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The tones of earthly harp, whose chords are
By the soft hand of piety, and hang
And must the bard from sacred themes refrain?
More touching far than poet ever breath'd
Upon your bended knees the Throne of Heaven,
Yea, parent oft of blissful piety,
Should silent keep from service of her God,
Nor with her summons, loud, but silver-tongued,
Bright as the sun himself, and trembling still
Take one example, to our purpose quite :
And reputation, and luxurious life;
What sage to hear, he heard; what scenes to see,
With years; and drank from old and fabulous wells;
And pluck'd the vine that first-born prophets pluck'd;
And mus'd on famous tombs: and on the wave
Aught that could rouse, expand, refine the soul,
He touch'd his harp, and nations heard entranced As some vast river of unfailing source,
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flow'd,
And soar'd untrodden heights, and seem'd at home
Beneath their argument seem'd struggling whiles; He from above descending, stoop'd to touch
The loftiest thought; and proudly stoop'd, as tho' It scarce deserv'd his verse. With nature's self He seem'd an old acquaintance, free to jest At will with all her glorious majesty. He laid his hand upon the "Ocean's mane," And play'd familiar with his hoary locks; Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines, And with the thunder talk'd, as friend to friend; And wove his garland of the lightning's wing. In sportive twist-the lightning's fiery wing, Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, Marching upon the storm in vengeance seem'dThen turn'd, and with the grasshopper, who sung His evening song, beneath his feet, convers'd, Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were; Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms,
His brothers-younger brothers, whom he scarce As equals deem'd. All passions of all menThe wild and tame-the gentle and severe; All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane; All creeds; all seasons, Time, Eternity, All that was hated, and all that was dear; All that was hop'd, all that was fear'd by man, He toss'd about, as tempest-wither'd leaves, Then, smiling, look'd upon the wreck he made. With terror now he froze the cow'ring blood;
And now dissolv'd the heart in tenderness :
Dark, sullen, proud; gazing contemptuously
And seem'd to mock the ruin he had wrought.
Of Fame's dread mountain sat: not soil'dand worn,
It was an eve of Autumn's holiest mood:
Its Maker; now and then the aged leaf
THE MORNING PRECEDING THE FINAL
CONSUMMATION OF ALL THINGS.
In custom'd glory bright, that morn the sun Rose, visiting the earth with light, and heat,
And joy; and seem'd as full of youth, and strong To mount the steep of heaven, as when the Stars Of morning sung to his first dawn, and Night Fled from his face: the spacious sky receiv'd Him blushing as a bride, when on her look'd The bridegroom: and spread out beneath his eye, Earth smil'd. Up to his warm embrace the dews, That all night long had wept his absence flew : The herbs and flowers, their fragrant stores unlock'd And gave the wanton breeze, that, newly woke, Revel'd in sweets, and from its wings shook health, A thousand grateful smells: the joyous woods Dried in his beams their locks, wet with the drops Of night and all the sons of music sung Their matin song, from arbour'd bower, the thrush Concerting with the lark that hymn'd on high: On the green hill the flocks, and in the vale The herds, rejoic'd: and, light of heart, the hind Eyed amorously the milk-maid as she pass'd, Not heedless, though she look'd another way.
VIEW OF THE BURNING LAKE.
Thus stood the reprobate beneath the shade Of terror, and beneath the crown of love, The good; and there was silence in the vault Of heaven: and as they stood and listened, they heard,
Afar to left, among the utter dark,
Hell rolling o'er his waves of burning fire,
And thundering through his caverns, empty then, As if he preparation made, to act
The final vengeance of the Fiery Lamb.
And there was heard, coming from out the Pit, The hollow wailing of Eternal Death,
And horrid cry of the Undying Worm. POLLOK