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From wave to wave of fancied misery And from each scene the noblest truths
At random drove, her helm of reason lost. inspire.
Though now restored, 'tis only change of Nor less inspire my conduct than my song;

Teach my best reason, reason; my best A bitter change!-severer for severe:

will The day too short for my distress; and | Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve 50 night,

15 Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear. Even in the zenith of her dark domain,

Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, Is sunshine to the color of my


poured Night, sable goddess, from her ebon On this devoted head, be poured in vain.

throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden scepter o'er a slumbering world. How poor, how rich, how abject, how Silence how dead! and darkness how pro- august, found!

How complicate, how wonderful is man! Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds; How passing wonder He who made him Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse such! Of life stood still, and Nature made a Who centered in our make such strange pause;


70 An awful pause! prophetic of her end. 25 From different natures marvellously mixed, And let her prophecy be soon fulfilled: Connection exquisite of distant worlds, Fate! drop the curtain; I can lose no Distinguished link in being's endless chain, more.

Midway from nothing to the Deity! · Silence and Darkness! solemn sisters! A beam ethereal, sullied and absorbed, 75 twins

Though sullied and dishonored, still divine, From ancient Night, who nurse the Dim miniature of greatness absolute! tender thought

An heir of glory, a frail child of dust, To reason, and on reason build resolve- Helpless immortal, insect infinite, That column of true majesty in man- 31 A worm, a god! I tremble at myself, 80 Assist me: I will thank you in the grave; And in myself am lost, at home a stranger. The grave, your kingdom; there this frame Thought wanders up and down, surprised, shall fall

aghast, A victim sacred to your dreary shrine. And wondering at her own; how reason But what are ye? Thou who didst put to reels! flight

35 Oh, what a miracle to man is man, Primeval Silence, when the morning stars, Triumphantly distressed! What joy, what Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball;


85 O Thou! whose word from solid darkness Alternately transported and alarmed! struck

What can preserve my life, or what deThat spark, the sun, strike wisdom from stroy? my soul;

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the My soul which flies to thee, her trust, her grave; treasure,

40 Legions of angels can't confine me there. As misers to their gold, while others rest. Through this opaque of nature and of soul,

ROBERT BLAIR (1699-1746) This double night, transmit one pitying ray

From THE GRAVE To lighten and to cheer. Oh, lead my mind

While some affect the sun, and some the A mind that fain would wander from its shade, woe

45 Some flee the city, some the hermitage, Lead it through various scenes of life and Their aims as various as the roads they death,


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In journeying through life, the task be Rooked' in the spire, screams loud: the mine

gloomy aisles,

35 To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb; 5 Black-plastered, and hung round with The appointed place of rendezvous, where shreds of 'scutcheons all

And tattered coats of arms, send back the These travellers meet. Thy succors I sound implore,

Laden with heavier airs, from the low Eternal King! whose potent arm sustains vaults, The keys of hell and death.—The Grave, The mansions of the dead.-Roused from dread thing!

their slumbers, Men shiver when thou'rt named: nature, In grim array the grisly spectres rise, appalled,

Grin horrible, and, obstinately sullen, Shakes off her wonted firmness. —Ah, how Pass and repass, hushed as the foot of dark

night. Thy long-extended realms, and rueful Again the screech-owl shrieks: ungracious wastes!

sound! Where nought but silence reigns, and I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood night, dark night,

run chill. Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun Quite round the pile, a row of reverend Was rolled together, or had tried his beams elms,

45 Athwart the gloom profound.—The sickly (Coeval near with that) all ragged show, taper

Long lashed by the rude winds. Some By' glimmering through thy low-browed rift half down misty vaults,

Their branchless trunks; others so thin Furred round with mouldy damps and a-top, ropy slime,

That scarce two crows could lodge in the Lets fall a supernumerary horror,

same tree. And only serves to make thy night more Strange things, the neighbors say, have irksome.

happened here:

50 Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew,

Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow Cheerless, unsocial plant! that loves to tombs; dwell

Dead men have come again, and walked Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and about;

And the great bell has tolled, unrung, unWhere light-heeled ghosts, and visionary touched. shades,

(Such tales their cheer, at wake or gossipBeneath the wan cold moon (as fame re- ing, ports)

25 When it draws near the witching time of Embodied, thick, perform their mystic night.)

55 rounds.

Oft in the lone church-yard at night I've No other merriment, dull tree! is thine.

seen, See yonder hallowed fane;—the pious By glimpse of moonshine chequering work

through the trees, Of names once famed, now dubious or The school-boy, with his satchel in his forgot,

hand, And buried midst the wreck of things Whistling aloud to bear his courage up,

30 And lightly tripping o'er the long flat There lie interred the more illustrious stones,

60 dead.

(With nettles skirted, and with moss o'erThe wind is up: hark! how it howls! Me- grown) thinks

That tell in homely phrase who lie below. Till now I never heard a sound so dreary: Sudden he starts, and hears, or thinks he Doors creak, and windows clap, and

hears, night's foul bird,

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which were;

The sound of something purring at his

ODE heels; Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF him,


THE YEAR 1746 Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows;

How sleep the brave who sink to rest Who gather round, and wonder at the tale By all their country's wishes blest! Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly, When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, That walks at dead of night, or takes his Returns to deck their hallowed mould, , stand

She there shall dress a sweeter sod 5 O'er some new-opened grave; and (strange Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. to tell!)

70 Evanishes at crowing of the cock.

By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim grey,

To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 10 WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1769) And Freedom shall awhile repair,

To dwell a weeping hermit there! A SONG FROM SHAKESPEARE'S


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Each lonely scene shall thee restore,

For thee the tear be duly shed: Beloved till life could charm no more;

And mourned till Pity's self be dead.

Whose numbers, stealing through thy

darkening vale
May not unseemly with its stillness suit,

As, musing slow, I hail
Thy genial loved return!

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For when thy folding-star arising shows

His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and elves

Who slept in flowers the day,

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, And many a nymph who wreathes her While yet in early Greece she sung, brows with sedge,


The Passions oft, to hear her shell, And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier Thronged around her magic cell, still,

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, The pensive Pleasures sweet,

Possessed beyond the Muse's painting; Prepare thy shadowy car.

By turns they felt the glowing mind

Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined: Then lead, calm votaress, where some

Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, sheety lake

Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, Cheers the lone heath, or some time

From the supporting myrtles round hallowed pile

They snatched her instruments of sound;

30 Or upland fallows gray

And as they oft had heard apart
Reflect its last cool gleam.

Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each, for madness ruled the hour, 15

Would prove his own expressive power. But when chill blustering winds, or driving rain,

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Forbid my willing feet, be mine the

Amid the chords bewildered laid, hut

And back recoiled, he knew not why, That from the mountain's side

35 Ev'n at the sound himself had made. 20 Views wilds, and swelling floods,

Next Anger rushed; his eyes, on fire, And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered

In lightnings owned his secret stings; spires,

In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er And swept with hurried hand the all

strings. Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil.

With woeful measures wan Despair 25

Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled; While Spring shall pour his showers, as A solemn, strange, and mingled air; oft he wont,

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekes Eve;

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, While Summer loves to sport

What was thy delightful measure? 30 Beneath thy lingering light;

Still it whispered promised pleasure,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with hail!

leaves; Or Winter, yelling through the troublous Still would her touch the strain prolong, air,

And from the rocks, the woods, the Affrights thy shrinking train,

vale, And rudely rends thy robes;

She called on Echo still through all the song;

35 So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan And where her sweetest theme she shed,

chose, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose- A soft responsive voice was heard at every lipped Health,


close, Thy gentlest influence own,

And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved And hymn thy favorite name!

her golden hair.




beachen spear.

And longer had she sung,-but with a The oak-crowned sisters, and their frown

chaste-eyed queen,

75 Revenge impatient rose;

Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, He threw his blood-stained sword in Peeping from forth their alleys green; thunder down

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And with a withering look

And Sport leaped up, and seized his The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of Last came Joy's ecstatic trial.

80 woe.

45 He, with viny crown advancing, And ever and anon he beat

First to the lively pipe his hand adThe doubling drum with furious heat;

dressed; And though sometimes, each dreary But soon he saw the brisk awakening pause between,

viol, Dejected Pity, at his side,

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved Her soul-subduing voice applied, 50

the best. Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, They would have thought, who heard While each strained ball of sight seemed

the strain,

85 bursting from his head.

They saw in Tempe's vale her native

maids Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were Amidst the festal sounding shades, fixed,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing, Sad proof of thy distressful state; While, as his flying fingers kissed the Of differing themes the veering song was

strings, mixed,


Loved framed with Mirth a gay fanAnd now it courted Love, now raving

tastic round;

90 called on Hate.

Loose were her tresses seen,

her zone

unbound, With eyes upraised, as one inspired,

And he, admist his frolic play, Pale Melancholy sate retired,

As if he would the charming air repay, And from her wild sequestered seat,

Shook thousand odors from his dewy In notes by distance made more sweet, 60

wings. Poured through the mellow horn her

sive soul:
O Music, sphere-descended maid,

95 And, dashing soft from rocks around, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid,

Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Why, goddess, why, to us denied, Through glades and glooms the mingled Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? measure stole;

As in that loved Athenian bower Or o'er some haunted stream with fond You learned an all-commanding power, 100

65 Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared, Round an holy calm diffusing,

Can well recall what then it heard. Love of peace and lonely musing,

Where is thy native simple heart,
In hollow murmurs died away.

Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise as in that elder time,

105 But oh, how altered was its sprightlier Warm, energic, chaste, sublime! tone,

Thy wonders, in that godlike age, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest Fill thy recording sister's page. hue,

70 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 110 Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Had more of strength, diviner rage, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket Than all which charms this laggard age, rung,

Ev'n all at once together found, The hunter's call, to faun and dryad Cecilia's mingled world of sound. known!

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