The Power of Solitude

Front matter

POWER of SOLITUDE.

Drawn by

Corne, Salem

Part First

THE

OF

E.

PART FIRST

ppoem|align=left|{fine} So oft the finer movements of the soul, That shun the sphere of pleasure's gay control, In the still shades of calm SECLUSION rise, And breathe their sweet, seraphic harmonies. >>PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

ON THE HEART.

ANALYSIS OF THE FIRST PART.

THE poem opens with a description of the pleasures of Solitude, and the final cause of them is resolved into the laws of association and sympathy. Hence is derived the love of classic ruins, and of the retreats of departed,genius; hence also the love of sublime, picturesque, and beautiful, scenery; and these associated influences are exemplified in various historic allusions and descriptive pictures—The inefficacy of social scenes to afford consolation to the heart in the unfortunate incidents of life, in disease, despair, disappointment, and sorrow; and the corresponding benign influence of Solitude in awakening kind and benevolent emotions, and alleviating the miseries of life. The influence of Solitude on the various passions is next introduced; and hope, despair, and love, are represented, as deriving peculiar consolation and delight in retired life. The vanity of grandeur is next descanted on, and illustrated by historic details-The influence of Solitude in age, sorrow, and death, is attempted to be shewn in the tale of ST. AUBIN—Some reflections follow on the pleasures derived from the recollection of youthful scenes, particularly in the tranquillity of retired life—The cultivation of the more refined powers of the soul, tho often attended with pain, enlarges the circle of happiness, and elevates the character and sentiments to their highest perfection and dignity The argument thence derived of the immortality of the soul—The poem then concludes with an address to friendship.

THE

POWER OF SOLITUDE.

O'ER the dim glen when autumn's dewy ray Sheds the mild lustres of retiring day, While scarce the breeze with whispering murmur flows To hymn its dirge at evening's placid close: When awful silence holds her sullen reign, And moonlight sparkles on the dimpled main; Or thro some ancient, solitary tower Disport loose shadows at the midnight hour: Whence flows the charm these hallowed scenes impart, To warm the fancy, and affect the heart? Why swells the breast, alive at every pore, With throbs unknown, with pains unfelt before?

Why turns the restless glance on every side In grateful gloom, or melancholy pride? Touched by quick sympathy's mysterious spring Thought's airy sprites in mazy circles wing, On the fine nerves impress a trembling thrill, And move obedient to the wakeful will, Till memory's trains in swift succession rise, And round retirement blend harmonic dyes.

Where virtue triumphed, or where valor bled; Where classic ruins mid the wreck of time In tranquil grandeur lift their heads sublime; The lone enthusiast loves the lines to trace, Which genius chiselled on the bust of grace, To muse on elder lore, and studious thence Light the pure thought, and nerve the manly sense. Still, as wild Avon winds in silent pride, His Shakespere's hautboy charms the listening tide;

Still Arno trembles with the minstrel's note, And fancy's strains on tardy Mincio float, As when young Maro poured his matchless lay, And sweetly carolled to the god of day.

Sweet, trembling ecstasies, which swiftly rise, Melt the full soul, and press the rich surprise! What kindling verse shall dare those charms express, Now bathed in bliss, now steeped in tenderness, When the rapt thought, by sacred fancy. led, Paints to the living, what embalms the dead. When near the tomb, where Ilion's victor lay, The Granic hero paused to weep and pray, (2)n2 What time the pathos of the bard of fire Flowed o'er his lips to calm his wakeful ire, Ah! who shall sketch in colors bright, as life, The moving agonies, the rapturous strife, The frequent sighs, which heaved his breast, to raise A friend to sooth him, and a bard to praise?

Vain were the toil, the mystic spring of thought, Like lightning, shivers, but can ne'er be caught.

Hence too, with majesty supremely rude Where nature frowns in deepest solitude, The local genius, as unawed he braves Impending cataracts, or giant caves, Feels all his soul dilate with zeal sublime, Its grandeur heightening with the kindred clime.

Nor less the scenes, where varied beauties shine, To gentler feelings lend a charm divine; Silence and gloom a holier peace inspire, Free the prest heart, and cool the fierce desire; E'en sadness, pausing o'er her woes awhile, Relents her brow, and wakes a transient smile.

Blest link of being, whence successive thought Leaps into life, in social order wrought,

What subtle powers connect thy airy train, Touch but the first, and myriads crowd the brain! From thee seclusion gains her magic art, To wake the mind, and elevate the heart, From thee, gay fancy every image gleans, Which breathes perfection o'er illusive scenes, And, urged by thee, the forms of memory true Thro cornean portals pass in bright review. (3)n3

'Tis evening's watch, while silver twilight fails, Scarce winds the seabreeze round the flaccid sails; Athwart his eyes oblique the moonlight cast, The jocund sailor climbs the giddy mast, Charmed, while he seems in distant sounds to hear Some ready welcome meet his listening ear. Hushed be each voice, the bursting joke suspend, Lo! on his soul the dreams of hope descend; At home he sits, the dangerous voyage o'er, Tells all his ills, and would the tale were more;

Unbidden tears console for perils past, And each new smile seems lovelier, than the last; Round his rocked knee his sportive infants press, Ask the fresh kiss, and steal the fond caress; Joy follows joy, the welcome circles round, The tale repeated, and the bumper crowned; Love, fancy, hope, his glowing senses steep, And waft his visions o'er the bounding deep.

Yet there are those, whose souls of heavier mould No joys, like these, no chastened joys unfold; For them in vain in sober landscape reign The mouldered turret and the moonlight main; For them bright fiction never taught to glow In fairy tales or legendary woe; For them no spirits walk the dusky cave, No murmuring Naiads drink the lucid wave, No fine enchantments, raised at Wieland's call, (4)n4 Convene her shadowy train to fancy's hall;

Unsought, unwished, the curious scenery flows, Presiding dulness nods, and nods to doze!

But come, ye good, to mark her living power, Whom nature fashioned in a happier hour, Whose tender nerves, to nicer sense alive, Feel in each touch electric life revive; If high in wish, your ardent souls explore Each secret haunt of wisdom's treasured lore; If proud in bliss, at Hymen's brightened shrine Ye close the mutual hope in joy divine; Or, sad reverse! if cursed with every pain, Which crowds convulsion thro the trembling vein, Doomed lone and friendless life's drear paths to rove, The scorn of pride, or prey of injured love; Retire, and own seclusion's power to shed The cheering beam round merit's drooping head, Retire, and there the moral lesson prest Shall teach in blessing, how the heart is blest.

Why will ye tell of all the world can give? Say, can it teach the science, how to live? How best in generous deeds the soul employ, And form its views to virtue's blameless joy? Here all the glory lies, to fortune known, And here the cottage emulates the throne. What tho the courtly pomp of eastern pride Deck the rich couch, and o'er the feast preside, What tho from suppliant crowds the sceptre claim Unrivalled honours and unquestioned fame; Can these, where avarice haunts the pining mind, Calm the fierce rage, which preys on human kind? Can these, where conscience fills with deep dismay, Reverse the gloom, and change the night to day? Can these, where anguish holds her fiery reign, Raze out the written troubles of the brain? O'er the proud scene the sword of haggard care Hangs to destroy, suspended by a hair!

Search the wide world, or, versed in classic lore, Mark the dread truth on Puteoli's shore; Mid gorgeous domes, and flattery's servile host, Ambitious Sylla roams a restless ghost; (5)n5 In vain debauch her syren forms assumes, Care haunts his soul with visionary glooms, The world's proud conqueror asks a moment's ease, Cursed in decline, and loathsome in disease.

Alas! no balms the courted crowd dispense To heal the aching throes of sickened sense; There morbid interest plies her ceaseless art To dull affection, and seduce the heart; There harsh disdain, to human misery steeled, With secret triumph hears the fault revealed; Or if perchance a gleam of pity shine, Its dubious aspect marks some base design. Yea, tho the generous smile, the polished grace, Like fair Apega, ask a false embrace, (6)n6

Too oft its victim finds, the glittering toy Lure to deceive, and flatter to destroy.

The lovely maid, whose native virtues flow Chaste, as the airy web of printless snow, If in sad hour, the prey of treacherous toil, Her rifled honour fall some plunderer's spoil, How vain the hope to hide from public fame Her deep contrition and ingenuous shame! Where'er she turns, the circled crime prevails, In smiles reproaches, and in sneers assails, And, like some troubled ghost, in thin disguise The pointed insult meets her downcast eyes. In vain may eloquence in mercy plead To spare the person, yet detest the deed, (7)n7 Ungenerous censure dooms to deadlier woe The wretch, who suffered, than who dealt the blow.

Poor, wandering outcast, tho with arrowy sway Imbittered memory haunt the fatal day, When life's bright visions with pollution fled, And virtue sickened with the tears she shed; No more returned the scenes of festive mirth, When youth and fancy cheered the social hearth, Or, tripped with truant steps the verdant heath, To watch the sunbeam, as it blushed in death: Yet shall meek solitude with temperate sway Gild the deep shade, and light the closing day, Lull the keen pangs, thy bleeding breast that tore, And hallow transports, life can ne'er restore.

So to the picture's many coloured face Time's secret touch imparts a ripening grace, Mellows each tint, and still, as dies the blaze, Each softer beauty on the canvass plays.

By pious vows to quench the throb of love, When royal pride with guilt, that ne'er shall fade, Spurned the fond victim, whom his art betrayed. Sweet maid, thy heart, by tenderness subdued, Too frail for virtue, and for vice too good, Mid the drear abbey's gloom could proudly Know A joy in horror, and a charm in woe. —Where the cold coffin guards its virgin's sleep, (9)n9 And holy penance lives to watch and weep, The lovelorn nymph, each human frailty o'er, Gave her fond heart to tremble and adore.

Supernal Power, tho pain, tho sickness press, Wing the sharp pang, and urge the keen distress, Tho drear confinement every feeling chill, Arrest the wish, and mock the imprisoned will, Thro every change thy active charm prevails, Each thought enlivens, and each sense regales,

And, o'er the scene when darker horror lowers, Illumes with moral light the weary hours.

Lo, where the torches throw reverted light, What solemn pageants crowd the funeral rite! Shrill winds the blast, and thro some broken cloud Gleam the wan moonbeams o'er the flapping shroud; Nor more is heard, save in some dismal pause From rank to rank a sullen murmur draws, And save, where, perch'd the neighbouring yews among, The boding raven croaks his hateful song. Hark! from the tombs the faultering service read, Dust to the dust consigned, and dead to dead; The victim fell in youth's unblemished pride, A darling sister, and a destined bride, Cropped, like some flower in native beauty gay, That greets the morn to blush its life away. One moment hence, to freeze the soul of mirth, On the sunk coffin pelts the rattling earth!

Ungracious sound! at whose disasterous tale The live flesh quivers, and the moon grows pale: Shriek follows shriek, the fainting mourners yearn, And close the delved house, whence is no return.

Sure, if one scene in misery's darkest hour E'er thro the soul diffused a deadly power, That scene were here, when midnight's startling chill Crawls o'er the flesh in mockery of the will! Yet deem not hence, distempered fancy led Such lonely rituals o'er sepulchered dead; From glooms, like these, the kindred soul shall glean Those holier sentiments, that work unseen, From human ills shall snatch a zeal sublime, Its trust in heaven, its triumph over time.

Go, view the convent's dull, monastic gloom, Cold, as despair, and silent, as the tomb,

Where harsh religion rules with bigot sway The lingering hour, and damps the tedious day; Where rayless horror o'er the embrio joy Hangs, like some fiend, to strangle and destroy; In vain the bosom heaves with passion's sigh, Rubies the lip, or melts the azure eye; In vain the cheek with love's carnation glows, Or thro the heart voluptuous riot flows; Since here the virgin pines in holy dread, Spouse of despair, and tenant with the dead.

Still here are charms, by mental truth refined, To lure affliction from the wounded mind; Here vestal zeal on rapt devotion soars, With faith's keen eye the future world explores, Leads faultering hope thro error's dubious road, And lights the trembling soul to heaven's abode.

Hark, from yon cloisters, wrapt in gloom profound, The solemn organ peals its midnight sound; The choral anthem swells along the aisle, Bursts the deep vaults, and shakes the echoing pile, While trembling gleams, as distant tapers move, Sweep the cold walls, and fringe the cypress grove. With cautious reverence round their glimmering shrine Press the meek nuns, and raise the prayer divine; Here, weeping penance lifts her reddened eye, Pours the weak plaint, and breathes the heartfelt sigh; There, wan devotion bends with wistful gaze, Or chants the vocal hymn of vesper praise; While, pure in thought as sweet responses rise, Each grief subsides, each wild emotion dies, Heaven's calm delights their erring souls employ, And sweet seclusion whispers promised joy.

Burst their dim cells, and bade the dead rejoice,

Recalled the victims from despair's embrace, And rent the vestal veil from beauty's face, Why did the lingering train with anxious view Hang o'er the walls, and weep and wave adieu? Why ask with suppliant tears the warlike brave To grant a cloister's life, a cloister's grave? Ah! then remembrance with convulsive start Renewed those scenes, erewhile which soothed the heart, When kind religion, as the vespers closed, Each wish attempered, and each care composed.

So chained by tyrant power in cursed Bastile, Whose weeping walls uncounted wrongs reveal, Fate's hopeless victim, prey of cankerous care, On torture feeds, and surfeits on despair. But hark! the portal on its hinges jars, And freedom's arm unbolts the ponderous bars, Enwrapt in flames she melts his chains away, And leads the astonished captive forth to day:

Yet lo, what sadness wastes his shrivelled cheek, (11)n11 What strangled utterance mocks the wish to speak! His muttered sighs implore from generous fate The flinty pillow, and the dayless grate. Alas! with light reflection woke her reign, And turned at memory's touch the whole to pain: No glance of welcome meets his searching eye, No pitying children echo sigh for sigh; In vain he asks a home from door to door, The place, which knew him once, knows now no more; E'en the few friends, whom heaven had taught his woes, The narrow house had lodged in long repose: Nought, nought, remained to sooth the stranger's care, Save the lone walls, his prison, and his prayer!

But where to mark seclusion's happiest art, Shall reason search the chambers of the heart? Since all the passions own her moral sway, By turns support her, and by turns obey:

Love, hope, and joy, thro all her shades disport, Her dreams enliven, and her presence court; While grief and anguish every pang dismiss, Or hail in fancy images of bliss.

When the fond mother o'er the cradle bends To trace each joy familiar fancy lends, Tho from her heart perturbed emotions rise, While mutely earnest turn her aching eyes, Since every smile, that lights her cherub's face, And every look, that marks the father's grace, Tells her lone heart in agonies of care Of joys departed, and 'of days that were:' Yet think not hence, existence darkly teems With shapes more dreadful, than the murderer's dreams; Think not, that grief usurps with strong control, Resistless empire o'er the widowed soul; Still, where affection's softening influence wakes, Thro the deep shades a milder lustre breaks,

Hope spans the years, that dimly float between, And lights with opening bliss the distant scene.

Nor pause we here, but mark hope's silent sway Pervade the soul to chase its cares away, When love unblest the morn of life consumes In deep regrets and visionary glooms. Oft will she rise, and o'er the night diffuse Ideal charms in fancy's golden hues, And, while seclusion's moral comforts bless, By sweetly tempering, what defies redress, Round memory's eye her freshened twilight plays With the calm images of former days.

Breathe the pure sense, that softens and refines, At every vein when injured virtue bled, And anguish froze the tears by passion shed,

While yet young beauty's rich, transparent dye Blushed in her cheek, and mantled in her eye, Sought the dim cell, where changeless rigor reigns, And wan repentance clanks her wasting chains, Where the cold walls of Paraclete aspire, And bigot horrors feed religion's fire. E'en there love shed a soft enchantment round, When midnight dews enwrapt the charnel ground; From the full choir, as pealing anthems rose, Or dying requiems hymned divine repose, The mingling strain with warm devotion stole To breathe a holy languor o'er the soul: Or thro the shades by fancy's guiding light St. gildas opened on her wishful sight; Again she seemed that voice of love to hear, Whose early music won her credent ear; Again sweet converse cheered the classic bower, Where science lingered many a social hour;

Forgot the dismal years, which swept between, Since vestal duties closed each earthly scene; Forgot the matin rite, the chanted air, A lovelier image stole her virgin prayer; Resistless hope, to mental feelings true, O'er the deep gloom its rich perspective threw.

Blest be that power, which chased the fiends of care, And called his trembling spirit from despair, When crazed with love, by treacherous wiles betrayed, Desponding Petrarch sought Vauclusa's shade. (13)n13 There loved the bard mid rocks grotesque and bold His liberal converse with the dead to hold; Above, dark woods, o'er dizzy torrents hung, Thro winding vales their giant shadows flung; Below, from springs, where scarce a bubble whirled, Thro verdant glens the silver Sorgia purled; The landscape round in pure luxuriance smiled; Here, soft, and calm; there, grand, abrupt, and wild;

Claude's finest genius seemed to touch the place With witching gloom and melancholy grace: Haunts, meet for joy to muse the Lesbian strain, But rife with perils, when the passions reign; In every shade the visioned maid descends, And, fancy's captive, low the minstrel bends! Seen is her form, as when in proud St. Claire (14)n14 The lovely damsel blushed divinely fair; Transparent green with violet purflew swims Round her fair breast, and clasps her prisoned limbs; Light o'er her snowy neck in volumes rolled, The mantling ringlets sport their flowing gold; The sparkling eye thro auburn lashes plays, Flash follows flash; and blaze succeeds to blaze; She breathes, the dews of richest heaven distil; She speaks, and music pours its sweetest trill; Grace on her lips with magic virtue dwells, Truth weaves the text, and love the comment spells:

Too dangerous charms! in vain the lover flies, Voluptuous visions meet his startled eyes; The woods, the streams, the echoing rocks confess, A present angel haunts the charmed recess! —E'en now the pilgrim, as with musing pace His anxious steps the classic ruin trace, Still marks the spot, by circling shades enclosed, Where the fond lover oft at noon reposed; Still hears his voice along the vocal grove Breathe the sad harmonies of thoughtful love; Still hears, "my Laura" rustle thro the trees, Float on the tide, and echo on the breeze, More sweet, than Ariel's strains enchanted stole (15)n15 To sooth to peace the shipwrecked stranger's soul; More soft, than Memnon's harp its music plays, (16)n16 Trilled by the sportive touch of orient rays.

Reflects its image on the tranquil tide,

The widowed minstrel loved his reed to play, And dream of Lucy thro the livelong day.

Sung his lost Emma to the sylvan train, And round his Leasowes to the listening grove So Shenstone warbled notes of hopeless love.

For injured feeling when fond hope has flown, What can suffice, and what in price atone? What blest Siloam shall to health restore The cheerless wretch, who bleeds at every pore? Faint on despair, the stinted kindness shines, Faint, as the wintry sun on Siber's mines, The distant gleam with sullen contrast falls, Flits o'er the past, and every grief recals.

The piteous youth beside yon straggling thorn, His hair dishevelled, and his look forlorn,

Whose hollow eyes, by midnight watchings pale, With mute reproach upbraid the piercing gale, Once shone, like thee, howe'er matured in grace, The manly glory of an ancient race; Once, skilled in lore, informed with brilliant sense, And poured Hyblæan strains of eloquence; Once gaily pleased, for love his heart beguiled, And mutual passion ripened, while she smiled; But fate's stern angel, foe of all that's fair, With sickening envy eyed the faithful pair, Sped the fell shaft, which bade perfection die, And cut the knot, he never could untie. (19)n19

Oft as the village sports at evening close, And westering twilight sinks to short repose, Pale, as some withered corpse, with muttered cries The pensive mourner thro the churchyard hies, Bends o'er Maria's grave in speechless grief, With looks, that ask, yet seem to mock relief,

And, crazed with anguish, turns his frantic glare, Raves to the wind, or breathes convulsive prayer: Hah! 'tis his voice, that on the ravening gale Heaves the deep plaint, and pours the tender wail, It seems in fitful strains his woes to moan, Or half suppressed remurmurs in a groan. And can the scenes of idle tumult lend. One gleam of comfort for his perished friend? Can social glee Iapian balms impart To chase one anguish from his harrowed heart? Yet shall retirement yield some mystic leaf To staunch the wounds of solitary grief; And, while in softer tones and milder woe Round memory's eye the imaged sorrows flow, Fond hope, as life decays, with sweet control (20)n20 To fancy's dreams shall harmonize his soul.

But when the passions, urged by darker strife, Prey on the soul to burst the springs of life,

Or brood o'er human ills with sleepless care To fix some purpose of convulsed despair; If harshly doomed those deadly pangs to feel, Which time can ne'er subdue, nor fancy heal, To mark with frenzied glare parental pride Frown on thy hopes, and crush thy destined bride; Parental pride! whose withering prudence spies No worth, but interest, thro its jaundiced eyes, And stands unawed, in sacred fury wild, The lustful murderer of its bartered child; If such thy doom, with eager steps evade The glen, the stream, the twilight, and the glade; Fly from thyself, nor rouse in sullen mood The lurid thoughts, from hell's worst sorcery brewed; Lest thy quick wrath indignant smite the air With muttered curses on the blighted fair, Or injured honor burn with impious ire To point destruction on the guilty sire:

Fly the rich page, where gloomy genius drew His Werter bleeding, and his crazed St. Preux, Where schemes of dreadful presage win the mind In spells, that fasten, and in charms, that blind Lest in some hour, when cautious reason sleeps, Thy weary footsteps pace Leucadian steeps, Love, hatred, vengeance, death, thy soul divide, And wroth distraction woo to suicide.

Nor seek the crowd, whose jealous vice lays bare In senseless rage the wounds of fixed despair; Keen to destroy, there lurks the insidious smile, Corrupt in hatred, and in kindness vile; There lovelorn anguish claims no generous tear, The look, half pity, kindling barbs a sneer. Yea, as the funeral flames unwedded rose, Disdained alliance, and abhorred to close, When fierce in death the rival brothers lay, (21)n21 On the same pyre, in Thebes' disastrous day:

So be thy life from maddening riot free, Its baleful commerce, and its heartless glee, Eternal warfare urge thy closing breath, And stern division triumph over death. But on the breast of some fond friend recline, Whose joys commune, whose sorrows melt with thine; So shall a holier dew from heaven distilled, Hush the sharp throb, and quench the sigh unwilled; So pensive memory lose the sense of pain, Charmed into peace beneath affection's reign.

Nor less we own seclusion's magic skill To mould the temper, as she guides the will; Beneath her shades the kindred virtues meet, Blend in gay groups, and twine in union sweet; Resigned their rage the fiery passions rest, And gentlest musings woo the softened breast; Tranquil, yet bright, each beauteous image flows To lull the soul in fancy's witched repose.

E'en those we love, more winning graces gain From the strange sweetness of a twilight plain; We wake, we live, the talisman's control With nice attraction draws the mellowed soul, Joy swells the pulse, and pity's trembling sigh Steals from each nerve responsive sympathy.

How blest that state, where mingling hearts unite, Blend in desire, and hail the nuptial rite! Then all is peace, for nature's charms combine To sooth each passion, and each sense refine; Then all is peace, and many an artless wile Steals from domestic care its grateful smile; Seductive converse flows from eye to eye, Speaks in a tear, and utters in a sigh; Each wish declared, ere from the lips it part, With magnet influence finds its kindred heart; Each virtue brightened gives the soul to trace In conscious love, its grandeur and its grace.

O! wake with passion's fine, creative power Her rich enchantment, her ecstatic hour; She, holy cherub, o'er the couch of death, Bends with mild gaze to stay the parting breath, From wan despair averts the impending storm, And lights a smile on horror's haggard form! Lo, where she turns, what instant beauties rise, Flowers blush to life, and carols peal the skies; Ambrosial dews their nectared balms dispense, To charm with varying sweets the ravished sense; Responsive echoes wind the rifted steeps, Dance the live groves, the amorous mountain leaps; High swells the Lesbian hymn, old ocean hears, And rules immortal love, and shakes the spheres.

Without her presence where shall bliss reside? E'en fair Calypso loathed her deathless pride: (22)n22 On wings divine aërial spirits shot Ten thousand odors thro her sparkling grot,

Round her rich couch with warbling echoes played, And arched the myrtle's salutary shade, With fragrant breath the cooling zephyrs wove; But all was sadness in thine absence, love! Immortal life had lost the power to please, And health and beauty languished for disease.

Mysterious power! what thrilling transports pain, What fine sensations pass the trembling brain, When thy first smile suspends the gazing eye, Veiled in the blush of hope, and asks reply! Quick flies the pulse with interrupted leap, Then flows in sweetness, then subsides to sleep; But wak'd once more, what gentle tumults rise, What swift vibrations speed renewed surprise! From each fine nerve impetuous motions wing Delirious joys to life's ecstatic spring, Round the brisk eye enchanted scenery floats, Thro the spelled ear distil ethereal notes,

Voluptuous bliss the tingling senses chains, And o'er the whole one bright Elysium reigns.

With trembling touch, to sketch the Persian maid: With gradual grace beneath his mimic art Glow the fresh smiles, the swelling beauties start; But when, as life, the perfect figure stood, Like Venus blushing from the conscious flood, The wondering artist gazed with tenderer thought, And bowed the slave of charms his pencil wrought.

But say, what climes her genial presence greets, What blest Arcadia owns her fond retreats? Dwells she, where pride to fashion's altar rears The gathered follies of an age of years? Dwells she, where envy, veiled in friendship's guise, Matures her plots, and murders by surmise?

Far other scenes invite her aid divine, Far other votaries throng her favored shrine; There, like sepulchral flames, by darkness fed, Her glimmered raptures scarcely light the dead. She seeks the tranquil hours of social mirth, The mild communion, the domestic hearth; Her sister rites with meek devotion pays, And round the Lares twines with melting gaze; Her ready choice, affection's pensive mood, Her best reliance, peace and solitude.

Transcendant bliss! which souls sublime respire, Steeped in the streams of rapture's purest fire; Whence all thy powers, thy charms beyond compare, Let thy rapt votary's panting heart declare, What time gay hope disports in blushing youth, And bright illusion wins to manly truth. O! he can tell, what pure emotions spring, Thrill the live soul, and nerve its lofty wing!

When from some cliff, whose caves reechoing roar, He eyes the wild surf heave the trembling shore, Or dares at midnight's hour devoutly stray The churchyard thro with melancholy gray, Marks the pale crescent ride her chariot high, "Or pores upon the brook, that babbles by." O! he can tell, the varied prospect teems With more, than poets paint in eastern dreams; Pants not a breeze, but through the rustling grove Its soft responses whisper notes of love; Springs not a thought, but o'er its secret views The wizard, fancy, sheds her rainbow hues; Glows not a wish, but wings its chaste desire More pure, than incense lit by vestal fire: Such wonderous charms the sorceress bids advance, Caught from the fairy realms of wild romance! And such to bless shall mild affection own, When youth and health and fortune's gifts are flown;