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Many there be, who, through the vale of life,
With velvet pace, unnoticed, softly go,
Awakes them not to woe.
With even tenor and with equal breath,
Then sink in peace to death.
And weeping woe, and disappointment keen, Repining penury, and sorrow sour,
And self-consuming spleen.
Know the thought-throned mind to please,
To realms where Fancy's golden orbits roll, Disdaining all but ’wildering rapture's law,
The captivated soul.
His melancholy moan.
Of sleepless nights, of anguish-ridden days,
To curse his being and his thirst for praise. Thou gavest to him with treble force to feel
The sting of keen neglect, the rich man's scorn, And what o'er all does in his soul preside Predominant, and tempers him to steel,
His high indignant pride.
I. 2. Lament not ye, who humbly steal through life,
That Genius visits not your lowly shed;
Distract his hapless head!
He wakes all night, and wakes to weep;
At solemn midnight, when the peasant sleeps, In feverish study, and in moody fits
His mournful vigils keeps.
For what does thus he waste life’s fleeting 'Tis for neglect and penury he doth toil, [breath?
'Tis for untimely death. Lo! where dejected pale he lies,
Despair depicted in his eyes, He feels the vital flame decrease,
He sees the grave wide yawning for its prey, Without a friend to soothe his soul to peace,
And cheer the expiring ray.
Will I thy pangs proclaim;
And far resounding Fame.
And thou at thy flash'd car dost nations draw, Yet, ah! unseen behind thee fly
Corroding Anguish, soul-subduing Pain, And Discontent that clouds the fairest. sky,
A melancholy train.
Yes, Genius, thee a thousand cares await,
And leaves thee all forlorn; While leaden Ignorance rears her head and . laughs,
And fat Stupidity shakes his jolly sides, And while the cup of affluence he quaffs
With bee-eyed Wisdom, Genius derides, Who toils, and every hardship doth outbrave, To gain the meed of praise when he is mouldering
in his grave.
FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO THE MOON.
Mild orb, who floatest through the realm of night,
A pathless wanderer o'er a lonely wild, Welcome to me thy soft and pensive light, Which oft in childhood my lone thoughts be
Nocturnal study's still retreat,
And through my lofty casement weaves,
An intermingled beam.
This quivering lip, these eyes of dying flame;
These the dread signs of many a secret pang,
These are the meed of him who pants for fame! Pale Moon, from thoughts like these divertmy soul;
Lowly I kneel before thy shrine on high ; My lamp expires ;-beneath thy mild control
These restless dreams are ever wont to fly.
Come, kindred mourner, in my breast
And breathe the soul of peace;
For thou hast bid it cease.
Attuned my infant reed;
When on the lake's damp marge I lay,
And mark'd the northern meteor's dance,
Twin sisters, faintly now ye deign
To chase superior pain.
And art thou fled, thou welcome orb !
So swiftly pleasure flies,