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And you, ye host of saints, for ye have known Each dreary path in life's perplexing maze,

Though now ye circle yon eternal throne With harpings high of inexpressive praise,

Will not your train descend in radiant state, To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of Fate?

"Tis silence all. No son of light

Darts swiftly from his heav'nly height:
No train of radiant saints descend.
'Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,

If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind,
Or saint to hear, or angel to defend.'
So TRUTH proclaims. I hear the sacred sound
Burst from the centre of her burning throne:
Where aye she sits with star-wreath'd lustre
crown'd:

hear;

A bright sun clasps her adamantine zone.
So TRUTH proclaims; ber awful voice
With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.
'Attend, ye sons of men! attend, and say,
Does not enough of my refulgent ray

Break through the veil of your mortality?
Say, does not reason in this form descry
Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass
The angel's floating pomp, the seraph's glowing

grace?

Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
With me? Shall she, whose brightest eye
But emulates the diamond's blaze,

Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume,

Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays,

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Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form Of elemental dross, of mould'ring clay,

Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day Shall pass, and she is gone : while I appear Flush'd with the bloom of youth through Heaven's eternal year.

'Know, mortals, know, ere first ye sprung, Ere first these orbs in æther hung,

I shone amid the heavenly throng; These eyes beheld creation's day, This voice began the choral lay, And taught archangels their triumphant song. Pleas'd I survey'dbright Nature's gradual birth, Saw infant Light with kindling lustre spread,

Soft vernalfragrance clothe the flow'ring earth, And ocean heave on its extended bed;

Saw the tall pine aspiring pierce the sky, The tawny lion stalk, the rapid eagle fly.

'Last, man arose, erect in youthful grace, Heaven's hallow'd image stamp'd upon his face, And, as he rose, the high behest was giv'n, "That I alone, of all the host of heav'n, Should reign Protectress of the godlike Youth :” Thus the Almighty spake: he spake and call'd me TRUTH.' Mason.

TO WISDOM.

THE solitary bird of night

Through the thick shades now wings his flight,
And quits the time-shook tow'r,
Where, shelter'd from the blaze of day,
In philosophic gloom he lay,
Beneath his ivy bow'r.

With joy I hear the solemn sound,
Which midnight echoes waft around,
And sighing gales repeat:
Fav'rite of Pallas! I attend,
And, faithful to thy summons, bend
At Wisdom's awful seat.

She loves the cool, the silent eve,
Where no false shows of life deceive,
Beneath the lunar ray :

Here Folly drops each vain disguise,
Nor sports her gaily-colour'd dyes,
As in the glare of day.

O Pallas! queen of every art

That glads the sense, or mends the heart,
.. Bless'd source of purer joys;
In ev'ry form of beauty bright,
That captivates the mental sight

With pleasure and surprise! At thy unspotted shrine I bow : Assist thy modest suppliant's vow,

That breathes no wild desires; But, taught by thy unerring rules To shun the fruitless wish of fools, To nobler views aspires.

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Not fortune's gem, ambition's plume,
Nor Cytherea's fading bloom,
Be objects of my prayer;
Let av'rice, vanity, and pride,
Those envied glitt'ring toys, divide
The dull rewards of care.

To me thy better gifts impart,
Each moral beauty of the heart,
By studious thought refin'd:
For wealth, the smiles of glad content;
For pow'r, his amplest, best extent,
An empire o'er the mind.

When Fortune drops her gay parade,
When Pleasure's transient roses fade,
And wither in the tomb,
Unchang'd is thy immortal prize,
Thy ever-verdant laurels rise
In undecaying bloom.

By thee protected, I defy
The coxcomb's sneer, the stupid lie
Of ignorance and spite;
Alike contemn the leaden fool,
And all the pointed ridicule
Of undiscerning wit.

From envy, hurry, noise, and strife,
The dull impertinence of life,
In thy retreat I rest,

Pursue thee to thy peaceful groves,
Where Plato's sacred spirit roves,
In all thy graces dress'd.
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VOL. III.

He bid Ilyssus' tuneful stream
Convey thy philosophic theme

Of perfect, fair, and good:
Attentive Athens caught the sound,
And all her list'ning sons around
In awful silence stood.

Reclaim'd, her wild licentious youth
Confess'd the potent voice of truth,
And felt its just control :

The passions ceas'd their loud alarms,
And virtue's soft persuasive charms
O'er all their senses stole.

Thy breath inspires the poet's song,
The patriot's free unbiass'd tongue,

The hero's gen'rous strife: Thine are retirement's silent joys, And all the sweet endearing ties Of still domestic life.

No more to fabled names confin'd,
To thee, supreme, all-perfect mind,

My thoughts direct their flight:
Wisdom's thy gift, and all her force
From thee deriv'd, unchanging source、
Of intellectual light!

O send her sure, her steady ray,
To regulate my doubtful way,
Through life's perplexing road;
The mists of error to control,
And through its gloom direct my soul
To happiness and good!

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