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By turns they felt the glowing mind
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid ;
Ev'n at the sound himself had made.
In lightnings own’d his secret stings;
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
Low sullen sounds his grief beguild;
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call’d on Echo still through all the song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden And longer had she sung—but with a frown
Revenge impatient rose; He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down,
And with a withering look
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And ever and anon he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat;
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd, And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on
Hate. With eyes uprais’d, as one inspir’d, Pale Melancholy sat retir’d, And from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul.
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; [stole. Through glades and glooms the mingled measure Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay,
Round a holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.
But, 0 ! how alter'd was its sprightly tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder hung, Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to fawn and dryad known; The oak-crown'd sisters and their chaste-ey'd
queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen
Peeping forth from their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's 'ecstatic trial : He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd; But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amid the festal sounding shades
Love fram'd with mirth a gay fantastic round;
As if he would the charming air repay,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd!
THE AGED BEGGAR. “ Tell me O Mother, when I grow old, Will my hair, which my sisters say is like gold, Grow grey, as the old man's, weak and poor, Who asked for alms at our pillar'd door? Shall I look as sad, shall I speak as slow, As he, when he told us his tale of woe? Will my hands then shake, and my eyes be dim?
- Tell me, O mother! shall I grow like him? “ He said—but I knew not what he meant,That his aged heart with sorrow was rent: He spoke of the grave as a place of rest, Where the weary sleep in peace, and are blest;
And he told how his kindred there were laid,
of the old man fell, And my sisters wept as they heard his tale. “ He spoke of a home where in childhood's glee, He chas'd from the wild flowers the singing bee; And follow'd afar, with a heart as light As its sparkling wings, the butterfly's flight; And pulld young flowers, where they grew 'neath
the beams Of the sun's fair light, by his own blue streams; Yet he left all these through the earth to roam ! Why, O mother, did he leave his home ?” “ Calm thy young thoughts, my own fair child ! The fancies of youth and age are beguild ; Though pale grow thy cheeks, and thy hair turn grey, Time cannot steal the soul's youth away! There's a land of which thou hast heard me speak, Where age never wrinkles the dweller's cheek; But in joy they live, fair boy, like thee; It was there the old man long'd to be. “For he knew that those with whom he had play'd, In his heart's young joy, 'neath their cottage
shade Whose love he shar'd, when their songs and mirth Brightend the gloom of this sinful earthWhose names from our world had pass’d away, As flowers in the breath of an autumn dayHe knew that they, with all suffering done, Encircled the throne of the Holy One! “ Though ours be a pillar'd and lofty home, Where Want with his pale train never may come,