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Through thorny labyrinths and rugged rocks, Through dark and devious wilds untrod before, To seek the' Aonian Maids, yet not in vain Shall I have toiled, if aught my verse avails The wavering mind in prudence to confirm.

For you, ye candid youths, this destined strain In youth's first prime I frame: O hither turn, Ye ardent bands, your footsteps ! Hither come, Ye whom the voice of Honour and the breath Of just applause may win to leave the bower And flowery lap of Pleasure, whom the flame That from the sacred lamp of Wisdom streams May light to fair desires, to generous fame, And noble counsels! Listen to the strain Which, not severe, yet temperate, calls you on To liberal hopes, to the propitious smiles That Honour gives, the meed that crowns the toil Of all the virtuous, all the wise, and brave!

Say, why was Man ordained to stand supreme Among created things ? To Man alone Why was the intellectual power, the gift Divine of reason granted ? but that Heaven His course appointed through the stated paths, The rounds and fixed degrees of beautiful And great to lie, till, these absolved, the soul

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Might turn her keen perceptions to the taste
Of things immortal; with undazzled view
Before the blaze ineffable, the light,
The radiant splendour of unfading day
Might stand, and mingle with eternity.

Therefore, above all creatures that inhale The breath of heaven, whether with nimble wing They cleave the air, or in recesses hid In ocean's deep unfathomed breast they lie, Or lash with broader fin the upper wave ; Therefore, above what brutes amid the gloom And dark recesses of the forest seek Their prey rapacious, or the verdant plain And grassy meadows browze with bloodless tongue, Is Man exalted. With perpetual dew On him the favour and regard of Heaven In copious streams is poured; on him descends The flood of bounty : him the sovran Sire, With love paternal viewing, bids explore The various paths that o'er the ample face Of Nature spread, and to his view unfolds The volume of the boundless universe.

Hence at the feet of Man the countless wealth Of Nature lies submitted; all the stores That Earth within her fruitful womb matures, All that she offers to the genial sun,

The balmy breezes, and the fostering dews,
For Man are ripened, and for Man produced.

But O ! if lost in langour and the sloth Of unambitious tenderness; if, sunk Beneath the weight of feverish cares; the soul Dissolves in softness, then how vain the powers That heaven vouchsafes to man, how vain the

strength And vigour of his frame, and O, how quenched, How dim, and pale his intellectual ray!

a For, on the sacred temple of the soul When the fierce flames of Love relentless. fix, Corroding all within, then from the strife Of active honour, from his native aim, From all fair purposes, diverted turns The wretched victim. In the lazy shade Forlorn and dronping, while the amorous breath Of breezes whispers through the air, and fans His burning temples, prostrate on the turf He lies, and listening to the song of birds,

a All descriptions of Love must fall before that of Thomson in his “ Spring.” What he has written on the subject is so happy and complete that the theme must be unfortunate for succeeding writers..

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And the soft murmur of the brook that chimes
Along its pebbled channel, he consumes
In melancholy musing his sad hours.

And oft the youth with dew of shameful tears
Bathes his hot cheek; and, to unmanly grief
Surrendered, calls upon the listening grove
To hear his lamentation, and the tale
So oft resounded of the pangs that rend
The slighted heart, the torments of disdain,
And all the woes of unrequited love.

then farewell for him the tranquil mind, a
The charms of cheerfulness, and all the joys
That Mirth and Gladness give around the heart
Most pleasantly to play! Far from the haunts
Of all his fellow men, from génial joys
Of fair society removed, the dark
And dreary waste of Solitude he courts;
There, amid anxious doubts and fears, to dwell
The livelong day. Nor when the waning beam
Of westering Phæbus glances o'er the wave
With horizontal stream, nor when her orb
High in mid heaven the Moon resplendent hangs»
Quits he his sullen watch ; for vainly him
The chilling blasts of midnight, and the rain

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Oh now for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind. SHAKSP. OTHELLO.

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Of heavy dews assail ; still glow his veins
With all the fever's fire, still with wild throbs
His temples beat tumultuous, though his locks
Are drenched with moisture, and his head with dewa
Throughout the night is wet, though winds blow

loud,
And all the forest fluctuates in the blast.

So, in the yoke inglorious, and the chains
Of Love's enchantment held, he lies inert,
And pours his lamentable plaint; or, vexed
By dark suspicions, and the bitterness
Of jealous fears, his troubled fancy paints
The ever-present object of his vows
As listening to some happy rival's tale
With smiles and bland assent. O then how sharp
The stings of passion on his frantic soul
Shed their fell venom! From his tortured breast
Fast flies all tenderness, by anger, scorn,
And deadly hate succeeded; e'en the smiles
That first subdued his heart, and to the sway
Of Love's soft empire bowed him, now provoke
To bitter frenzy and untender rage.
And still at intervals, the more his breast

2 My head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of night.

SOLOMON'S SONG.

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