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'Twas thine, celestial Hervey! to illume With Hope's bright day-spring e'en the sombre
grave, To shed a halo o'er the mould'ring tomb, And bid the weakest soul the future brave.
Thy bright example taught the timid soul
Oft have I read thy soul inspiring page,
Now, Theron, o'er thy tomb I've drop'd the tear
There need-st no proud mausoleum sculptured, fair
Thy memory, cherish d in thy sacred page,
Is this Earth a barren spot,
Dark without a single ray? Look around, and say it not,
Beauty reigns through night and day.
Were the woods, and hills, and streams,
Earth's soft green, and Heaven's pure blue All the radiance of its beams;
Formed by God, in vain for you ?
Were the notes that Music wreathes,
In her sweet enchanting chain,
Bid to flow, for you, in vain ?
In the garden of the soul,
Is there nothing to delight? Where the sweetest passions roll,
And the Fancy ever bright?
Love and Friendship, have not they,
Through the coldest bosom shone, Beamed across its ice a ray,
Fires like these could beam alone ?
True, indeed! the stain of Sin,
We perceive upon it all; And the best around, within,
Bears the token of the Fall.
We may wish for purer skies,
Fields celestial, springs of bliss, Yet we gratefully may prize,
Such a lovely world as this!
We may wish for souls as chaste,
As the moon or mountain snow;
God has given to man below:
Call not earth a barren spot !
Pass it not ungrateful by!
NEAR SCARBOROUGH, DESCRIBED.
Ah! what enchantment Nature's hand supplies !
What witching scen’ry decks this blest retreat ! What headlands green and promontories rise,
Of'old patrician oak’s the fav’rite seat!