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Ashes but scarcely cold
Beneath it are crowded;
Thy feet o'er some noble heart
May stumble unheeding;
O'er thy familiar friend
Perchance may be treading!

O ye were scatter'd fast,

Sons of the morning!
Triumphs but seen and past

Your proud brows adorning.
After such mortal toil

To slumber so soundly!
Can aught to the heart of man
Speak so profoundly?



THOUGH never taught to measure space,
Nor vers'd in geometric lore,
The line of beauty I can trace,
And Chloe's finish'd form adore.

I cannot tell, a linguist sage,

And skill'd in critic ken profound, The purport of each puzzling page,

Nor every tangled text expound;

But I can read, and run the while,
The lucid language of an eye,
The mystic meaning of a smile,
The soft confession of a sigh.

I cannot give each light a name,
Which gems th' expanse of ether blue,
Nor sing the physic and the fame
Of every herb which sips the dew;

But I of all the charms can speak,
Which round my Chloe's image fly;
Bloom in the blossom of her cheek,
Laugh in the lustre
her eye.

All politics, in truth, I hate,

Save those which two fond hearts betray;
Nor any secrets know of state,
Save those of Cupid's silken sway.

Who guides the helm, who holds the scale,
Who rules the land, and who the sea,
If Russia, or the Turk prevail,
'Tis just the same, I own, to me.

I only know if Delia reign,

Or Lydia sway my subject heart; Whether I bear Melinda's chain,

Or 'neath my Chloe's anger smart.

Let others court the din of arms,

And fierce in iron fields engage; I only wake to Love's alarms,

And Cupid's willing warfare wage.

Let others martial tactics teach,

And how to fight, and how to fly; Of Love's soft tactics I can preach, And all his golden panoply.

To make the worse the better cause,
My practis'd speech will ne'er persuade,



Unskill'd indeed in any laws,

But those alone which Love has made.

No rhetorician's robe I wear,

But can teach many a honied smile;
The soft persuasion of a tear,
The ruby rhetoric of a smile.

My want of wit who shall despise,

Since Love has made the world his throne ?
Laws, arts, has he, and politics,
And a whole science of his own.



A BEAM of tranquillity smil'd in the west,

The storms of the morning pursu'd us no more, And the wave, while it welcom'd the moment of


Still heav'd, as remembering ills that were o'er!

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,

Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead;

And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their pow'r,

As the billow the force of the gale that was fled!

I thought of the days, when to pleasure alone
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh,
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known,
Was pity for those who were wiser than I!

I felt how the pure intellectual fire
In luxury loses its heavenly ray;
How soon, in the languishing cup of desire,
The pearl of the soul may be melted away!

And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame,
That pleasure no more might its purity dim;
And that, sullied but little, or brightly the same,
I might give back the gem I had borrow'd from

The thought was ecstatic! I felt as if Heaven
Had already the wreath of Eternity shown;
As if, passion all chasten'd, and error forgiven,
My heart had begun to be purely its own!

I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky,
Which morning had clouded, was clouded no


"Oh! thus," I exclaim'd, " can a Heavenly eye Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before!"



DAYS of my youth! ye have glided away;
Hairs of my youth! ye are frosted and grey;
Eyes of my youth! your keen sight is no more;
Cheeks of my youth! ye are furrow'd all o'er;
Strength of my youth! all your vigour is gone;
Thoughts of my youth! your gay visions are

Days of my youth! I wish not your recall;
Hairs of my youth! I'm content you should fall;




Days C Pains

Joys C Eyes











Eyes of my youth! ye much evil have seen; Cheeks of my youth! bath'd in tears ye have


Thoughts of my youth! ye have led me astray; Strength of my youth! why lament your decay?

Days of my age! ye will shortly be past;
Pains of my age! yet awhile can ye last;
Joys of my age! in true wisdom delight;
Eyes of my age! be religion your light;
Thoughts of my age! dread ye not the cold sod;
Hopes of my age! be ye fix'd on your God!



WHILE thou at eventide art roaming
Along the elm-o'ershadow'd walk,
While past the eddying stream is foaming,
And falling down-a cataract,—
Where I to thee was wont to talk,
Think thou upon the days gone by,
And heave a sigh.

When sails the moon above the mountains,
And cloudless skies are purely blue,
And sparkle in the light the fountains,

And darker frowns the lonely yew,
Then be thou melancholy too,
When pausing on the hours I prov'd
With thee, belov'd.

When wakes the dawn upon thy dwelling,
And ling'ring shadows disappear,

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