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Gently, from the western deep,

O ye evening breezes, rise ! O'er the lyre of MEMNON sweep,

Wake its spirit with your sighs.

Harp of MEMNON ! sweetly strung

To the music of the spheres ; While the HERO's dirge is sung,

Breathe enchantment to our ears.

Let thy numbers soft and slow

O'er the plain with carnage spread, Sooth the dying, while they flow

To the memory of the dead.

None but solemn, 'tender tones,

Tremble from thy plaintive wires : Hark! the wounded. WARRIOR groans !

Hush thy warbling !-he expires.

Hush !-while Sorrow wakes and weeps ;

O’er his relics cold and pale, Night her silent vigil keeps,

In a mournful, moonlight veil.

Harp of MEMNON ! from afar,

Ere the lark salute the sky,
Watch the rising of the star
That proclaims the morning nigh.

174

BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA.

Soon the Sun's ascending rays,

In a flood of hallow'd fire,
O'er thy kindling chords shall blaze,

And thy magic soul inspire.

Then thy tones triumphant pour,

Let them pierce the HERO's grave ; Life's tumultuous battle o'er,

O how sweetly sleep the brave !

From the dust their laurels bloom,

High they shoot, and flourish free ; Glory's temple is the tomb !

Death is immortality!

THE PILLOW.

TI'E head that oft this Pillow press'd,
That aching head, is gone to rest ;
Its little pleasures now no more,
And all its mighty sorrows o'er,
For ever, in the worm's dark bed,
For ever sleeps that hurable head !

MY FRIEND was young, the world was new ; The world was false, MY FRIEND was true ; Lon 'y his lot, his birth obscure, His fortune hard, MY FRIEND was poor ; To wisdom he had no pretence, A child of suffering, not of sense ; For NATURE never did impart A woaker or a warmer heart. His fervent soul, a soul flame, Consumed its frail terrestrial frame; That fire from Heaven so fiercely burn'd, That whence it came it soon return'd : And yet, O PILLOW ! yet to me, My gentle FRIEND survives in thee ; In thee, the partner of his bed, In thee, the widow of the dead !

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On HELICON's inspiring brink,
Ere yet MY FRIEND had learn'd to think,
Once as he pass'd the careless day
Among the whispering reeds at play,
The MUSE OF SORROW wander'd by ;
Her pensive beauty fix'd his eye ;
With sweet astonishment he smiled ;
The Gipsey saw-she stole the child ;
And soft on her ambrosial breast
Sang the delighted babe to rest ;
Convey'd him to her inmost grove,
And loved him with a Mother's love.
Awaking from his rosy nap,
And gayly sporting on her lap,
His wanton fingers o'er her lyre
Twinkled like electric fire :
Quick and quicker as they flew,
Sweet and sweeter tones they drew

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Now a bolder hand he flings,
And dives among the deepest strings ;
Then forth the music brake like thunder ;
Back he started, wild with wonder !
The MUSE OF SORROW wept for joy,
And clasp'd and kiss'd her chosen boy,

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Ah ! then no more his smiling hours
Were spent in Childhood's Eden-bowers ;
The fall from Infant-innocence,
The fall to knowledge drives us thence :

Knowledge ! worthless at the price,
Bought with the loss of PARADISE !
As happy ignorance declined,
And reason rose upon his mind,
Romantic hopes and fond desires
(Sparks of the soul's immortal fires !)
Kindled within his breast the rage
To breathe through every future age,
To clasp the flitting shade of fame,
To build an everlasting name,
O’erleap the narrow vulgar span,
And live beyond the life of man !

Then Nature's charms his heart possess'd, And NATURE's glory fli'd his breast : The sweet Spring-morning's infant rays, Meridian Summer's youthful blaze, Maturer Autumn's evening mild, And hoary Winter's midnight wild, Awoke his eye, inspired his tongue ; Tor every scene he loved, he sung. Rude were his songs, and simple truth, Till Boyhood blossom'd into Youth ; Then nobler themes his fancy fired, To bolder flights his soul aspired ; And as the new-moon's opening eye Broadens and brightens through the sky, From the dim streak of western light To the full orb that rules the night ;

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