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DESCRIPTIVE AND ALLEGORICAL
O THOU! the friend of man, assign'a
And charm his frantic woe,
His wild unsated foe!
By Pella's* bard, a magic name,
Receive my humblez mite
eyes of dewy light!
But wheretore need I wander wide
Deserted stream, and mute ?
Been soothed by Pity's lute.
There first the wren thy myrtles shed
To him thy cell was shewn;
+ A river in Susses.
Come, Pity! come; by Fancy's aid,
Thy temple's pride design:
In all who view the shrine.
O’er mortal bliss prevail :
With each disastrous tale.
Allow'd with thee to dwell :
To hear a British shell!
Tuov, to whom the world unknown,
Ah Fear! ab, frantic Fear!
I see, I see thee near.
Fur, lo! what monsters in thy train appear!
Or throws him on the ridgy steep
The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue;
Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung. Yet he, the bardt who first invoked thy name,
Disdain'd in Marathon its power to feel : For
But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's steel. But who is he, whom later garlands grace,
Who left awhile o'er Hybla's dews to rove, With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,
Where thou and furies shared the baleful grove? Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' incestuous queent
Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband heard, When once alone it broke the silent scene,
And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd. O Fear! I know thee by my throbbing heart,
Thy withering power inspired each mournful line, Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part,
Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine!
# Sophocles' Electra.
Thou who such weary lengths hast part,
wilt thou shroud in haunted cell, Wbere gloomy Rape and Murder dwell?
Or in some hallow'd seat,
'Gainst wbich the big waves beat, Hear drowning seamen's cries in tempests brought. Dark Power! with shuddering, meek, submitted
thought, Be mine to read the visions old, Which thy awakening bards have told
And, lest thou meet my blasted view,
O thou, whose spirit most possest
meed decree, And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee,
O Thou, by Nature taught
To breathe her genuine thought,
Who first on mountains wild,
In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe, and Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song!
Thou, who with hermit heart
Disdain'st the wealth of art,
But com'st a decent maid,
In Attic robe array'd,
By all the honey'd store
On Hybla's thymy shore,
By her whose love-lorn woe,
In evening musings slow,
By old Cephisus' deep,
Who spread his wavy sweep
On whose enameli'd side,
When holy Freedom died,
O sister meek of Truth,
To my admiring youth
The flowers that sweetest breathe,
Though beauty cull'd the wreath,