While fiery hofts in Heav'n's wide circle play, And bathe in livid light the milky way, Safe from the ftorm, the meteor, and the shower, Some pleafing page fhall charm the folemn hour- 140 With pathos fhall command, with wit beguile, O'er all the heart shall triumph and prevail : Charm'd as they read the verfe too fadly true, 145 How gallant Albert, and his weary crew, Heav'd all their guns, their foundering bark to fave, And toil'd-and fhriek'd-and perifh'd on the wave! Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep, The feaman's cry was heard along the deep; 150 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 155 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 ca the tortur'd bofom of her lord, And wept, and pray'd perdition from his sword! Nor fought in vain! at that heart-piercing cry He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurl'd, And burft the ties that bound him to the world! 1-60 Turn from his dying words, that fmite with fteel, 165 The fhuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheelTurn to the gentler melodies that suit Thalia's harp, or Pan's Arcadian lute; Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page, 170 Yet there, perhaps, may darker fcenes obtrude What millions died-that Cæfar might be 4 great! Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, " 175 March'd by their Charles to Dneiper's fwampy fhore, Faint in his wounds, and fhivering in the blaft, The Swedish foldier funk-and groan'd his laft! File after file, the ftormy fhowers benumb, Freeze every ftandard-sheet, and hush the drum ! 180 Horfemen and horfe confefs'd the bitter pang, 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! And Charles beheld-nor fhudder'd at the fight! 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! In yonder penfile orb, and every sphere That gems the ftarry girdle of the year; In those unmeafur'd worlds fhe bids thee tell, We yet fhall learn, and wonder as we know ; For, as Iona's Saint, a giant form, 6 195 Thron'd on her tow'rs, converfing with the ftorm, 200 (When o'er each runic altar, weed-entwin'd, The vefper clock tolls mournful to the wind), Counts every wave-worn ifle, and mountain hoar, From Kilda to the green Ierne's fhore; So, when thy pure and renovated mind 205 This perishable duft hath left behind, Thy feraph eye fhall count the ftarry train, E |