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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:
If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind,
A bright sun clasps her adamantine zone.
Break through the veil of your mortality?
Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays,
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.
THE solitary bird of night
Through the thick shades now wings his flight,
With joy I hear the solemn sound,
She loves the cool, the silent eve,
Here Folly drops each vain disguise,
O Pallas! queen of every art
That glads the sense, or mends the heart,
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.
Not fortune's gem, ambition's plume,
To me thy better gifts impart,
When Fortune drops her gay parade,
By thee protected, I defy
From envy, hurry, noise, and strife,
Pursue thee to thy peaceful groves,
He bid Ilyssus' tuneful stream
Of perfect, fair, and good:
Reclaim'd, her wild licentious youth
The passions ceas'd their loud alarms,
Thy breath inspires the poet's song,
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,
My thoughts direct their flight:
O send her sure, her steady ray,