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The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes, ...,
To the same patroness resort,
Which, though new-born, with vigour move, Like Pallas springing armed from Jove--Imagination scattering round Wild roses over furrowed ground, Which Labour of his frowns beguile, : And teach Philosophy a smile .! .' Wit flashing on Religion's side, : ' .. Whose fires to sacred Truth applied, ,, The gem, though luminous before, Obtrude on human notice more, Like sun-beams on the golden height Of some tall temple playing brightWell-tutored Learning, from his books Dismissed with grave, not haughty, looks, Their order on his shelves exact, Not more harmonious or compact Than that, to which he keeps confined The various treasures of his mindAll these to Montagu's repair, Ambitious of a shelter there. There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, The ruffled plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
She thus maintains divided sway
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY
DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND
OF JUAN FERNANDEZ.
I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute; From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Oh solitude! where are the charms,
That sages have seen in thy face?
Than reign in this horrible place."
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
I start at the sound of my own.
My form with indifference see;
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth. VOL. I.
Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard, Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a sabbath appeared.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey 10 this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report
Of a land, I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, · And the swift winged arrows of light.