Back to its heav'nly fource thy being goes,

Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rofe ;
Doom'd on his airy path a while to burn,

And doom'd, like thee, to travel, and return.—
Hark! from the world's exploding centre driv'n,
With founds that fhook the firmament of Heav'n,

Careers the fiery giant, faft and far,

On bick'ring wheels, and adamantine car;
From planet whirl'd to planet more remote,
He vifits realms beyond the reach of thought;
But, wheeling homeward, when his courfe is run,

Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the fun!

So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd

Her trembling wings, emerging from the world;

E iiij

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And o'er the path by mortal never trod,

Sprung to her fource, the bofom of her God!

Oh! lives there, Heav'n! beneath thy dread expanfe,

One hopeless, dark Idolater of Chance,

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Content to feed, with pleasures unrefin'd,

The lukewarm paffions of a lowly mind;

Who, mould'ring earthward, 'reft of every truft,

In joylefs union wedded to the duft,

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Could all his parting energy difmifs,

And call this barren world fufficient blifs?--

There live, alas! of Heav'n-directed mien,

Of cultur❜d foul, and fapient eye ferene,
Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,
Spoufe of the worm, and brother of the clay!

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Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower,,
Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower;
A friendless flave, a child without a fire,

Whofe mortal life, and momentary fire,

Lights to the grave his chance-created form,

As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm;

And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er,
To Night and Silence fink for evermore i

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Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim,
Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame ?
Is this your triumph-this your proud applause,
Children of Truth, and champions of her caufe?
For this hath Science fearch'd, on weary wing,
By fhore and fea-each mute and living thing?

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Launch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steep,

To worlds unknown, and ifles beyond the deep?

Or round the cope her living chariot driv❜n,

And wheel'd in triumph through the figns of Heav'n?

Oh! ftar-ey'd Science, haft thou wander'd there,

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To waft us home the meffage of defpair?

Then bind the palm, thy fage's brow to fuit,
Of blafted leaf, and death-diftilling fruit!

Ah me! the laurel'd wreath that murder rears,

Blood-nurs'd, and water'd by the widow's tears,
Seems not fo foul, fo tainted, and fo dread,

As waves the night-fhade round the fceptic head.
What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain?

I fmile on death, if Heav'n-ward Hope remain !

But, if the warring winds of nature's ftrife

Be all the faithlefs charter of my life,

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If Chance awak'd, inexorable pow'r!

This frail and fev'rish being of an hour,

Doom'd o'er the world's precarious fcene to fweep,

Swift as the tempeft travels on the deep,

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To know Delight but by her parting fmile,

And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;
Then melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain
This troubled pulfe, and vifionary brain!
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom;

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And fink, ye ftars, that light me to the tomb!

Truth, ever lovely, fince the world began,
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,—
How can thy words from balmy slumber start
Repofing Virtue, pillow'd on the heart!

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Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder roll'd,

And that were true which Nature never told;