Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul,
And smooth unalter'd brow.

O come, in simplest vest array'd,
With all thy sober cheer display'd,
To bless my longing sight;

Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thv matron grace,
And chaste subdu'd delight.

No more by varying passions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell;

Where in some pure and equal sky
Beneath thy soft indulgent eye
The modest virtues dwell.

Simplicity in Attic vest,

And Innocence with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye;

2

And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair op'ning thro' this vale of tears
A vista to the sky.

There health, thro' whose calm bosom glide
The temperate joys in even tide,

That rarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild, unvarying cheek
To meet the offer'd blow.

Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage

With settled smiles to meet;
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek submitted head,
And kiss'd thy sainted feet.

But thou, oh Nymph retir'd and coy!
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy
To tell thy tender tale?
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss-rose and violet blossom round,
And lily of the vale.

O say what soft propitious hour
I best may chuse to hail thy power
And court thy gentle sway?

When Autumn, friendly to the muse,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,
And shed thy milder day.

When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every storm is laid;

If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice
Low whispering through the shade.

THE

MRS. BARBAULDY.

CHA P. XIII.

Ode to Fear.

HOU to whom the world unknown
With all its shadowy shapes is shown;
Who seest appall'd th' unreal scene
While Fancy lifts the veil between:
Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear!

I see, I see thee near.

I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!
Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly;
For lo, what monsters in thy train appear!
Danger, whose limbs of giant mould
What mortal eye can fix'd behold?
Who stalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidst the midnight storm,
Or throws him on the ridgy steep
Of some loose hanging rock to sleep:
And with him thousand phantoms join'd,
Who
prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind:
And those, the fiends, who near allied,
O'er Nature's wounds, and wrecks preside;
While Vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare:
On whom that ravening brood of fate,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait;
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,

And look not madly wild, like thee?
Thou who such weary lengths hast past,
Where wilt thou rest, mad Nymph, at last?
Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell,
Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell?
Or in some hollow'd seat,

'Gainst which the big waves beat,

Hear drowning seamen's cries in tempests brought! Dark power, with shuddering meek submitted. thought!

Be mine, to read the visions old,
Which thy awakening bards have told,
And lest thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er-aw'd,
In that thrice hallow'd eve abroad,
When ghosts, as cottage maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave,
And goblins haunt, from fire, or fen,
Or mine,
or flood, the walks of men!-
O thou whose spirit most possest
The sacred seat of Shakespeare's breast?
By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions spoke;
Hither again thy fury deal,

Teach me but once like him to feel;
His cypress wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear! will dwell with thee.

CHA P. XI V.

Ode to Truth.

SAY, will no white-rob'd Son of Light,
Swift darting from his heav'nly height,
Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;
Here wave his amber locks; unfold
His pinions cloth'd with downy gold;
Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand?

GOLLINS.

And you, ye host of Saints, for ye have known Each dreary path in Life's perplexing maze

Tho' now ye circle yon eternal throne, With harpings high of inexpressive praise, Will not your train descend in radiant state, To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of Fate?

'Tis silence all. No Son of Light Darts swiftly from his heav'nly height : No train of radiant Saints descend. << Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,. If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind,Or Saint to hear, or Angel to defend. » So Truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound Burst from the centre of her burning throne: Where aye she sits with star-wreath'd lustre crown'd:

A bright Sun clasps her adamantine zone.
So Truth proclaims: her awful voice I hear:
With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.
<< Attend, ye Sons of Men; attend and say,
Does not enough of my refulgent ray
Break thro' the veil of your mortality!
Say, does not reason in this form descry
Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass
The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing
grace?

Shall then your earth born daughters vie
With me? Shall she, whose brightest eye
But emulates the diamond's blaze,
Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume,
Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's
lays,

Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form Of elemental dross, of mould'ring clay,

Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day Shall pass, and she is gone; while I appear Flush'd with the bloom of youth thro' Heav'n's eternal year.

« Know, Mortals know, ere first ye sprung, Ere first these orbs in æther hung,

I shone amid the heav'nly throng; These eyes beheld Creation's day, This voice began the choral lay,

And taught Archangels their triumphant song. Pleas'd I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth, Saw infant Light with kindling lustre spread, Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flow'ring earth,. And Ocean heave on its extended bed;

Saw the tall pine aspiring pierce the sky, The tawny lion stalk, the rapid eagle fly. «Last, Man arose, erect in youthful grace, Heav'n's hallow'd image stamp'd upon his face, And, as he rose, the high behest was given That I alone, of all the host of heav'n, 'Should reign Protectress of the godlike Youth: Thus the Almighty spake; he spake and call'd me Truth. »

CHA P. X V.

Ode to Fancy:

MASON.

Parent of each lovely Muse
Thy spirit o'er my soul diffuse,
O'er all my artless songs preside,
My footsteps to thy temple guide,.
To offer at thy turf-built shrine,
In golden cups no costly wine,
No murder'd fatling of the flock,
But flowers and honey from the rock.
O Nymph with loosely flowing hair,
With buskin'd leg, and bosom bare,
Thy waist with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd,
Waving in thy suowy hand

An all-commanding magic wand,
Of pow'r to bid fresh gardens grow
'Mid cheerless Lapland's barren snow,
Whose rapid wings thy tight convey
Thro' air, and over earth and sea,
While the various landscape lies