For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save:
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn!
O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave!
"'Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads to bewilder; and dazzles to blind;
My tho'ts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
O pity, great Father of light, then I cry'd,
Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee!
Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride;
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.
"And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn:
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,
The bright and the baliny effulguce of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!
On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."
SECTION II.
The Beggar's Petition.
PITY the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Oh! give relief and Heaven will bless your store.
These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen❜d years;
And many a furrow in my grief worn cheek,
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.
Yon house, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect, drew me from my road;
For plenty there a residence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here as I crav'd a morsel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,
To seek a shelter in a humbler shed.
Oh! take me to your hospitable dome!
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb;
For I am poor, and miserably old.
Should I reveal the sources of my grief,
If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be represt.
Heav'n sends misfortunes, why should we repine?
'Tis Heav'n has brought me to the state you see ;
And your condition soon may be like mine,
The child of sorrow and of misery.
A little farm was my paternal lot;
Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn ;
But ah! Oppression forc'd me from my cot,
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, sweet soother of my care!
Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair;
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.
SECTION III.
Unhappy Close of Life.
How shocking must thy summons be, O Death!
To him that is at ease in his possessions!
Who counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnish'd for the world to come!
In that dread moment how the frantic soul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement;
Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help;
But shrieks in vain! How wishfully she looks
On all she's leaving, now no longer her's!
A little longer; yet a little longer;
O might she stay to wash away her stains;
And fit her for her passage! Mournful sight!
Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan
She heaves is big with horror. But the foe,
Like a staunch murderer, steady to his purpose,
Pursues her close thro' ev'ry lane of life;
Nor misses once the track, but presses on,
Till, forc'd at last to the tremendous verge,
At once she sinks to everlasting ruin.
SECTION IV.
Elegy to Pity.
HAIL, lovely pow'r whose bosom heaves the sigh,
When fancy paints the scene of deep distress;
Whose tears spontaneous crystallize the eye,
When rigid fate denies the power to bless.
Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey
From flow'ry meads, can with that sigh compare;
Not dew drops glitt'ring in the morning ray,
Seem near so bounteous as that falling tear.
Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play;
Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies; No blood stain'd traces mark thy blameless way; . Beneath thy feet no hapless insect dies.
Come lovely nymph, and range the mead with me,
To spring the partridge from the guileful foe;
From secret snares the struggling bird to free;
And stop the hand uprais❜d to give the blow.
And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the conquering gleam,
Let us, slow wandering where the current flows,
Save sinking flies that float along the stream.
Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,
To me thy sympathetic gifts impart ;
Teach me in friendships's griefs to bear a share,
And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart.
Teach me to soothe the helpless orphan's grief;
With timely aid the widow's woes assuage;
To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief;
And be the sure resource of drooping age.
So when the genial spring of life shall fade,
And sinking nature own the dread decay,
Some soul congenial then may lend its aid,
And gild the close of life's eventful day.
Verses supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his solitary abode on the Island of Juan Fernandes.
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all around 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?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone;
Never hear the sweet music of speech;
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see,
They are so unacquainted with man,
That their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, friendship and love,
Divinely bestow'd 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 cheer'd by the sallies of youth.
Religion! what treasure untold...
Resides in that heav'nly word!
More precious than silver or gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
W
But the sound of the church going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard;
Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of the knell,
Or smil❜d when a sabbath appear'd.
Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to 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!
Compar'd with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift wing'd arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea fowl has gone to her nest.
The beast is laid down in his lair ;
E'en here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place;
And mercy-encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
SECTION VI.
Gratitude.
WHEN all thy mercies, O my GOD!
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.
O how shall words with equal warmth,
The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd heart!
But thou canst read it there.
Thy Providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redrest,
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