When front to front the banner'd hosts combine, Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line. When all is still on Death's devoted soil, The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil; And hears thy stormy music in the drum! And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore The hardy Byron to his native shore-a In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep, 'Twas his to mourn Misfortune's rudest shock, Scourg'd by the winds, and cradled on the rock, To wake each joyless morn, and search again The famish'd haunts of solitary men; Whose race, unyielding as their native storm, Knows not a trace of Nature but the form; Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, Pale, but intrepid,-sad, but unsubdued, The moon's pale planet and the northern star, Paus'd at each dreary cry, unheard before, Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime, He found a warmer world, a milder clime, A home to rest, a shelter to defend, Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend! ↳ Congenial Hope! thy passion-kindling power, How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour! On yon proud height, with Genius hand in hand, I see thee light, and wave thy golden wand. "Go, child of Heav'n! (thy winged words proclaim) 'Tis thine to search the boundless fields of fame! Lo! Newton, priest of Nature, shines afar, Scans the wide world, and numbers ev'ry star! "The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bow'rs, His winged insects, and his rosy flow'rs; Calls from their woodland haunts the savage train With sounding horn, and counts them on the plain So once, at Heav'n's command, the wand'rers came To Eden's shade, and heard their various name. "Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime, Slow pass the sons of wisdom, more sublime; Calm as the fields of Heav'n, his sapient eye The lov'd Athenian lifts to realms on high, Admiring Plato, on his spotless page, Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage: Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man!' "Turn, child of Heav'n! thy rapture-lighten'd eyc To Wisdom's walks, the sacred Nine are nigh! Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height, From streams that wander in eternal light, Rang'd on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell; Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs flow,e "Belov'd of heav'n! the smiling Muse shall shed Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head; Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfin'd, And ask each blood-stain'd form his earthly name; |