eden paints your bowers,
Unfetting funs your promised hours
With golden light illume.

A hand advancing strikes the belt!

That found diffolves the magic spell,
And all the charm is gone!

The visionary landscape flies:

At once th' aërial music dies;
In wild you walk alone!

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;

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The loved Maria of the mind

Will fend me, on the wings of wind,

To Indus or the Pole.

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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
Refumes the golden skies.

Attendant on the genial hours,

The voluntary shades and flowers
For rural lovers spring;

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,
Behold the King of Day adorn

The skies, the fea, the land.

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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
The theatre divine.

Thus fome, whom smiling nature hails
To facred springs, and chofen vales,

And streams of old renown;
By noble toils and worthy scars,
Shall win their mansion 'mid the stars,
And wear th' immortal crown.

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.

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