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Now, let the sacred organ blow,
With folemn pause, and founding flow::
Now, 'let the voice due measure keep,
In strains that sigh, and words that weepis
Till all the vocal current blended roll,
Not to depress, but lift the soaring soul.
To lift it in the Maker's praise,
Who first inform'd our frame with breath;
And, after some few stormy days,
Now, gracious, gives us o'er to Death.
No King of Fears
In him appears,
Who shuts the fcene of human woes ;
Beneath his fhade
The dead alone find true repose.
Then, while we mingle duft with duft,
To One, supremely good and wise,
Raise halellujahs ! God is just,
And man most happy, when he dies !
His winter past,
Fair spring at last Receives him on her flowery shore;
Where Pleasure's rose
And fin and sorrow are no more!
TO MIR A. FROM THE COUNTRY,
A T this late howar, the world lieschuthad below,
Nor is one breath of air awake to blow.
Now walks mute Midnight, darkling o'er the plair,
Rest, and soft-footed Silence, in his train,
To bless the cottage, and renew the swain.
These all-asleep, me all-awake they find;
Nor reft, nor hlence, charm the lover's mind.
Already, I a thousand torments prove,
The thousand torments of divided love :
The rolling thought, impatient in the breast;
The futtering wih on wing, that will not rest;
Desire, whose kindled Aames, undying, glow;
Knowledge of distant bliss, and present woe;
Unhulh'd, unsleeping all, with me they dwell,
Children of absence, and of loving well!
These pale the cheek, and clond the chearless eye,
Swell the swift tear, and heave the frequent figh:
These reach the heart, and bid the health decline ;
And there, O Mira! these are truly mine.
She, whose sweet smile would gładden all the grove,
Whose mind is music, and whose looks are love;
She, gentle power! victorious softness 1--She,
Mira, is far from hence, from love, and me;
Yet, in my every thought, her form I find,
Her looks, her words-her world of charms combin'd!
Sweetness is her's, and unaffected ease;
The native wit, that was not taught to please.
Whatever softly animates the face,
The eye's attemper'd fire, the winning grace,
Th' unstudy'd smile, the blush that nature warms,
And all the.graceful negligence of charms!
Ha! while I gaze, a thouiand ardours rise ;
fir'd bosom flashes from my eyes.
Oh!. melting mildness! miracle of charms !
Receive my soul within those folding arms !
On that dear bosom let my wishes rest
Oh! softer than the turtle's downy breaft!
And see! where Love himself is waiting near!
Here let me ever dwell for heaven is here!
Written in a STATE OF MELANCHOLY,
Ow, gloomy soul! look out now comes thy turn $
With thee, behold all y'avag'd nature mourn. Hail the dim empire of thy darling night, That spreads, flow-shadowing, o'er the vanquish'd light, Look out, with jay; the Ruler of the day, Faint, as thy hopes, emits a glimmering ray : Already exil'd to the utmost sky, Hither, oblique, he turn'd his clouded eye. Lo! from the limits of the wintery pole, Mountainous clouds, in rude confusion, roll:
In dismal pomp, now, hovering on their
To a fick twilight, they reduce the day.
And hark ! imprison'd winds, broke loose, arise,
And roar their haughty triumph through the skies.
While the driven clouds, o'ercharg'd with floods of rain,
And mingled lightning, burst upon the plain.
Now fee fad earth-like thine, her alter'd state,
Like thee, the mourns her fad reverse of fate!
Her smile, her wanton looks-where are they now?
Faded her face, and wrapt in clouds her brow.!
No more, th' ungrateful verdure of the plain ;
No more, the wealth-crown'd labours of the swain;
These scenes of bliss, 'no more upbraid my fate ,
Torture my pining thought, and rouze my hate.
The leaf-clad forest, and the tufted grove,
Erewhile the safe retreats of happy love,
Stript of their honours, naked, now appear ;
This is my soul! the winter of their year!
The little, noisy fongsters of the wing,
All, shivering on the bough, forget to sing.
Hail ! reverend Silence! with thy awful brow!
Be Music's voice, for ever mutemas now :
Let no intrusive joy my y dead repose
Disturb :-no pleasure disconcert my woes.
In this moss-cover'd cavern, hopeless laid,
On the cold cliff, I'll lean my aching head ;
And, pleas'd with Winter's waste, unpitying, fee
All nature in an agony with me!
Rough, rugged rocks, wet marshes, ruin'd towers,
Bare trees, brown brakes, bleak heaths, and rushy moors,
Dead floods, huge cataracts, to my pleas'd eyes
(Now I can smile!)-in wild disorder rise :
And now, tlre various dreadfulness combin'd,
Black melancholy comes, to doze my
See ! Night's wish'd hades rise, spreading through
And the lone, hollow gloom, for me prepare !
Hail! folitary ruler of the grave!
Parent of terrors ! from thy dreary cave !
Let thy dumb filence midnight all the ground,
And spread a welcome horror wide around.
But hark!-a sudden howl invades my ear !
The phantoms of the dreadful hour are near.
Shadows, from each dark cavern, now combine,
And stalk around, and mix their yells with mine.
Stop, flying Time ! repose thy restless wing ;
-nor hasten to restore the spring :
Fix'd my ill fate, so fix'd let winter be-
Let never wanton season laugh at me!