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Here VutCAX, clad in arms of fire, And here the venerable Juno stood,
And he that ever bears the bow,
Who bathes his loose dishevell'd flow
Of hair, in Castaly's pure flood, He whose sweet strains the Lycian fields admire, Whose natal groves have caught the echoes of his lyre.
How by its own weight falls the brutal force
This well the Monster Gtas knew;
Still mourns, still mourns the sorrowing earth, Her sons all buried in her own sad womb;
Still does she weep the hideous birth,
Still shall the piercing flame devour
WRITTEN IN SICKNESS, JANUARY 1803.
Yes, I have seen the dappl'd morn Blush o'er the eastern hill;
The cloud with music fill:
And breathe around her balmy gales;
And gem the verdant vales!
But where Quair's crystal streamlets flow,
No more mine eye shall trace,—
The charms on Nature's face!
Relentless on my vitals prey!
And soon must faint away!
O Man I how soon thy vigour's lost!
How swift thy years are flown !—
To-morrow as thine own!—
Why grasp at Wealth with eager hand?
When Death makes the demand?
By Hope and Inexperience led,
In Youth's unclouded morn,
And every danger scorn I
And promise pleasures ever new;
Each flower that meets the view!
But soon, stern Disappointment lays
Hope's fair creation waste!
Are soon with clouds o'ercast!
Loud thunders rend the troubl'd air f
An image of Despair!
Affliction t thou this solemn truth
Hast made my heart to know,
In Hope's bright colours glow,
When clouds sail on the breeze's wing;
And midnight visions bring!
If e'er my tender heart was wrung
In sad Misfortune's hour,
With more than magic power,
And while she lent her ready aid, To gratitude by sufferings train'd, 1 prais'd my God who gave a Friend,
A Friend that ne'er betray'd!
But now on Life's extremest bound,
The Muse can charm no more! No more my numbers shall resound
On Quair's enamell'd shore!
The flower, by Nature painted gay,
Shall prompt th' unbidden lay J But who in smiles descends to cheer
My soul in Death's dread hour? All hail, Religion! every fear
Yields to thy soothing power! Thou mann'st the trembling heart to tread, The path that leads me to the dead!
And pour'st celestial light around! Thou wing'st the soul, thou point'st the eye, To worlds of endless bliss, that lie
Beyond life's narrow bound!
When this warm heart forgets to beat,
And life's last pang is o'er,
The friends I lov'd before:
Who all my sorrows joy'd to share ?— Heav'n! thou canst ne'er the Good forsake, Guard then my Nancy !—Nancy make
Thine own peculiar care!
If e'er Misfortune's hapless child,
By kindred feelings led,
To view my lowly bed,
And Independence gain'd at last:
As life would ever last,