There, on his funeral waters, dark and wild,

The dying father bleft his darling child!

Oh! Mercy, fhield her innocence, he cried,

Spent on the pray'r his bursting heart, and died!

Or will they learn how generous worth fublimes 15 The robber Moor, 3 and pleads for all his crimes !

How

poor

Amelia kifs'd, with many a tear,

His hand blood-ftain'd, but ever ever dear!

Hung on the tortur'd bofom of her lord,

And wept, and pray'd perdition from his fword!

16

Nor fought in vain! at that heart-piercing cry

The strings of nature crack'd with agony !

He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurl'd,

And burft the ties that bound him to the world !

Turn from his dying words, that fmite with fteel, 165

The fhuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheel—

There shall he pause, with horrent brow, to rate

What millions died-that Cæfar might be

4 ! great

Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, s

March'd by their Charles to Dneiper's swampy fhore;

Faint in his wounds, and fhivering in the blast,

The Swedish foldier funk-and groan'd his last!

175

File after file, the ftormy fhowers benumb,

Freeze

every ftandard-sheet, and hush the drum !

Horfemen and horfe confefs'd the bitter pang,
And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang!
Yet, ere he funk in Nature's last repose,

Ere life's warm torrent to the fountain froze,

The dying man to Sweden turn'd his eye,

Thought of his home, and clos'd it with a figh!
Imperial Pride look'd fullen on his plight,

And Charles beheld-nor fhudder'd at the fight!

180

185

Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky,

Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie,

And Hope attends, companion of the way,

Thy dream by night, thy vifions of the day!

190

In yonder penfile orb, and every sphere

That

gems the ftarry girdle of the

year;

In those unmeasur'd worlds, fhe bids thee tell,
Pure from their God, created millions dwell,

Whofe names and natures, unreveal❜d below,

We yet fhall learn, and wonder as we know;

For, as Iona's Saint, a giant form,

6

Thron'd on her tow'rs, converfing with the ftorm,

(When o'er each runic altar, weed-entwin'd,

The vefper clock tolls mournful to the wind),
Counts every wave-worn isle, and mountain hoar,

From Kilda to the green Ierne's shore ;

So, when thy pure and renovated mind

This perishable duft hath left behind,

Thy feraph eye fhall count the ftarry train,
Like diftant ifles embofom'd in the main ;

E

195

200

205

Rapt to the fhrine where motion first began,
And light and life in mingling torrent ran ;
From whence each bright rotundity was hurl'd,
The Throne of God,-the centre of the world!

Oh! vainly wife, the moral Mufe hath fung That fuafive Hope hath but a Syren tongue!

210

True; she may fport with life's untutor❜d day,
Nor heed the folace of its last decay,
The guilelefs heart her happy mansion spurn,

215

And

part like Ajut-never to return!

7

But yet, methinks, when Wisdom shall affuage

The griefs and paffions of our greener age,

Though dull the close of life, and far away

Each flow'r that hail'd the dawning of the day;

220