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Pricks her bob-tail, and waves her ears,
And happier than a queen appears:
-Poor beast! from fell ambition free,
And all the woes of LIBERTY;
Born in a gaol, a prisoner bred,

No dreams of hunting rack thine head;
Ah! mayst thou never pass these bounds
To see the world-and feel the hounds!
Still all her beauty, all her art,

Have fail'd to win her husband's heart;
Her lambent eyes, and lovely chest;
Her swan-like neck, and ermine breast;
Her taper legs, and spotty hide,
So softly, delicately pied,

In vain their fond allurements spread,—
To love and joy her spouse is dead.
But lo! the evening shadows fall
Broader and browner from the wall;
A warning voice, like curfew-bell,
Commands each captive to his cell;
My faithful dog and I retire,
To play and chatter by the fire:
Soon comes a turnkey with "Good night, sir!"
And bolts the door with all his might, sir:
'Then leisurely to bed I creep,

And sometimes wake-and sometimes sleep.
These are the joys that reign in prison,
And if I'm happy, 't is with reason:
Yet still this prospect o'er the rest
Makes every blessing doubly blest;
That soon these pleasures will be vanish'd,
And I, from all these comforts, banish'd!
June 14, 1796.

THE BRAMIN.

EXTRACT FROM CANTO I.

ONCE, on the mountain's balmy lap reclined,
The sage unlock'd the treasures of his mind;
Pure from his lips sublime instruction came,
As the blest altar breathes celestial flame;
A band of youths and virgins round him press'd,
Whom thus the prophet and the sage address'd.

"Through the wide universe's boundless range, All that exist decay, revive, and change: No atom torpid or inactive lies;

A being, once created, never dies.

The waning moon, when quench'd in shades of night,
Renews her youth with all the charms of light;
The flowery beauties of the blooming year
Shrink from the shivering blast, and disappear;
Yet, warm'd with quickening showers of genial rain,
Spring from their graves, and purple all the plain.
As day the night, and night succeeds the day,
So death reanimates, so lives decay:

Like billows on the undulating main,
The swelling fall, the falling swell again;

Thus, on the tide of time, inconstant, roll

The dying body and the living soul.
In every animal, inspired with breath,
The flowers of life produce the seeds of death;—
The seeds of death, though scatter'd in the tomb,
Spring with new vigor, vegetate and bloom.

"When wasted down to dust the creature dies
Quick, from its cell, the enfranchised spirit flies;
Fills, with fresh energy, another form,
And towers an elephant, or glides a worm;
The awful lion's royal shape assumes;
The fox's subtlety, or peacock's plumes;
Swims, like an eagle, in the eye of noon,
Or wails, a screech-owl, to the deaf, cold moon;
Haunts the dread brakes, where serpents hiss and glare,
Or hums, a glittering insect, in the air.

The illustrious souls of great and virtuous men,
In noble animals revive again :

But base and vicious spirits wind their way
In scorpions, vultures, sharks, and beasts of prey.
The fair, the gay, the witty, and the brave,
The fool, the coward, courtier, tyrant, slave;
Each, in congenial animals, shall find

A home and kindred for his wandering mind.

"Even the cold body, when enshrined in earth, Rises again in vegetable birth:

From the vile ashes of the bad proceeds
A baneful harvest of pernicious weeds;
The relics of the good, awaked by showers,
Peep from the lap of death, and live in flowers;
Sweet modest flowers, that blush along the vale,
Whose fragrant lips embalm the passing gale."

EXTRACT FROM CANTO II.

Now, mark the words these dying lips impart,
And wear this grand memorial round your heart:
All that inhabit ocean, air, or earth,
From ONE ETERNAL SIRE derive their birth.
The Hand that built the palace of the sky
Form'd the light wings that decorate a fly;
The Power that wheels the circling planets round
Rears every infant flow'ret on the ground;
That Bounty which the mightiest beings share
Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air.
Thus all the wild inhabitants of woods,
Children of air, and tenants of the floods;
All, all are equal, independent, free,
And all the heirs of immortality!

For all that live and breathe have once been men,
And, in succession, will be such again:

Even you, in turn, that human shape must change,
And through ten thousand forms of being range.

Ah! then, refrain your brethren's blood to spill,
And, till you can create, forbear to kill!
Oft as a guiltless fellow-creature dies,
The blood of innocence for vengeance cries:
Even grim, rapacious savages of prey,
Presume not, save in self-defence, to slay.
What, though to Heaven their forfeit lives they owe
Hath Heaven commission'd thee to deal the blow?
Crush not the feeble, inoffensive worm.

Thy sister's spirit wears that humble form!
Why should thy cruel arrow smite yon bird?

In him thy brother's plaintive song is heard.
When the poor, harmless kid, all trembling, lies,
And begs his little life with infant cries,
Think, ere you take the throbbing victim's breath,
You doom a dear, an only child, to death.

When at the ring the beauteous heifer stands,
-Stay, monster! stay those parricidal hands;
Canst thou not, in that mild dejected face,
The sacred features of thy mother trace?
When to the stake the generous bull you lead,
Tremble, ah, tremble,-lest your father bleed.
Let not your anger on your dog descend,
The faithful animal was once your friend;
The friend whose courage snatch'd you from the grave,
When wrapt in flames or sinking in the wave.

From age to age, from world to world aspire,
And climb the scale of being higher and higher;
But who these awful mysteries dare explore?
Pause, O my soul! and tremble, and adore.

There is a Power, all other powers above,
Whose name is Goodness, and His nature Love:
Who call'd the infant universe to light,
From central nothing and circumfluent night.
On His great providence all worlds depend,

-Rash, impious youth! renounce that horrid knife, As trembling atoms to their centre tend:

Spare the sweet antelope' ah, spare-thy wife!
in the meek victim's tear-illumined eyes,
See the soft image of thy consort rise;
Such as she is, when by romantic streams,
Her spirit greets thee in delightful dreams;
Not as she look'd, when blighted in her bloom;
Not as she lies, all pale in yonder tomb;
That mournful tomb, where all thy joys repose!
That hallow'd tomb, where all thy griefs shall close.

While yet I sing, the weary king of light
Resigns his sceptre to the queen of night;
Unnumber'd orbs of living fire appear,
And roll in glittering grandeur o'er the sphere.
Perhaps the soul, released from earthly ties,
A thousand ages hence may mount the skies;
Through suns and planets, stars and systems range,
In each new forms assume, relinquish, change;

In nature's face His glory shines confest,
She wears His sacred image on her breast;
His spirit breathes in every living soul;
His bounty feeds, his presence fills the whole;
Though seen, invisible-though felt, unknown:
All that exist, exist in Him alone.

But who the wonders of His hand can trace
Through the dread ocean of unfathom'd space?
When from the shore we lift our fainting eyes,
Where boundless scenes of God-like grandeur rise,
Like sparkling atoms in the noontide rays,
Worlds, stars, and suns, and universes blaze!
Yet these transcendent monuments that shine,
Eternal miracles of skill divine,

These, and ten thousand more, are only still
The shadow of His power, the transcript of His will.
April 14, 1796.

Miscellaneous Poems.

O laborum

Dulce lenimen, mihicumque salve
Rite vocanti.

Horat. ad Lyram, Od. XXXII, lib. 1.

THE GRAVE.

THERE is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found,
They softly lie and sweetly sleep

Low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer-evening's latest sigh

That shuts the rose.

I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.

For Misery stole me at my birth,
And cast me helpless on the wild:
I perish ;-O my Mother Earth,

Take home thy Child.

On thy dear lap these limbs reclined,
Shall gently moulder into thee;

Nor leave one wretched trace behind
Resembling me.

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"A bruised reed he will not break;
Afflictions all his children feel;
He wounds them for his mercy's sake,
He wounds to heal.

"Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Prostrate his Providence adore :
"Tis done!-Arise! HE bids thee stand,
To fall no more.

"Now, Traveller in the vale of tears,
To realms of everlasting light,
Through Time's dark wilderness of years,
Pursue thy flight.

"There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary Pilgrims found;
And while the mouldering ashes sleep
Low in the ground,

"The Soul, of origin divine,
GOD's glorious image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine
A star of day.

"The SUN is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The SOUL, immortal as its Sire,
SHALL NEVER DIE."

THE LYRE.

Ah! who would love the lyre?
W. B. Stevens.

WHERE the roving rill meander'd
Down the green retiring vale,
Poor, forlorn ALCEUS wander'd,
Pale with thought, serenely pale:
Timeless sorrow o'er his face
Breathed a melancholy grace,
And fix'd on every feature there
The mournful resignation of despair.

O'er his arm, his lyre neglected,
Once his dear companion, hung,
And, in spirit deep dejected,

Thus the pensive poet sung:
While, at midnight's solemn noon,
Sweetly shone the cloudless moon,
And all the stars, around his head,
Benignly bright, their mildest influence shed

"Lyre! O Lyre! my chosen treasure,

Solace of my bleeding heart;

Lyre! O Lyre! my only pleasure,
We must now for ever part:
For in vain thy poet sings,

Wooes in vain thine heavenly strings;
The Muse's wretched sons are born
To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn.

"That which Alexander sigh'd for,
That which Caesar's soul possess'd,
That which heroes, kings, have died for-
Glory!-animates my breast:

Hark! the charging trumpets' throats
Pour their death-defying notes;
To arms!' they call: to arms I fly,

Like Wolfe to conquer, and like Wolfe to die.

"Soft!-the blood of murder'd legions
Summons vengeance from the skies;
Flaming towns and ravaged regions.
All in awful judgment rise.—
O then, innocently brave,

I will wrestle with the wave;
Lo! Commerce spreads the daring sail,
And yokes her naval chariots to the gale.

"Blow, ye breezes!-gently blowing,
Waft me to that happy shore,
Where from fountains ever flowing
Indian realms their treasures pour :
Thence returning, poor in health,
Rich in honesty and wealth,
O'er thee, my dear paternal soil,
I'll strew the golden harvest of my toil.

"Then shall Misery's sons and daughters
In their lowly dwellings sing;
Bounteous as the Nile's dark waters,
Undiscover'd as the spring,

I will scatter o'er the land
Blessings with a secret hand;-
For such angelic tasks design'd,

I give the Lyre and sorrow to the wind."

On an oak, whose branches hoary
Sigh'd to every passing breeze,
Sigh'd and told the simple story
Of the patriarch of trees;
High in the air his harp he hung,
Now no more to rapture strung;
Then warm in hope, no longer pale,

He blush'd adieu, and rambled down the dale.

Lightly touch'd by fairy fingers,

Hark! the Lyre enchants the wind;
Fond Alcæus listens, lingers,

-Lingering, listening, looks behind.
Now the music mounts on high,
Sweetly swelling through the sky;
To every tone, with tender heat,

His heart-strings vibrate, and his pulses beat.

Now the strains to silence stealing,
Soft in ecstacies expire;

Oh! with what romantic feeling
Poor Alcæus grasps the Lyre.
Lo! his furious hand he flings
In a tempest o'er the strings;

He strikes the chords so quick, so loud,

'Tis Jove that scatters lightning from a cloud.

"Lyre! O Lyre! my chosen treasure,
Solace of my bleeding heart;
Lyre! O Lyre! my only pleasure,
We will never, never part.
Glory, Commerce, now in vain
Tempt me to the field, the main;
The Muse's sons are blest, though born
To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn.

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Her favorite birds, in feeble notes,

Lament thy long delay;

And strain their little stammering throats
To charm thy blasts away.

Ah, Winter, calm thy cruel rage,
Release the struggling year;

Thy power is past, decrepit Sage,
Arise and disappear.

The stars that graced thy splendid night
Are lost in warmer rays;

The Sun, rejoicing in his might,
Unrolls celestial days.

Then why, usurping Winter, why
Still flags thy frozen wing?
Fly, unrelenting tyrant, fly—

And yield the year to Spring.

SONG.

ROUND Love's Elysian bowers The fairest prospects rise; There bloom the sweetest flowers, There shine the purest skies, And joy and rapture gild awhile The cloudless heaven of Beauty's smile.

Round Love's deserted bowers

Tremendous rocks arise;
Cold mildews blight the flowers,

Tornadoes rend the skies:

And Pleasure's waning moon goes down
Amid the night of Beauty's frown.

Then, Youth, thou fond believer!
The wily Siren shun:
Who trusts the dear Deceiver

Will surely be undone.
When Beauty triumphs, ah! beware:
Her smile is hope-her frown despair.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING OF YARDLY OAK, CELEBRATED BY COWPER.

See Hayley's Life and Letters of W. Cowper, Esq.

THIS sole survivor of a race
Of giant oaks, where once the wood
Rang with the battle or the chase,
In stern and lonely grandeur stood.

From age to age, it slowly spread
Its gradual boughs to sun and wind;
From age to age, its noble head
As slowly wither'd and declined.

A thousand years are like a day,
When fled-no longer known than seen;
This tree was doom'd to pass away,
And be as if it ne'er had been;-
But mournful Cowper, wandering nigh,
For rest beneath its shadow came,
When, lo! the voice of days gone by
Ascended from its hollow frame.

O that the Poet had reveal'd
The words of those prophetic strains,
Ere Death the eternal mystery seal'd!
-Yet in his song the Oak remains.

And fresh in undecaying prime,
There may it live, beyond the power
Of storm and earthquake, Man and Time,
Till Nature's conflagration-hour.

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Sweet roses grace the thorny way
Along this vale of sorrow;
The flowers that shed their leaves to-day
Shall bloom again to-morrow:
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy "Friendship, Love, and Truth!"

On halcyon wings our moments pass,
Life's cruel cares beguiling;
Old Time lays down his scythe and ghss
In gay good-humor smiling:
With ermine beard and forelock grey

His reverend front adorning,
He looks like Winter turn'd to May,
Night soften'd into Morning.
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy "Friendship, Love, and Truth
From these delightful fountains flow
Ambrosial rills of pleasure:
Can man desire, can Heaven bestow
A more resplendent treasure?
Adorn'd with gems so richly bright,
We'll form a Constellation,
Where every Star, with modest light
Shall gild his proper station.
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy"Friendship, Love, and Truth

RELIGION,

AN OCCASIONAL HYMN.

THROUGH shades and solitudes profound The fainting traveller winds his way Bewildering meteors glare around,

And tempt his wandering feet astray

Welcome, thrice welcome, to his eye,

The sudden moon's inspiring light, When forth she sallies through the sky,

The guardian angel of the night.

Thus mortals, blind and weak, below

Pursue the phantom Bliss, in vain, The world's a wilderness of woe, And life a pilgrimage of pain,Till mild RELIGION, from above,

Descends, a sweet engaging formThe messenger of heavenly love,

The bow of promise in a storm.

Then guilty passions wing their flight, Sorrow, remorse, affliction cease; RELIGION'S yoke is soft and light,

And all her paths are paths of peace.

Ambition, pride, revenge depart,
And folly flies her chastening rod;
She makes the humble contrite heart
A temple of the living God.

Beyond the narrow vale of time,
Where bright celestial ages roll,
To scenes eternal, scenes sublime,
She points the way, and leads the sou!

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