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Fix'd on some hanging rock's projected brow,
Hear'st thou low murmurs from the distant dome?
Or stray thy feet where pale, dejected Woe
Pours her long wail from some lamented tomb?

Hark! yon deep echo strikes the trembling ear! See night's dun curtain wraps the darksome pole! O'er heaven's blue arch yon rolling worlds appear, And rouse to solemn thought th' aspiring soul.

O lead my steps beneath the moon's dim ray, Where Tadmor stands all desert and alone! While from her time-shook tow's the bird of prey Sounds through the night her long-resounding


Or bear me far to yon dark, dismal plain, Where fell-eyed tigers, all athirst for blood, Howl to the desert; while the horrid train Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel


That queen of nations! whose superior 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 dispels the visionary scheme,
And Time's cold breath dissolves the withering


Slow as some miner saps th' aspiring tow'r, When working secret with destructive aim, Unseen, unheard, thus moves the stealing 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-eyed Hope portray'd:
Let flutt'ring Cupids crowd the growing plan:
Then give one touch, and dash it deep with shade.


Beneath the plume that fames with glancing rays
Be Care's deep engines on the soul impress’d;
Beneath the helmet's keen refulgent blaze
Let Grief sit pining in the canker'd breast.

Let Love's gay sons, a smiling train, appear, With beauty pierc'd-yet heedless of the dart; While, closely couch’d, pale, sick’ning Envy near Whets her fell sting, and points it at the heart.

Perch'd, like a raven, on some blasted yew,
Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting sin;
Scar'd-while her eyes survey th' ethereal blue,
Lest heaven's strong lightning burst the daik


Then paint, impending o'er the maddening deep, That rock, where heart-struck Sappho, vainly

brave, Stood firm of soul then from the dizzy steep. Impetuous sprung, and dash'd the boiling wave.

Here, wrapt in studious thought, let Fancy rove, Still prompt to mark Suspicion's secret snare; . To see where Anguish nips the bloom of Love, Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of


Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame,
Let judging Reason draw the veil aside;
Or, fir'd with envy at some mighty name,
Read o'er the monument that tells-He died.

What are the ensigns of imperial sway?
What, all that Fortune's lib'ral hand has brought?
Teach they the voice to pour a sweeter lay,
Or rouse the soul 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, swells the bursting groan; Not pow'r, but whispering Nature, prompts the tear.

Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault, Where the worm fattens on some sceptred brow, Beneath that roof with sculptur'd marble fraught, Why sleeps unmov'd the breathless dust below ?

Sleeps it more sweetly than the simple swain Beneath some mossy turf that rests his head; Where the lone widow tells the night her pain, And eve with dewy tears embalms the dead?

The lily, screen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur'd spot where roses spring;
But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
And scents the zephyr's balmy-breathing wing.

The busts of grandeur, and the pomp of pow'r,
Can these bid Sorrow's gushing tears subside ?
Can these avail in that tremendous hour,
When Death's cold hand congeals the purple

tide ?

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