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II. 2.

The pale-eyed Genius of the fhade
Led thy bold step to Profper's magic bow'r ;
Whofe voice the howling winds obey`d,
Whofe dark spell chain'd the rapid hour:
Then rofe fercne the fea-girt ifle;
Gay fcenes, by Fancy's touch refin'd,
Glow'd to the mufing mind:
Such vifions blefs the hermit's dream,
When hovering angels prompt his placid fmile,
Or paint fome high ecftatic theme.
Then flam'd Miranda on th' enraptur'd gaze,
Then fail'd bright Ariel on the bat's fleet wing:
Or ftarts the lift ning throng in ftill amaze,
The wild note trembling on th' aerial ftring!
The form, in heaven's refplendent vesture gay,
Floats on the mantling cloud, and pours the
melting lay.

II. 3.
Oh lay me near yon limpid ftream,
Whofe murmur fooths the ear of woe!
There in fome fweet poetic dream
Let Fancy's bright Elyfium glow!
'Tis done-o'er all the blushing meað
The dark wood fhakes his cloudy head;
Below, the lily-fringed dale

Breathes its mild fragrance on the gale;
While, in paftime all-unfeen,
Titania rob'd in mantle green
Sports on the moffy-bank: her train
Skims light along the gleaming plain;
Or to the flutt'ring breeze unfold

The blue wing ftreak'd with beamy gold;
Its pinions op'ning to the light!---
Say, burfts the vifion on my fight '
Ah. no! by Shakespeare's pencil drawn,
The beauteous fhapes appear;
While meek-eyed Cynthia near
Illumes with ftreamy ray the filver-mantled lawn.
III. 1.

But, hark! the tempest howls afar!

Burts the loud whirlwind o'er the pathless wafte!
What cherub blows the trump of war?
What demon rides the formy blast?
Red from the lightning's livid blaze,
The bleak heath rushes on the fight;
Then wrapt in fudden night
Diffolves. But, ah! what kingly form
Roams the lone defert's defolated maze ‡
Unaw'd, nor heeds the fweeping ftorm?
Ye pale-eyed lightnings, fpare the check of age!
Vainwith! tho' anguish heaves the bursting groan,
Baf as the flint, the marble ear of rage

Ariel: fee the Tempest.

Hears not the mourner's unavailing moan:
Heart-pierc'd he bleeds; and, ftung with wid
Bares his time-blafted head, and tears his filver
II. 2.

Lo! on yon long-refounding fhore,
Where the rock totters o'er the headlong deep;
What phantoms bath'd in infant gore
Stand mutt'ring on the dizzy steep!
Their murmur shakes the zephyr's wing!
The ftorm obeys their pow'rful spell;
Sec, from his gloomy cell

Fierce Winter starts! his fcowling eve
Blots the fair mantle of the breathing Spring,
And lowers along the ruffled fky.

To the deep vault the yelling harpies run §;
Its yawning mouth receives th' infernal crew.
Dim thro' the black gloom winks the glimmering

And the pale furnace gleams with brimstone blue.
Hell howls; and fiends that join the dire acchin
Dance on the bubbling tide, and point the H

III. 3.

But, ah! on Sorrow's cyprefs bough
Can Beauty breathe her genial bloom'
On Death's cold check will paffion glow?
Or Mufic warble from the tomb ?

There fleeps the Bard, whofe tuneful tongue
Pour'd the full ftream of mazy fong.
Young Spring, with lip of ruby, here
Show'rs from her lap the blufhing year;
While along the tuif reclin'd,

The loofe wing fwimming on the wind,
The Loves, with forward gefture bold,
Sprinkle the fod with fpangling gold;
And oft the blue-eyed Graces trim
Dance lightly round on downy limb;
Oft too, when eve demure and ftill
Chequers the green dale's purling rill,
Sweet Fancy pours the plaintive ftrain;
Or, wrapt in foothing dream,

By Avon's ruffled ftream,

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Hears the low-murmuring gale that dies along t

$121. Ode to Time: occafioned by fering it
Ruins of an Old Cafile. OGILVIE.
I. I.

THOU who, mid the world-involving gloc
Sitt ft on yon folitary spire'

Or flowly fhak'ft the founding dome,
Or heart the wildly-warbling lyre ;
Say, when thy mufing foul

Bids diftant times.unroll,

And marks the flight of each revolving year,
years whofe flow-confuming pow'r
Has clad with mofs yon leaning tow'r,
That faw the race of Glory run,
That mark'd Ambition's fetting fun,
That fhook old Empire's tow'ring pride,
That fwept them down the floating tide-

+ See the Midfummer Night's Dream.
The Witches in Macbeth.



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The vale where mufing Quiet treads,
The flow'r-clad lawns, and bloomy meads,
Or ftreams where zephyr loves to ftray
Beneath the pale eve's twinkling ray;

Caft o'er yon tracklefs wafte thy wand'ring eye: Or waving woods detain the fight

Yon hill, whofe gold-illumin'd brow
Juft trembling thro' the bending fky,
O'erlooks the boundlefs wild below,
Once bore the branching wood
That o'er yon murmuring flood
Hung wildly waving to the rustling gale;
The naked heath with mofs o'ergrown,
That hears the lone owl's nightly moan,
Once bloom'd with fummer's copious store,
Once rais'd the lawn-befpangling flow'r;
Or heard fome lover's plaintive lay,
When by pale Cynthia's filver ray
All wild he wander'd o'er the lonely dale,
And taught the lift' ning moon the melancholy tale.

I. 3.

Ye wilds where heaven-rapt Fancy roves!
Ye fk crown'd hills, and folemn groves!
Ye low-brow'd vaults, ye gloomy cells!
Ye caves where night-bred Silence dwells!
Ghofts that in yon lonely hall
Lightly glance along the wall;
Or beneath yon ivy'd tow'r,
At the filent midnight hour,
Stand array'd in fpotlefs white,
And ftain the dufky robe of Night;
Or with flow folemn paufes roam
O'er the long-founding hollow dome !
Say, mid yon defert folitary round,
When darkness wraps the boundless spheres,
Does ne'er fome difmal dying found
On Night's dull ferious ear rebound,


That mourns the ceafelefs lapte of life-contuming

II. 1.


O call th' infpiring glorious hour to view,
When Caledonia's martial train
From yon fteep rock's high-arching brow
Pour'd on the heart-ftruck flying Dane!
When War's blood-tinctur'd fpear
Hung o'er the trembling rear;
When light-heel'd Terror wing'd their headlong
Yon tow'rs then rung with wild alarms!
Yon defert gleam'd with fhining arms!
While on the bleak hill's bright'ning fpire
Bold Vict'ry flam'd, with eyes of fire;
Her limbs celeftial robes infold,

Her wings were ting'd with fpangling gold,
She fpoke-her words infus'd refiftiefs might,
And warm'd the bounding heart, and rous'd the
foul of fight.

II. 2.

When from the gloomy cave of night

Some cloud fweeps fhadowy o'er the dufky skies, And wraps the flying fcene, that fades, and (wim., and dies.

II. 3.

Lo! rifing from yon dreary tomb,
What spectres ftalk across the gloom!
With haggard eyes, and vifage pale,
And voice that moans with feeble wail!
O'er yon long refounding plain
Slowly moves the folemn train;
Wailing wild with fhricks of woe
O'er the bones that reft below!

While the dull night's startled car
Shrinks, aghaft with thrilling fear!
Or ftand with thin robes wafting foon,
And eyes that blaft the fick'ning moon!
Yet thefe, ere Time had roll'd their years way,
Ere Death's fell arm had mark'd its aim,
Rul'd yon proud tow'rs with ample sway,
Beheld the trembling fwains obey,

And wrought the glorious deed that fwell'd the
trump of Fame.


But why o'er thefe indulge the bursting figh?
Feels not each fhrub the tempeft's pow'r?
Rocks not the dome when whirlwinds fly?
Nor shakes the hill when thunders roar?
Lo! mould'ring, wild, unknown,
What fanes, what tow'rs o'erthrown,
What tumbling chaos marks the wafte of Time?
I fee Palmyra's temples fall;

Old Ruin fhakes the hanging wall!
Yon wafte where roaming lions howl,
Yon aifle where moans the grey-eyed owl,
Shows the proud Perfian's great abode*;
Where fceptred once, an earthly god!
His pow'r-clad arm controul'd each happier clime,
Where fports the warbling Mufe, and Fancy fears

III. 2.

Hark! what dire found rolls murm'ring on the
Ah! what foul-thrilling feene appears? [gale?

I fee the column'd arches fail!

And structures hoar, the boaft of years!
What mould'ring piles decay'd
Gleam thro' the moon-ftreak'd fhade,


Where Rome's proud Genius rear'd her awful
Sad monument!-Ambition near
Rolls on the duft, and pours a tear;

But, ah! what hand the finiling profpect brings? Pale Honour drops the flutt'ring plume,

What voice recalls th' expiring day?

See, darting fwift on eagle-wings,
The glancing moment burfts away!
So from fome mountain's head,

In mantling gold array'd,

While bright-eyed Fancy ftands in fweet furprise:

And Conqueft weeps o'er Cæfar's tomb;
Slow Patience fits with eye depreft,
And Courage beats his fobbing breast;

Ev'n War's red check the gufhing ftreams o'erflow,
And Fancy's lift'ning ear attends the plaint of

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Lo, on yon pyramid fublime,
Whence lies Old Egypt's defert clime,
Bleak, naked, wild! where ruin low'rs,
Mid fanes, and wrecks, and tumbling tow'rs:
On the steep height waste and bare,
Stands the Pow'r with hoary hair!
O'er his feythe he bends; his hand
Slowly shakes the flowing fand,
While the hours, and airy ring,
Lightly fit with downy wing,

And fap the works of man; and fhade
With filver'd locks his furrow'd head;

Thence rolls the mighty pow'r his broad furvey,
And feals the nations' awful doom:

He fees proud grandeur's meteor ray;
He yields to joy the feftive day;

Rapt Contemplation ftalks along,
And hears the flow clock's pealing tongue;
Or, mid the dun difcolour'd gloom,
Sits on fome hero's peaceful tomb,
Throws Life's gay glitt ring robe afide,
And tramples on the neck of Pride.

Oft fhelter'd by the rambling fprays,
Lead o'er the foreft's winding maze;
Where, thro' the mantling boughs, afar
Glimmers the filver-ftreaming star;
And, fhower'd from ev'ry rustling blade,
The loofe light floats along the shade:
So hov'ring o'er the human scene
Gay Pleafure fports with brow ferene:
By Fancy beam'd, the glancing ray
Shoots, flutters, gleams, and fleets away:
Unfettled, dubious, reftlefs, blind,

Then fweeps the length ning fhade, and marks Floats all the bufy buftling mind;

them for the tomb.

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MEEK Pow'r, whofe balmy-pinion'd gale Steals o'er the flow'r-ename!l'd dale ! Whofe voice in gentle whispers near Oft fighs to Quiet's lift'ning ear; As on her downy couch at reft, By Thought's infpiring vifiors bles She fits, with white-rob'd Silence nigh, And mufing heaves her ferious eye, To mark the flow fun's glimm'ring ray, To catch the laft pale gleam of day; Or funk in fweet repole, unknown Lies on the wild hill's van alone; And fees thy gradual pencil flow Along the heaven-illumin'd bow.

Come, Nymph demure, with mantle blue,
Thy treffes bath'd in balmy dew,
With hep fmooth fliding o'er the green,
The graces breathing in thy micn;
And thy vefture's gather'd fold
Girt with a zone of circling gold;
And bring the harp, whofe toleran ftring
Dies to the wild wind's murm'ting wing;
And the Nymph, whofe eye fer ene

Marks the calm, breathing woodland fcene;
Thought, mountain fage! who loves to climb,
And haunts the dark rock's fummit dim;
Let Fancy falcon-wing'd be near:
And through the cloud-envelop'd sphere,
Where muling roams Retirement hoar,
Lull'd by the torrent's diftant roa”,
Oh bid with trembling light to glow
The raven-plume that crowns his brow.
Lo, where thy meek-eved train attend!
Queen of the folemn thought, defcend !
Oh hide me in romantic bow's!
Or lead my ftep to ruin'd tow'rs!
Where gleaming thro' the chinky door
The pale ray gilds the moulder'd floor:
bile beneath the hallow'd pile,
Lep in the defert fricking ite,

While Mom'ry's unftain'd leaves retain
No trace from all th' ideal train.

But fee the landscape op'ning fair
Invites to breathe the purer ait !
Oh when the cow flip-fcented gale
Shakes the light dew-drop o'er the dale,
When on her amber-dropping bed
Loofe Eafe reclines her downy head;
How bleft! by fairy-haunted ftream
To melt in mild ectatic dream!
Die to the pictur'd with, or hear
(Breath'd foft on Fancy's trembling car)
Such lays by angel-harps refin'd,
As half unchain the flutt'ring mind,
When on life's edge it eyes the fhore,
And all its pinions stretch to foar.

Lo! where the fun's broad orb withdrawn
Skirts with pale gold the dusky lawn;
While, led by ev'ry gentler pow'r,
Steals the flow, folemn, mufing hour.
Now from the green hill's purple brow
Let me mark the feene below;
Where feebly glancing thro' the gloom,
Yon myrtle fhades the filent tomb:
Not far, beneath the evening beam
The dark lake rolls his azure ftream,
Whofe breaft the fwan's white plumes divide,
Slow-failing o'er the floating tide.
Groves, meads, and spires, and forests bare,
Shoot glimm ring thro' the mifty air;
Dim as the vifion-pictur'd bow'r
I hat gilds the faint's expiring hour,
When, rapt to ecftafy, his eye
Looks thro' the blue ethereal fky.
All heaven unfolding to his fight!
Gay forms that fwin in floods of light!
The fun-pav'd floor, the balmy clime,
The ruby-beaming dome fublime,
The tow'rs in glitt'ring pomp difplay'd→
The bright fcene hovers o'er his bed:
He starts-but from his eager gaze
Black clouds obfcure the leffesing rays;
On mem'ry fill the fcene is wrought,
And lives in Fancy's featur'd thought.
On the airy mount reclin'd
What wishes footh the mufing mind!


How soft the velvet lap of Spring!
How fweet the Zephyr's violet wing!
Goddess of the plaintive fong,
That leads the melting heart along!
Oh bid thy voice of genial pow'r
Reach Contemplation's lonely bow'r;
And call the fage with tranced fight
To climb the mountain's fteepy height;
To wing the kindling with, or spread
O'er Thought's pale cheek enliv'ning red;
Come, hoary Pow'r with ferious eye,
Whofe thought explores yon diftant sky;
Now when the bufy world is ftill,
Nor pallion tempts the wav'ring will,
When fweeter hopes each pow'r controul,
And quiet whispers to the foul,
Now fweep from life th' illufive train
That dance in Folly's dizzy brain :
Be Reafon's fimple draught portray'd,
Where blends alternate hight and fhade;
Bid dimpled Mirth, with thought belied,
Sport on the bubble's glitt'ring fide;
Bid Hope purfue the diftant boon,
And Phrenfy watch the fading moon;
Paint Superftition's starting eye,
And Wit that leers with gefture fly;
Let Cenfure whet her venom'd dart,
And green eyed Envy gnaw the heart;
Let Pleafure lie on flow'rs reclin'd,
While Anguifh aims her shaft behind.

Hail, Sive fublime, whofe hallow'd cave
Howls to the hoarfe deep's dashing wave;
Thee Solitude to Phoebus bore,
Far on the lone deferted fhore,
Where Orellano's rufhing tide
Roars on the rock's projected fide.
Hence bursting o'er thy ripen'd mind,
Beams all the father's thought refin'd:
Hence oft, in filent vales unfeen,
Thy footsteps print the fairy green;
Or thy foul melts to ftrains of woe,
That from the willow's quiv'ring bough
Sweet warbling breathe-the zephyrs round
O'er Dee's fmooth current waft the found,
When foft on bending offers laid
The broad fun trembling thro' the bed;
All wild thy heav'n-rapt Fancy strays,
Led thro' the foul-diffolving maze;
Till Slumber downy-pinion'd, near
Plants her ftrong fetlocks on thy ear;
The foul unfetter'd burits away,
And bafks enlarg'd in beamy day.

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Nor Anguish chills the living bloom. "But fpotlefs Beauty, rob'd in white, "Sits on yon mofs-grown hill reclin'd; "Serene as heaven's unfllied light, "And pure as Delia's gentle mind. "Grant, Heavenly Pow'r! thy peaceful fway May fill my ruder thoughts controul;

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Thy hand to point my dubious way,

Thy voice to footh the melting foul. "Far in the fhady sweet retreat

"Let Thought beguile the ling'ring hour; "Let Quiet court the moffy feat, "And twining olives form the bow'r. "Let dove-eyed Peace her wreath bestow, "And oft fit lift'ning in the dale, "While Night's fweet warbler from the bough

Tells to the grove her plaintive tale. "Soft as in Delia's fnowy breaft, "Let each confenting paffion move; "Let Angels watch its filent reft, "And all its blifsful dreams be Love!"

S124. Morning; or, The Complaint. An Ame-
rican Eclogue.
FAR from the favage bandit's fierce alarms,
Or diftant din of horrid defpot's arms,
Tho' Pennsylvania boafts her peaceful plain,
Yet there in blood her petty tyrants reign.

With waving pines tho' vocal woods be crown'd,
And ftream-fed vales with living wealth abound,
To golden fields tho' ripening rays defcend,
With blushing fruit tho' loaded branches bend;
To those who ne'er muft freedom's bleffings taste,
'Tis barren all, 'tis all a worthlefs wafte.

While hoarfe the cataract murmur'd on the gale,
And chilling dews fwept thro' the murky dale;
Along the hills the difmal tempeft howl'd,
And lightnings flath'd, and deep the thunder roll'd;
Beneath a leaflefs tree, ere morn arofe,

The flave Adala thus laments his woes :
Ye grifly fpectres, gather round my feat,
From caves unbleft, that wretches' groans repeat!
Terrific forms, from mifty lakes arife!
And bloody meteors threaten thro' the skies!
Oh curs'd deftroyers of our hapless race,
Of human kind the terror and difgrace
Lo! hofts of dufky captives, to my view,
Demand a deep revenge! demand their due!

And frowning chiefs now dart athwart the gloom,, To till his glebe employs Arcona's
And o'er the falt fea wave pronounce your doom:
But Gods are just, and oft the ftroke forbear,
To plunge the guilty in tenfold despair.

Lift high the fcourge, my foul the rack difdains;
I pant for freedom and my native plains!
With limbs benumb'd my poor companions lie,
Opprets'd by pain and want the aged figh;
Thro' reedy huts the driving tempeft pours,
Their feftering wounds receive the fickly show'rs;
In madd'ning draughts our lords their fenfes steep,
And doom their flaves to ftripes and death in fleep;
Now, while the bitter blaft furrounds my head,
To times long paft my reftlefs foul is led,
Far, far beyond the azure hills, to groves
Of ruddy fruit, where beauty fearlefs roves-
O blissful feats! O felf-approving joys!
Nature's plain dictates! ignorance of vice!
O guiltless hours! Our cares and wants were few,
No arts of luxury or deceit we knew.
Our labour, fport-to tend our cottage care,
Or from the palm the lufcious juice prepare;
To fit indulging love's delufive dream,
And fnare the filver tenants of the ftream;
Or (nobler toil!) to aim the deadly blow
With dextrous art against the fpotted foe;
O days with youthful daring mark'd' 't was then
I dragg'd the fhaggy monfter from his den,
And boldly down the rocky mountain's fide
Hurl'd the grim panther in the foaming tide.
Our healthful sports a daily feat afford,
And even ftill found us at the focial board.

Can I forget, ah me! the fatal day,
When half the vale of peace was fwept away!
Th' affrighted maids in vain the gods implore,
And weeping view from far the happy fhore;
The frantic dames impatient ruffians feize,
And infants fhriek, and clafp their mothers' knees;
With galling fetters foon their limbs are bound,
And groans throughout the noilome bark refound.
Why was I bound! why did not Whydah fee
Adala gain or death or victory!

No storms arife, no waves revengeful roar,
To dafh the monfters on our injur'd fhore.
Long o'er the foaming deep to worlds unknown,
By envious winds the bulky veffel's blown,
While by difeafe and chains the weak expire,
Or parch'd endure the flow confuming fire.
Who'd in this land of many forrows live,
Where death's the only comfort tyrants give?
Tyrants unbleft! Each proud of ftrict command,
Nor age nor ficknefs holds the iron hand;
Whofe hearts, in adamant involv'd, defpife
The drooping female's tears, the infant's cries,
From whofe ftern brows no gratefullcok e'er beams,
Whofe blufhlefs front nor rape nor murder fhames.

Nor all I blame; for Naftal, friend to peace,
Thro' his wide paftures bids oppreffion ceafe *;
No drivers goad, no galling fetters bind,
Nor ftern compulfion damps th' exalted mind.
There ftrong Arcona 's fated to enjoy
Domeftic fweets, and rear his progeny ;


Fo Naftal's God he nightly makes his pray`r;
His mind at eafe, of Chriftian truths he'll boat-
He has no wife, no lovely offspring loft.
Gay his favannah blooms, while mine appears
Scorch'd up with heat,or moift with blood and tears.
Cheerful his hearth in chilling winter burns,
While to the ftorm the fad Adala mourns.

Lift high the fcourge, my foul the rack difdains;
I pant for freedom and my native plaias!
And wait for justice on another shore?
Shall I his holy prophet's aid implore,
Or, rufhing down yon mountain's craggy fteep,
End all my forrows in the fullen deep?
A cliff there hangs in yon grey morning cloud,
The dathing wave beneath roars harth and loud-
But doubts and fears involve my anxious mind.
Dubious, if fent beyond th' expanded main,
The gulf of death once pafs'd, what thore we find.
This foul fhall feek its native realms again:
Or if in gloomy mists condemn'd to lie,
Beyond the limits of yon arching fky.
A better profpect oft my spirit cheers,
And in my dreams the vale of peace appears,
And flecting vifions of my former life:

y hoary fire I clafp, my long-loft wife,
And oft I kifs my gentle babes in sleep,
Fill with the founding whip I'm wak'd to weep-

Lifthigh the fcourge, my foulthe rack difdain;
I paut for freedom and my native plains !
Chiefs of the earth, and monarchs of the fea,
Who vaunt your hardy ancestors were free;
Whofe teachers plead th' opprefs'd and injur'd's

And prove the wisdom of your prophet's laws;
To force and fraud if justice must give place,
You 're dragg'd to slavery by fome rougher race.
Some rougher race your flocks fhall force away,
Like Afric's fons your children must obey;
The very Gods that view our conftant toil,
Shall fee your offspring till a ruder foil,

The pain of thirst and pinching hunger know,
And all the torments that from bondage flow,
When,farremov'd from Chriftian worlds, we prove
The fweets of peace, the lafting joys of love.

But, hark! the whip's harfh echo thro' the trees!
On every trembling limb fresh horrors feize-
Alas! 'tis morn, and here I fit alone-
Be ftrong, my foul, and part without a groan!
Ruffians, proceed! Adala ne'er shall swerve,
Prepare the rack, and strain each aching nerve!

Lift high the fcourge, my foulthe rack difdains;
I pant for freedom and my native plains.
Thou God, who gild'ft with light the rifing day!
Who life difpenfeft by thy genial ray!
Will thy flow vengeance never, never fall,
But undistinguish'd favour thine on all ?
O hear a fuppliant wretch's last, fad pray'r !
Dart fierceft rage! infect the ambient air!
This pallid race, whofe hearts are bound in steel,
By dint of fuffering teach them how to feel.

*The Quakers in America have fet free all their Negroes, and allow them wages as other fervants.

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