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The stars may from their orbits bend,
The mountains rock, the heavens rend,
The sun's last ember cool and quiver,
But Virtue still shall glow for ever.



the ample moon,

In the deep stillness of a summer even
Rising behind a thick and lofty grove,
Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light,
In the green trees; and, kindling on all sides
Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil
Into a substance glorious as her own,
Yea, with her own incorporated, by power
Capacious and serene;-like power abides
In man's celestial spirit; Virtue thus
Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds
A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire,

From the encumbrances of mortal life,

From error, disappointment,-nay, from guilt;
And sometimes, so relenting Justice wills,

From palpable oppressions of despair.



Y thee inspired, O Virtue! age is young,
And music warbles from the faltering

tongue :

Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,
And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow;
Brightens the joyous aspect, and supplies
Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes:


But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams,
Resistless on the view the glory streams;
Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm,
And beauty dazzles with angelic charm.



H, my son !

The ostentatious virtues which still press

For notice and for praise; the brilliant deeds Which live but in the eye of observation— These have their meed at once; but there's a joy To the fond votaries of fame unknown,— To hear the still small voice of conscience speak Its whispering plaudit to the silent soul. Heaven notes the sigh afflicted goodness heaves, Hears the low plaint by human ear unheard, And from the cheek of patient Sorrow wipes The tear, by mortal eye unseen, or scorned.



H, could I worship aught beneath the skies,
That earth hath seen, or fancy can devise,
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,

Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand,
With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair
As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air!
Duly, as ever on the mountains' height
The peep of Morning shed a dawning light;
Again, when Evening, in her sober vest,
Drew the gray curtain of the fading west,

My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise,
For the chief blessings of my fairest days:
But that were sacrilege-praise is not thine,
But His who gave thee, and preserves thee mine.



HALL Britain, where the soul of freedom reigns,

Forge chains for others she herself disdains? Forbid it, Heaven! Oh, let the nations know The liberty she loves she will bestow; Not to herself the glorious gift confined, She spreads the blessing wide as human kind, And, scorning narrow views of time and place, Bids all be free in earth's extended space. What page of human annals can record A deed* so bright as human rights restored? Oh, may that God-like deed, that shining page, Redeem our fame, and consecrate our age; And let this glory mark our favoured shore, To curb false freedom, and the true restore. And see! the cherub Mercy from above, Descending softly, quits the sphere of love! On Britain's isle she sheds her heavenly dew, And breathes her spirit o'er the enlightened few; From soul to soul the generous influence steals, Till every breast the soft contagion feels. She speeds exulting to the burning shore, With the best message angel ever bore;

Hark! 'tis the note which spoke a Saviour's birth,—

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Glory to God on high, and peace on earth!"

As the mild spirit hovers o'er the coast,

A fresher hue the withered landscapes boast;

*The abolition of the slave trade.

Her healing smiles the ruined scenes repair,
And blasted Nature wears a joyous air;
While she proclaims through all her spicy groves, –
"Henceforth your fruits, your labours, and your


All that your sires possessed, or you have sown-
Sacred from plunder-all is now your own.



LEASURES are like poppies spread;
You seize the flower-its bloom is shed!
Or like the snow-falls in the river;

A moment white-then melt for ever;
Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.



NOWLEDGE, of all, avails the human

For all beyond the grave are joys of mind.


NE morning in the month of May
I wandered o'er the hill;

Though nature all around was gay

My heart was heavy still.


Can God, I thought, the good, the great,
These meaner creatures bless,

And yet deny our human state

The boon of happiness?

Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains,

Ye blesséd birds around,

Where, in creation's wide domains,
Can perfect bliss be found?

The birds wild carolled overhead,
The breeze around me blew,
And Nature's awful chorus said,
No bliss for man she knew!

I questioned Love, whose early ray
So heavenly bright appears;
And Love in answer seemed to say,
His light was dimmed by tears.

I questioned Friendship,-Friendship mourned,
And thus her answer gave:

The friends whom fortune had not turned
Were vanished in the grave!

I asked of Feeling, if her skill
Could heal the wounded breast;
And found her sorrows streaming still
For others' griefs distrest.

I asked if Vice could bliss bestow ;-
Vice boasted loud and well;
But fading from her pallid brow
The venomed roses fell.

I questioned Virtue ;-Virtue sighed,
No boon could she dispense;
Nor Virtue was her name, she cried,
But humble Penitence!

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