Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell,
And read the trembling world the tales of hell.

"When Venus, thron'd in clouds of rosy hue,

Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew,
And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ,

Sacred to love, and walks of tender joy;

A milder mood the goddess shall recal,

And soft as dew thy tones of music fall;
While Beauty's deeply-pictur'd smiles impart,

A pang more dear than pleasure to the heart

Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain,

And plead in Beauty's ear, nor plead in vain.

"Or wilt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deem,

And steep thy song in Mercy's mellow stream;

To pensive drops the radiant eye beguile

For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile ;

On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief,
And teach impassion'd souls the joy of grief?

"Yes; to thy tongue shall seraph words be giv'n, And pow'r on earth to plead the cause of Heav'n;

The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone,

That never mus'd on sorrow but its own,

Unlocks a generous store at thy command,

Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand. f

The living lumber of his kindred earth,

Charm'd into soul, receives a second birth;

Feels thy dread pow'r another heart afford,

Whose passion-touch'd harmonious strings accord

True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan;

And man, the brother, lives the friend of man!

"Bright as the pillar rose at Heav'n's command,

When Israel march'd along the desert land,

Blaz'd through the night on lonely wilds afar,

And told the path-a never-setting star :

So, heav'nly Genius, in thy course divine,

Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine."

Propitious Pow'r! when rankling cares annoy

The sacred home of Hymenean joy;

When doom'd to Poverty's sequester'd dell,

The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell,

Unpitied by the world, unknown to fame,

Their woes, their wishes, and their hearts the same—

B

Oh there, prophetic Hope! thy smile bestow,

And chase the pangs that worth should never know— There, as the parent deals his scanty store

To friendless babes, and weeps to give no more,

Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage

Their father's wrongs, and shield his latter age.

What though for him no Hybla sweets distil,
Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill;
Tell, that when silent years have pass'd away,
That when his eyes grow dim, his tresses grey,

These busy hands a lovelier cot shall build,

And deck with fairer flowers his little field,

And call from Heav'n propitious dews to breathe

Arcadian beauty on the barren heath;

Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile endears

The days of peace, the sabbath of his years,

Health shall prolong to many a festive hour
The ocial pleasures of his humble bower.

Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps ; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,

Smiles on her slumb'ring child with pensive eyes,

And weaves a song of melancholy joy

"Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy:

No ling'ring hour of sorrow shall be thine;

No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine;

Bright as his manly sire, the son shall be

In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he!

Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last,

Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past—