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There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's cali,
Would shrink to hear th' obftreperous trump of Fame
Supremely bleft, if to their portion fall
Health, competence and peace.-


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WHEN in the crimson cloud of even

The lingering light decays,
And Hesper on the front of heaven
His glittering gem displays;
Deep in the filent vale, unseen,
Beside a lulling stream,
A pensive youth of placid mien,
Indulg'd this tender theme :

Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled
High o'er the glimmering dale;
Ye woods, along whose windings wild
Murmurs the folemn gale;
Where Melancholy strays forlorn,
And Woe retires to weep,
What time the wan moon's yellow horn
Gleams on the western deep:


you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,


Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms,
To your retreats I Ay.
Deep in your most sequester’d bower
Let me at last recline,
Where Solitude, mild, modeft power,
Leans on her ivy'd shrine.


How shall I woo thee, matchless fair!
Thy heavenly smile how win?
Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care,
And stills the storm within.
O wilt thou to thy favourite grove
Thine ardent votary bring,
And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene, on filent wing !

Oft let remembrance footh his mind
With dreams of former days,
When in the lap of Peace reclin'd
He framed his infant lays;
When Fancy rov'd at large, nor Care
Nor cold Distrust alarm’d,
Nor Envy with malignant glare
His fimple youth had harm'd.

'Twas then, O Solitude ! to thee
His early vows were paid,
From heart fincere, and warm, and free,
Devoted to the shade.
Ah why did Fate his steps decoy
In stormy paths to roam,

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Remote from all congenial joy!
.O take the wanderer home,

Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme;
My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream,
Whence the scar'd owl on pinions grey
Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale fails

away To more profound repose.

O while to thee the woodland

Its wildly warbling song,
And balmy from the bank of flowers
The zephyr breathes along;
Let no rude sound invade from far,
No vagrant foot be nigh,
No ray from grandeur's gilded car
Flash on the startled eye!

But if fome pilgrim thro' the glade
Thy hallow'd bow'rs explore,
O guard from harm his hoary head,
And listen to his lore;
For he of joys divine shall tell

That wean from earthly woe,
And triumph o'er the mighty spell
That chains his heart below.

For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread;


No more I climb those toilsome heights
By guileful Hope misled;
Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Mirth's enlivening strain;
For present pleasure foon is o'er,
And all the past is vain.


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TILL shall unthinking man substantial deem

The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream;
Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies,
And fad realities in prospect rife;
And, from Elysian slumbers rudely torn,
The startled soul awakes, to think and mourn?

Oye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance ;
Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey,
Glittering in beams of visionary day;
O, yet while Fate delays th' impending woe,
Be rous'd to thought, anticipate the blow;
Left, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill ;
Left, thus encompass’d with funereal golom,
Like me, ye bend o'er fome untimely tomb,
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.
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Wife, Beauteous, Good! O every grace combin'd,
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fresh, as the flow'ret opening on the morn,
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
Sweet, as the downy-pinioned gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!
Mild, as the melodies at close of day,
That, heard remote, along the vale decay!
Yet, why with these compar'd? What tints so fine,
What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine ?
Why roam abroad, since recollection true
Restores the lovely form to Fancy's view?
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile;
That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,
Where Meekness beams ineffable delight;
That brow, where Wisdom fits enthron’d ferene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien:
Still let me listen, while her words impart
The sweet effufions of the blameless heart,
Till all my foul, each tumult charm’d away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.

By thee inspir'd, O Virtue, age is young,
And mufic warbles from the faultering tongue:
Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,
And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow;
Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies
Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes:
But when youth's living bloom reflects the beams,
Refiftlefs on the view the glory streams,
Love, Wonder, Joy, alternately alarm,
And Beauty dazzles with angelic charm.


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