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Now, let the facred organ blow,
With folemn paufe, and founding flow
Now, let the voice due meafure keep,
In strains that figh, and words that weep
Till all the vocal current blended roll,
Not to deprefs, but lift the foaring foul.
To lift it in the Maker's praife,
Who first inform'd our frame with breath;
And, after fome few ftormy days,
Now, gracious, gives us o'er to Death.
No King of Fears
Who fhuts the fcene of human woes:
Beneath his fhade
The dead alone find true repose.
Then, while we mingle duft with duft,
To One, fupremely good and wife,
Raise halellujahs! God is just,
And man moft happy, when he dies!
His winter past,
Fair fpring at last
Receives him on her flowery shore;
Where Pleasure's rofe
And fin and forrow are no more!
TO MIR A. FROM THE COUNTRY.
AT this late hour, the world lies hufh'd below,
Nor is one breath of air awake to blow.
Now walks mute Midnight, darkling o'er the plain,
Reft, and foft-footed Silence, in his train,
To bless the cottage, and renew the swain,
These all-afleep, me all-awake they find ;
Nor reft, nor filence, charm the lover's mind.
Already, I a thousand torments prove,
The thousand torments of divided love:
The rolling thought, impatient in the breaft;
The fluttering wish on wing, that will not reft;
Defire, whofe kindled flames, undying, glow;
Knowledge of distant blifs, and present woe;
Unhush'd, unfleeping all, with me they dwell,
Children of abfence, and of loving well!
These pale the cheek, and cloud the chearless eye,
Swell the swift tear, and heave the frequent figh:
These reach the heart, and bid the health decline ;
And these, O Mira! these are truly mine.
She, whofe fweet fmile would gladden all the grove,
Whofe mind is music, and whofe looks are love;
She, gentle power! victorious foftnefs!-She,
Mira, is far from hence, from love, and me;
Yet, in my every thought, her form I find,
Her looks, her words-her world of charms combin'd!
Sweetnefs is her's, and unaffected eafe;
The native wit, that was not taught to please.
Whatever foftly animates the face,
The eye's attemper'd fire, the winning grace,
Th' unstudy'd smile, the blush that nature warms,
And all the graceful negligence of charms!
Ha! while I gaze, a thousand ardours rife ;
And my fir'd bofom flashes from my eyes.
Oh! melting mildnefs! miracle of charms!
Receive my foul within those folding arms!
On that dear bofom let my wishes reft
Oh! fofter than the turtle's downy breaft!
And fee! where Love himself is waiting near
Here let me ever dwell- for heaven is here!
Written in a STATE OF MELANCHOLY.
N OW, gloomy foul! look out-now comes thy turn
With thee, behold all ravag'd nature mourn.
Hail the dim empire of thy darling night,
That spreads, flow-fhadowing, o'er the vanquish'd light
Look out, with joy; the Ruler of the day,
Faint, as thy hopes, emits a glimmering ray:
Already exil'd to the utmost sky,
Hither, oblique, he turn'd his clouded eye.
Lo from the limits of the wintery pole,
Mountainous clouds, in rude confusion, roll:
In dismal pomp, now, hovering on their way,
To a fick twilight, they reduce the day.
And hark! imprison'd winds, broke loose, arise,
And roar their haughty triumph through the skies.
While the driven clouds, o'ercharg'd with floods of rain,
And mingled lightning, burst upon the plain.
Now fee fad earth-like thine, her alter'd state,
Like thee, the mourns her fad reverfe of fate!
Her smile, her wanton looks-where are they now?
Faded her face, and wrapt in clouds her brow!
No more, th' ungrateful verdure of the plain;
No more, the wealth-crown'd labours of the swain ;
These scenes of blifs, no more upbraid my fate,
Torture my pining thought, and rouze my hate.
The leaf-clad forest, and the tufted grove,
Erewhile the fafe retreats of happy love,
Stript of their honours, naked, now appear;
This is my foul! the winter of their year!
The little, noify fongfters of the wing,
All, fhivering on the bough, forget to fing.
Hail! reverend Silence! with thy awful brow!
Be Mufic's voice, for ever mute-as now:
Let no intrufive joy my dead repose
Disturb :-no pleasure difconcert my woes.
In this mofs-cover'd cavern, hopeless laid,
On the cold cliff, I'll lean my aching head;
And, pleas'd with Winter's wafte, unpitying, fee
All nature in an agony with me!
Rough, rugged rocks, wet marshes, ruin`d towers,
Bare trees, brown brakes, bleak heaths, and rufhy moors,
Dead floods, huge cataracts, to my pleas'd eyes-
(Now I can fmile!)-in wild diforder rife:
And now, the various dreadfulness combin'd,
Black melancholy comes, to doze my mind.
See! Night's wish'd shades rise, spreading through the air,
And the lone, hollow gloom, for me prepare!
Hail! folitary ruler of the grave!
Parent of terrors! from thy dreary cave!
Let thy dumb filence midnight all the ground,
And spread a welcome horror wide around.➡
But hark!- -a fudden howl invades my ear!
The phantoms of the dreadful hour are near.
Shadows, from each dark cavern, now combine,
And ftalk around, and mix their yells with mine.
Stop, flying Time! repose thy restless wing;
Fix here—nor haften to restore the spring :
Fix'd my ill fate, fo fix'd let winter be→→→
Let never wanton feafon laugh at me!