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SAMUEL ROGERS.

PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

With old achievement charms the wilder'd sight; Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green,

And still, with Heraldry's rich hues imprest, With magic tints to harmonize the scene.

On the dim window glows the pictur'd crest, Still'd is the hum that thro' the hamlet broke, The screen unfolds its many-colour'd chart. When round the ruins of their ancient oak

The clock still points its moral to the heart.

That faithful monitor 'twas heav'n to hear!
The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play,
And games and carols clos'd the busy day,

When soft it spoke a promis'd pleasure near:
Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more And has its sober hand, its simple chime,
With treasur’d tales, and legendary lore.

Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of Time? All, all are fled; nor mirila nor music flows

That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought, To chase the dreams of innocent repose.

Whence the cag'd linnet sooth'd my pensive thought; All, all are fled; yet still I linger here!

Those muskets, cas’d with venerable rust; What secret charms this silent spot endear?

Those once-lov'd forms, still breathing thro' their Mark yon old mansion frowning thro' the trees,

Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast, [dust, Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze. Starting to life-all whisper of the past ! That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, As thro' the garden's desert paths I rove, First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd.

What fond illusions swarm in every grove ! The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown

How oft, when purple evening ting'd the west, Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; (court,

We watch'd the emmet to her grainy nest; When nature pleas'd, for life itself was new,

Welcom'd the wild-bee home on weary wing, And the heart promis'd what the fancy drew. Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring! See, thro' the fractur'd pediment reveal'd,

How oft inscrib'd, with Friendship's votive rhyme, Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptur'd shield, The bark now silver'd by the touch of Time; The martin's old, hereditary nest.

Soar'd in the swing, half pleas'd and half afraid, Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest! Thro' sister elms that wav'd their summer-shade;

As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Or strew'd with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat, Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall!

To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat! That hall, where once, in antiquated state,

Childhood's lov'd group revisits every scene; The chair of justice held the grave debate.

The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green! Now stain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live! Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; Chung,

Cloth'd with far softer hues than light can give. When round yon ample board, in due degree,

Thou first, best friend that heav'n assigns below, We sweeten'd every meal with social glee.

To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know; The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest; Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, And all was sunshine in each little breast.

When nature fades, and life forgets to charm; 'Twas here we chas'd the slipper by the sound;

Thee would the Muse invoke!--to thee belong And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round. The sage's precept, and the poet's song. 'Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring;

What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals, And Fancy flutter'd on her wildest wing.

When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight Giants and genii chain'd each wondering ear;

As when in ocean sinks the orb of day, (steals! And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear.

Long on the wave reflected lustres play; Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood, Thy temper'd glearns of happiness resign'd, Or view'd the forest-feasts of Robin Hood:

Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind. Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour,

The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses With startling step we scal'd the lonely tower;

Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. (gray, O'er infant innocence to hang and weep,

Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn: Ye Household Deities! whose guardian eye

Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high ;

When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground,

Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, And breathe the soul of Inspiration round.

Some little friendship form’d and cherish'd here !

And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems
As o'er the dusky furniture I bend,
Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend.

With golden visions, and romantic dreams!
The storied arras, source of fond delight,

Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blaz'd

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The gipsy's faggot—there we stood and gaz'd; To pass the clouds that round thy empire roll

, Gaz'd on her sun-burnt face with silent awe, And trace its airy precincts in the soul. Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw;

Lull'd in the countless chambers of the braiz, Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden cha: The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! Imps, in ba with mousing owlet bred,

Each stamps its image as the other flies! From rified roost at nightly revel fed; [shade, Each, as the various avenues of sense Whose dark eyes flash'd thro' locks of blackest Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay'd :- Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, And heroes Aed the Sibyl's mutter'd call,

Controul the latent fibres of the heart. Whose elfin prowess scal'd the orchard-wall. As studious Prospero's mysterious spell As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew,

Conven'd the subject-spirits to his cell; And trac'd the line of life with searching view, Each, at thy call, advances or retires, How throbb’d my fluttering pulse with hopes and As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. To learn the colour of my future years! [fears, Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred sources

Ah, then, what honest triumph flush'd my breast! Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course, This truth once known-To bless is be blest! And thro' the frame invisibly convey We led the bending beggar on his way,

The subtle quick vibrations as they play. (Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-gray)

Survey the globe, each ruder realm expłore; Sooth'd the keen pangs his aged spirit felt,

From Reason's faintest ray to Newton soar. And on his tale with mute attention dwelt.

What different spheres to human bliss assiga'd! As in his scrip we dropt our little store,

What slow gradations in the scale of mind! And wept to think that little was no more, [live!" Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrong; He breath'd his prayer, “ Long may such goodness Oh mark the sleepless energies of thought! 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give.

The adventurous boy, that asks his little shara. Angels, when Mercy's mandate wing'd their flight, And hies from home, with many a rossip's prale Had stopt to catch new rapture from the sight.

Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see But hark! thro' those old firs, with sullen swell The dear abode of peace and privar"; The church clock strikes! ye tender scenes, fare- And as he turns, the thaich aniong! : trees, well!

The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with the break It calls me hence, beneath their shade, to trace

The village common spotted white with sheep, The few fond lines that Time may soon efface. On yon grey stone, that fronts the chancel-door,

The church-yard yews round which his fathers Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more,

All rouse Reflection's sadly-pleasin_ train, (scepit

And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again. Each eve we shot the marble thro' the ring,

So, when the mild Tupia dar'd explore When the heart danc'd, and life was in its spring;

Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before, Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth,

And, with the sons of Science, we'd the gale, That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth.

That, rising, swell'd their strange expanse The glow-worm loves her emerald light to shed,

So, when he breath'd his firm yel fond adieu, Where now the sexton rests his hoary head.

Borne from his leafy hut, his carved canoe, Oft, as he turned the greensward with his spade,

And all his soul best lov'd—such tears ne shed, He lectur'd every youth that round him play'd;

While each soft scene of summer-bearty fled. And, calmly pointing where his fathers lay,

Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast, Rous'd him to rival each, the hero of his day.

Long watch'd the streaming signal from the mast; Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone I search the records of each mouldering stone.

Till twilight's dewy tipts deceiv'd his

And fairy forests fring'd the evening Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth!

So Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawi. Who first unveil'd the hallow'd form of Truth;

Rose on her couch, and gaz'd her souseway, Whose every word enlighten'd and endear'd; In age belov’d, in poverty rever'd;

Her eyes had bless'd the beacon's glimmering beigti, In Friendship's silent register ye live,

That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light;

But now the morn with orient hues pourtray'd Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give. -But when the sons of peace and pleasure sleep,

Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade:

All touched the talisman's resistless spring, When only sorrow wakes, and wakes to weep,

And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing! What spells entrance my visionary mind,

Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, With sighs so sweet, with transports so refin'd?

As summer-clouds tlash forth electric fire.
Ethereal Power ! whose sinile, at noon of night,
Recalls the far-fed spirit of delight;

And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth.

Warm as the life, and with the mirror's truth. Instils that musing, melancholy mood, Which charms the wise, and elevates the good;

Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the patriot'ssigh; Blest Memory, hail! Oh grant the grateful Muse,

This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. Her pencil dipt in Nature's living hues,

Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,

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For this young Foscari, whose hapless fate

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When exile wore his blooming years away, Undamp'd by time, the generous instinct glows
To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey,

Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows;
When reason, justice, vainly urg'd his cause, Glows in the tiger's den, the serpent's nest,
For this he rous'd her sanguinary laws;

On every form of varied life imprest.
Glad to return, tho' Hope could grant no more, The social tribes its choicest influence bail:
And chains and torture hail'd him to the shore. And, when the drum beats briskly in the gale,

And hence the charm historic scenes impart: The war-worn courser charges at the sound,
TE Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. And with young vigour wheels the pasture round.
Aërial forms, in Tempe's classic vale,

Oft has the aged tenant of the vale
Glance thro' the gloom, and whisper in the gale; Lean’d on his staff to lengthen out the tale;
In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell, Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breath'd,
And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell.

From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath'd.. "Tu as ever thus. As now at Virgil's tomb,

When o'er the blasted heath the day declin'd, We bless the shade, and hid the verdure bloom: And on the scath'd oak warr'd the winter-wind; So Tully paus'd amid the wrecks of Time,

When not a distant taper's twinkling ray On the rude stone to trace the truth sublime; Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his way; When at his feet, in honour'd dust disclos'd, When not a sheep-bell sooth'd his listening ear, The immortal sage of Syracuse repos’d.

And the big rain-drops told the tempest near; LAnd as his youth in sweet delusion hung,

Then did his horse the homeward track descry, *** Where once a Plato taught, a Pindar sung;

The track that shunn'd his sad, inquiring eye; *** Who now but meets him musing, when he roves And win each wavering purpose to relent, His ruin'd Tusculan's romantic groves?

With warmth so mild, so gently violent, In Rome's great forum, who but hears him roll That his charm'd hand the careless rein resign’d, His moral thunders o'er the subject soul?

And doubts and terrors vanish'd from his mind. And hence that calm delight the portrait gives: Recall the traveller, whose alter'd form gaze on er feature till it lives!

Has borne the buffet of the mountain-storm;
Still the fond lover views the absent maid;

And who will first his fond impatience meet?
And the lost f?end still lingers in his shade! His faithful dog's already at his feet!
Say why the insive widow loves to weep,

Yes, tho' the porter spurn him from the door,
When on her knee she rocks her babe to sleep:

Tho' all, that knew him, know his face no more, Tremblingly still, she lifts his veil to trace

His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, The father's features in his infant face.

With that mute eloquence which passes speech. The hoary grandsire smiles the hour away,

And see, the master but returns to die! Won by the charm of Innocence at play;

Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly? He bends to meet each artless burst of joy,

The blasts of heav'n, the drenching dews of earth, Forgets his age, and acts again the boy.

The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth, What tho' the iron school of War erase

These, when to guard Misfortune's sacred grave, Each milder virtue, and each softer grace:

Will firm Fidelity exult to brave. What tho' the fiend's torpedo-touch arrest

Led by what chart, transports the timid dove Each -, finer impulse of the breast;

The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love? Still shall this active principle preside;

Say, thro’ the clouds what compass points her fight? And wake "2 tear, to Pity's self denied.

Monarchs have gaz'd, and nations bless'd the sight. The intre Swiss, that guards a foreign shore, Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise, Condemn! climb his mountain-cliffs no more, Eclipse her native shades, her native skies; hear the song so sweetly wild

"Tis vain! thro' Ether's pathless wilds she goes, 'Twas 1 he cliffs his infant hours beguilid,

And lights at last where all her cares repose. Melts at th: ng-lost scenes that round him rise,

Sweet bird! thy truth shall Harlem's walls attest, And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs.

And unborn ages consecrate thy nest. Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm:

When, with the silent energy of grief,. Say why Vespasian lov'd bis Sabine farm;

With looks that ask'd, yet dar'd not hope relief, Why great Navarre, when France and freedom bled,

Want, with her babes, round generous Valour clung, Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed.

To wring the slow surrender from his tongue, When Diocletian's self-corrected mind

'Twas thine to animate her closing eye; 21. The imperial fasces of a world resign’d,

Alas! 'twas thine perchance the first to die, seperti Say why we trace the labours of his spade,

Crush'd by hier meagre hand, when welcom'd from In calm Salona's philosophic shade. Say, when contentious Charles renounc'd a throne,

Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow horn, To muse with monks unletter'd and unknown, Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. man What from his soul the parting tribute drew? O'er thymy downs she bends hier busy course, What claim'd the sorrows of a last adieu ?

And many a stream allures her to its source. The still retreats that sooth'd his tranquil breast,

'Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely wrought, Ere grandeur dazzled, and its cares oppress'd.

Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought,

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Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind;

And lisp of fashions with unmeaning stare. Its orb so full, its vision so confin'd!

Be thine to meditate an humbler flight, Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell?

When morning fills the fields with rosy light; There ng Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell? Be thine to blend, nor thine a vulgar aim, With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue

Repose with dignity, with quiet fame.

Tere glina Of varied scents, that charm'd her as she flew? Here no state-chambers in long line unfold, fra Hail, Memory, hail! thy universal reign

Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold;ced the i Guards the least link of Being's glorious chain. Yet modest ornament, with use combin'd,

Attracts the eye to exercise the mind.

Small change of scene,small space his home requires, coe, in
AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.

Who leads a life of satisfied desires.
When, with a Reaumur's skill, thy curious mind What tho' no marble breathes, no canvas glows

, to' Has class'd the insect tribes of human kind,

From every point a ray of genius flows!

de roda Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing,

Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill, those Its subtle web-work, or its venom'd sting;

That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will; hoge bila Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours,

And cheaply circulates, thro' distant climes, spent in Point the green lane that leads thro'fern and flowers; The fairest relics of the purest times.

12.00 The shelter'd gate that opens to my field,

Here from the mould to conscious being start
And the white front thro' mingling elms reveal’d. Those finer forms, the miracles of art;
In vain, alas, a village-friend invites

Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine,
To simple comforts, and domestic rites,

That slept for ages in a second mine; When the gay months of Carnival resume

And here the faithful graver dares to trace

00012 Their annual round of glitter and perfume;

A Michael's grandeur, and a Raphael's grace! When London hails thee to its splendid mart,

Thy gallery, Florence, gilds my humble walls, Its hives of sweets, and cabinets of art;

And my low roof the Vatican recalls! And, lo! majestic as thy manly song,

Soon as the morning dream my pillow flies, Flows the full tide of human life along.

Te chez

To waking sense what brighter visions rise! Still must my partial pencil love to dwell

O mark! again the coursers of the sun, On the home-prospects of my hermit cell;

At Guido's call, their round of glory run! The mossy pales that skirt the orchard-green, Again the rosy hours resume their flight, Hlere hid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses seen; Obscur'd and lost in floods of golden light! And the brown pathway, that, with careless flow, But could thine erring friend so long forget

l'an of Sinks, and is lost among the trees below.

(Sweet source of pensive joy and fond regret) Sull must it trace (the flattering tints forgive) That here its warmest hues the pencil flings, Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape live. Lo! here the lost restores, the absent brings; Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass

And still the few best lov'd and most rever'd

Sale Browsing the hedge !y fits, the pannier'd ass; Rise round the board their social smile endear'd.

Whe The idling shepherd-boy, with rude delight,

Selected shelves shall claim thy studious hours; Whistling his dog to mark the pebble's flight;

There shall thy ranging mind be fed on flowers! And in her kerchief blue the cottage-maid,

There, while the shaded lamp's mild lustre streams, With brimming pitcher from the shadowy glade.

Read antient books, or woo inspiring dreams; Far to the south a mountain vale retires,

And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there,
Rich in its groves, and glens, and village-spires;

Pause, and his features with his thoughts compare.
Its upland lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung,
Its wizard-stream, nor nameless nor unsung:

-Ah, most that art my grateful rapture calls,

Which breathes a soul into the silent walls;
And thro' the various year, the various day,
What scenes of glory burst, and melt away!

Which gathers round the wise of every tongue,
When April verdure springs in Grosvenor-square,

All on whose words departed nations hung;

Tort And the furr'd Beauty comes to winter there,

Still prompt to charm with many a converse sweet;

The She bids old Nature mar the plan no more;

Guides in the world, companions in retreat! Yet still the seasons circle as before.

Tho' my thatch'd bath no rich Mosaic knows,

And Ah, still as soon the young Aurora plays,

A limpid spring with unfelt current flows.

05 Tho'moons and flambeaux trail their broadest blaze;

Emblem of life! which, still as we survey,

Oft As soon the skylark pours his matin song,

Seems motionless, yet ever glides away!
Tho' evening lingers at the mask so long.

The shadowy walls record, with attic art,
There let her strike with momentary ray,
The strength and beauty that its waves impart.

TE As tapers shine their little lives away;

Here Thetis, bending, with a mother's fears

AP There let her practice from herself to steal,

Dips her dear boy, whose pride restrains his tears. And look the happiness she does not feel;

There, Venus, rising, shrinks with sweet surprise, The ready smile and bidden blush employ

As her fair self reflected seems to rise ! At Faro-routs, that dazzle to destroy ;

Far from the joyless glare, the maddening strile,

I Fan with affected ease the essenc'd air,

And all the dull impertinence of life,'
These eyelids open to the rising ray,

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And close, when Nature bids, at close of day. Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene,
Here, at the dawn, the kindling landscape glows; To hail our coming. Not a step prophane
There noon-day levees call from faint repose. Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite restrain ;
Here the flush'd wave flings back the parting light; And, while the frugal banquet glows reveal’d,
There glimmering lamps anticipate the night. Pure and unbought,-the natives of my field;
When from his classic dreams the student steals, While blushing fruits thro' scatter'd leaves invite,
Amid the buzz of crowds, the whirl of wheels, Still clad in bloom, and veil'd in azure light;
To muse unnotic'd-while around him press With wine, as rich in years as Horace sings,
The meteor-forms of equipage and dress;

With water, clear as his own fountain flings,
Alone, in wonder lost, he seems to stand

The shifting sideboard plays its humbler part, A very stranger in his native land!

Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art. And (tho' perchance of current coin possest,

Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught And modern phrase by living lips exprest)

With mental light, and luxury of thought, Like those blest youths, forgive the fabling page, My life steals on; (O could it blend with thine !) Whose blameless lives deceiv'd a twilight age, Careless my course, yet not without design. Spent in sweet slumbers; till the miner's spade So thro' the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide, Unclos'd the cavern, and the morning play'd. The light raft dropping with the silent tide; Ah, what their strange surprise, their wild delight! So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night, New arts of life, new manners meet their sight! The busy people wing their various flight, In a new world they wake, as from the dead; Culling unnumber'd sweets from nameless flowers, Yet doubt the trance dissolv'd, the vision fled! That scent the vineyard in its purple hours. O come, and, rich in intellectual wealth,

Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play, Blend thought with exercise, with knowledge Caught thro’ St. James's groves at blush of day; Long, in this shelter'd scene of letter'd talk, [health! Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings With sober step repeat the pensive walk;

Thro' trophied tombs of heroes and of kings. Nor scorn,

when graver triflings fail to please, Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease, The cheap amusements of a mind at ease;

Tho'skill'd alike to dazzle and to please; Here every care in sweet oblivion cast,

Tho' each gay scene be search'd with anxious eye, And many an idle hour-not idly pass’d.

Nor thy shut door be pass'd without a sigh. No tuneful echoes, ambush'd at my gate,

If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more,
Catch the blest accents of the wise and great. Some, form'd like thee, should once, like thee, ex-
Vain of its various page, no Album breathes Invoke the Lares of his lov'd retreat, (plore;
The sigh that Friendship or the Muse bequeaths. And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet;
Yet some good Genii o'er my hearth preside, Then be it said, (as, vain of better days,
Oft the far friend, with secret spell, to guide; Some grey domestic prompts the partial praise)
And there I trace, when the grey evening lours, “ Unknown he liv'd, unenvied, not unblest;
A silent chronicle of happier hours !

Reason his guide, and happiness his guest.
When Christmas revels in a world of show, In the clear mirror of his moral page,
And bids her berries blush, her carols flow;

We trace the manners of a purer age.
His spangling shower when frost the wizard flings; His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught,
Or, borne in ether blue, on viewless wings,

Scorn'd the false lustre of licentious thought. O'er the white pane his silvery foliage weaves, -One fair asylum from the world he knew, And gems with icicles the sheltering eaves; One chosen seat, that charms with various view! -Thy muffled friend his nectarine-wall pursues, Who boasts of more (believe the serious strain) What time the sun the yellow crocus wooes, Sighs for a home, and sighs, alas ! in vain. Screen'd from the arrowy North ; and duly hies Thro' each he roves, the tenant of a day, To meet the morning-rumour as it flies,

And, with the swallow, wings the year away!"
To range the murmuring market-place, and view
The motley groups that faithful Teniers drew.

ODE TO SUPERSTITION.
When Spring bursts forth in blossoms thro' the
And her wild music triumphs on the gale, (vale,

1. 1. Oft with my book I muse from stile to stile;

Hence, to the realms of night, dire Demon, hence ! Oft in my porch the listless noon beguile,

Thy chain of adamant can bind Framing loose numbers, till declining day

That little world, the human mind, Thro' the green trellis shoots a crimson ray; And sink its noblest powers to impotence. Till the west-wind leads on the twilight hours,

Wake the lion's loudest roar, And shakes the fragrant bells of closing flowers.

Clot his shaggy mane with gore, Nor boast, O Choisy! seat of soft delight,

With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine; The secret charm of thy voluptuous night.

Meek is his savage, sullen soul, to thine ! (breast, Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of power! Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steel'd the Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour,

Whence, thro' her rainbow-shower, soft pity Thy closet-supper, serv'd by hands unseen,

smil'd;

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