Hark! yon deep echo firikes the trembling ear!
See night's dim curtain wraps the darksome pole!
O'er heav'n's blue arch yon rolling worlds appear,
And roufe to folemn thought th' afpiring foul.

O lead my steps beneath the moon's dim ray,
Where Tadmor ftands all-defert and alone!

While from her time-fhook tow'rs the bird of prey
Sounds through the night her long-refounding moan.
Or bear me far to yon dark dismal plain,
Where fell-ey'd tygers, all athirst for blood,
Howl to the defert; while the horrid train
Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel ftood:

That queen of nations! whofe fuperior call

Rous'd the broad East, and bid her arms destroy! When warm'd to mirth, let judgment mark her fall,' And deep reflection dash the lip of joy.

Short is Ambition's gay deceitful dream;

Though wreaths of blooming laurel bind her brow;
Calm Thought difpels the vifionary scheme,
And Time's cold breath diffolves the withering bough.
Stow as fome miner faps th' afpiring tower,
When working fecret with deftructive aim;
Unfeen, unheard, thus moves the flealing hour,
But works the fall of empire, pomp, and name.

Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man;
Full in the draught be keen-ey'd Hope pourtray'd:
Let fluttering cupids crowd the growing plan :
Then give one touch, and dash it deep with fhade.
Beneath the plume that flames with glancing rays
Be Care's deep engines on the foul imprefs'd;

Beneath the helmet's keen refulgent blaze
Let Grief fit pining in the canker'd breast.
Let Love's gay fons, a fmiling train, appear,
With beauty pierc'd, yet heedlefs of the dart:
While, closely couch'd, pale fick'ning Envy near,
Whets her fell fting, and points it at the heart.
Perch'd like a raven on fome blasted yew,
Let Guilt revolve the thought-diftracting fin;
Scar'd-while her eyes furvey th' ethereal blue,
Let Heaven's ftrong lightning burst th' dark within.
Then paint, impending o'er th' madd'ning deep,
That rock, where heart-firuck Sappho, vainly brave,
Stood firm of foul-then from the dizzy steep
Impetuous fprung, and dafh'd the boiling wave.
Here wrapt in fludious thought let Fancy rove,
Still prompt to mark Sufpicion's fecret fnare;
To fee where Anguish nips the bloom of Love,
Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care.
Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame,
Let judging Reafon draw the veil afide;
Or fir'd with envy at fome mighty name,
Read o'er the monument that tells-He dy'd.

What are the ensigns of imperial fway?
What all that fortune's lib'ral hand has brought?
Teach they the voice to pour a fweeter lay?
Or roufe the foul to more exalted thought?

When bleeds the heart as Genius blooms unknown,
When melts the eye o'er Virtue's mournful bier ;
Not Wealth, but Pity, fwells the burfting groan ;
Not Pow'r, but whifp'ring Nature, prompts the tear.

Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault,

Where the worm fattens on fome fcepter'd brow,
Beneath that roof with sculptur'd marble fraught,
Why fleeps unmov'd the breathlefs duft below?
Sleeps it more fweetly than the simple swain,
Beneath fome moffy turf that rests his head;
Where the lone widow tells the night her pain,
And eve with dewy tears embalms the dead?
The lily, fcreen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur'd spot where roses spring:
But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
And fcents the zephyr's balmy breathing wing.

The bufts of grandeur, and the pomp of pow'r,
Can these bid Sorrow's gufhing tears fubfide?
Can thefe avail in that tremendous hour,
When Death's cold hand congeals the purple tide?

Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more:
Pride's thought fublime, and Beauty's kindling bloom,
Serve but to sport one flying moment o'er,

And fwell with pompous verfe the efcutchion'd tomb.

For me-may paffion ne'er my foul invade,
Nor be the whims of tow'ring phrenzy giv'n;
Let wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful fhade,
Where Contemplation wings the foul to heav'n!
Oh, guard me fafe from Joy's enticing snare!
With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide,
The poifon'd breath of flow confuming Care,
The noife of Folly, and the dreams of Pride.
But oft, when Midnight's fadly folemn knell
Sounds long and distant from the sky-topt tow'r,

Calm let me fit in Profper's lonely cell*,
Or walk with Milton through the dark obfcure.
Thus when the tranfient dream of life is fled,
May fome fad friend recal the former years;
Then, ftretch'd in filence o'er my dufty bed,
Pour the warm gufh of fympathetic tears!
*See Shakespeare's Tempest.

ODE,

TO EVENING.

MEEK Pow'r, whofe balmy-pinion'd gale

Steals o'er the flow'r-enamell'd dale!
Whofe voice in gentle whispers near
Oft fighs to Quiet's lift'ning ear;
As on her downy couch at reft,
By Thought's inspiring visions bleft,
She fits, with white-rob'd Silence nigh,
And mufing heaves her serious eye,
To mark the flow fun's glimm'ring ray,
To catch the laft pale gleam of day;
Or funk in fweet repofe, unknown,
Lies on the wild hill's van alone;
And fees thy gradual pencil flow,
Along the heaven-illumin'd bow.

Come, Nymph demure, with mantle blue,

Thy treffes bath'd in balmy dew,

With ftep fmooth-fliding o'er the green,
The graces breathing in thy mien ;

And thy vefture's gather'd fold
Girt with a zone of circling gold;

And bring the harp, whofe folemn ftring
Dies to the wild wind's murmuring wing;
And the nymph whofe eye ferene

Marks the calm breathing woodland fcene;
Thought, mountain fage! who loves to climb,
And haunts the dark rock's fummit dim;
Let Fancy, falcon-wing'd, be near:
And through the cloud-envelop'd sphere,
Where mufing roams Retirement hoar,
Lull'd by the torrent's distant roar,
Oh, bid with trembling light to glow
The raven-plume that crowns his brow.
Lo! where thy meek-ey'd train attend!
Queen of the folemn thought defcend!
Oh, hide me in romantic bow'rs!
Or lead my ftep to ruin'd tow'rs!
Where gleaming through the chinky door
The pale ray gilds the moulder'd floor:
While beneath the hallow'd pile,
Deep in the desert shrieking ile,

Rapt Contemplation ftalks along,

And hears the flow clock's pealing tongue;
Or, mid the dun difcolour'd gloom,
Sits on fome hero's peaceful tomb,
Throws life's gay glitt'ring robe aside,
And tramples on the neck of Pride.

Oft fhelter'd by the rambling sprays,
Lead o'er the foreft's winding maze;
Where, through the mantling boughs, afar,
Glimmers the filver-streaming star;
And, thow'r'd from ev'ry ruftling blade,

The loofe light floats along the fhade: