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'Some truths, from long experience flowing,
'Be thine the generous heart that borrows
This is the temper most endearing;
Though wide proud pomp her banners spreads, An heavenlier power good nature bearing
Each heart in willing thraldom leads.
The peace-destroying streams that flow,
• Whilst the mild rose, more safely growing
Amidst retirement's shelter blowing,
Wish not for beauty's darling features,
Bloom'd in the silver waves below;
Lead you from wisdom's path astray; What genius lives renown'd in story,
To happiness who found the way? In yonder mead behold that vapour Whose vivid beams illusive play, Far off it seems a friendly taper
To guide the traveller on his way;
But should some hapless wretch, pursuing, Tread where the treacherous meteors glow, He'd find, too late his rashness ruing, That fatal quicksands lurk below. In life such bubbles nought admiring, Gilt with false light, and fill'd with air, Do you, from pageant crowds retiring, To peace in virtue's cot repair;
There seek the never wasted treasure, Which mutual love and friendship give, Domestic comfort, spotless pleasure,
And bless'd and blessing you will live.
'If Heaven with children crown your dwelling, As mine its bounty does with you, In fondness fatherly excelling,
The' example you have felt pursue.' He paused-for tenderly caressing
The darling of his wounded heart, Looks had means only of expressing
Thoughts language never could impart. Now night her mournful mantle spreading,
Had robed with black the' horizon round,
Midst custom's slaves he lived resign'd,
Each character, in youth and age,
He loathed the scenes of guile and strife,
To leave this fretful farce of life.
Yet to whate'er above was fated
THE TOMB OF SHAKSPEARE.
WHAT time the jocund rosy-bosom'd hours
On earth's green mantle from his musky wing; The morn unbarr'd the' ambrosial gates of light, Westward the raven-pinion'd darkness flew, The landscape smiled in vernal beauty bright,
And to their graves the sullen ghosts withdrew. The nightingale no longer swell'd her throat
With lovelorn plainings, tremulous and slow; And on the wings of silence ceased to float
The gurgling notes of her melodious woe:
Through fields of air methought I took my flight,
On Avon's banks I lit, whose streams appear To wind with eddies fond round Shakspeare's tomb,
The year's first feathery songsters warble near, And violets breathe and earliest roses bloom. Here Fancy sat (her dewy fingers cold
Decking with flowerets fresh the' unsullied sod) And bathed with tears the sad sepulchral mould, Her favourite offspring's long and last abode.
'Ah! what avails (she cried) a poet's name? Ah! what avails the' immortalizing breath To snatch from dumb oblivion other's fame? My darling child here lies a prey to death! 'Let gentle Otway, white robed pity's priest,
From grief domestic teach the tears to flow; Or Southern captivate the' impassion'd breast With heartfelt sighs and sympathy of woe.
For not to these his genius was confined, Nature and I each tuneful power had given, Poetic transports of the maddening mind, And the wing'd words that waft the soul to heaven.
• The fiery glance of the' intellectual eye, Piercing all objects of creation's store, Which on this world's extended surface lie; And plastic thought that still created more.'
O grant (with eager rapture I replied), Grant me, great goddess of the changeful eye! To view each being in poetic pride,
To whom thy son gave immortality.'
Sweet Fancy smiled and waved her mystic rod,
As vassal sprites obey the wizard's charm.
First a celestial form' (of azure hue,
Whose mantle, bound with brede etherial, flow'd To each soft breeze its balmy breath that drew) Swift down the sunbeams of the noontide rode.
Ariel, in the Tempest.