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What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play,

And fweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought away!

Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore

Earth's lonelieft bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore.

Lo! to the wint'ry winds the pilot yields

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His bark careering o'er unfathom'd fields;

Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar,

Where Andes, giant of the western star,

With meteor standard to the winds unfurl'd,

Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world. 65

Now far he fweeps, where fcarce a fummer fmiles,

On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked ifles;

Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow,

From waftes that flumber in eternal fnow;

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And waft, across the waves tumultuous roar,

The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.

Poor child of danger, nurfling of the ftorm,

Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form!

Rocks, waves, and winds, the fhatter'd bark delay;

Thy heart is fad, thy home is far away.

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep,

And fing to charm the spirit of the deep:

Swift as yon ftreamer lights the ftarry pole,.

Her vifions warm the watchman's penfive foul.

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His native hills that rife in happier climes,

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The grot that heard his fong of other times,

His cottage-home, his bark of flender fail,

His glaffy lake, and broomwood blaffom'd vale,

Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind,
Treads the lov'd shore he figh'd to leave behind;

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Meets at each step a friend's familiar face,

And flies at laft to Helen's long embrace;
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-fpeaking tear,
And clafps, with many a figh, his children dear!
While, long neglected, but at length carefs'd,.
His faithful dog falutes the smiling guest,
Points to the mafter's eyes (where'er they roam)
His wiftful face, and whines a welcome home.

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Friend of the brave! in peril's darkest hour, Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power;

To thee the heart its trembling homage yields,

On ftormy floods, and carnage-cover'd fields,

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When front to front the banner'd hofts combine,

Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line.
When all is ftill on Death's devoted foil,

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The march-worn foldier mingles for the toil;
As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high

The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye,
Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come,

And hears thy ftormy mufic in the drum !

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And fuch thy ftrength-inspiring aid that bore
The hardy Byron to his native shore- 1

In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempefts 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,

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To wake each joylefs morn, and fearch again
The famish'd haunts of folitary men ;

Whofe 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, fad, but unfubdued,
Pierc'd the deep woods, and, hailing from afar,
The moon's pale planet and the northern star;
Paus'd at each dreary cry, unheard before,

Hyænas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore;

Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff fublime,

He found a warmer world, a milder clime,
A home to reft, a fhelter to defend,

Peace and repofe, a Briton and a friend! *

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