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All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail,
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale,
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend.

Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow, and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down-steering, And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

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Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy aery shell,

By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale,

Where the love-lorn nightingale

Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?

O, if thou have
Hid them in some flowery cave,

Tell me but where,

Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere, So mayst thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies.

[Milton has imitated the story of Narcissus in the account which he makes Eve give of the first sight of herself, reflected in the fountain.]

That day I oft remember when from sleep

I first awaked, and found myself reposed

Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where

And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.

Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound

Of waters issued from a cave, and spread

Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved,

Pure as the expanse of heaven; I thither went

With unexperienced thought, and laid me down

On the green bank, to look into the clear

Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky.

As I bent down to look, just opposite

A shape within the watery gleam appeared,

Bending to look on me. I started back;

It started back: but pleased I soon returned;

Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks

Of sympathy and love. There had I fixed

Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,

Had not a voice thus warned me: "What thou seest,

What there thou scest, fair creature, is thyself;" &c.


[The author, Thomas Blacklock, was blind from tho ago of six months, in consequence of small pox. Yet he paints flowers with artist-like precision.]

Let long-lived pansies here their scents bestow,
The violet languish, and the roses glow;
In yellow glory let the crocus shine,
Narcissus here his lovesick head recline;
Here hyacinths in purple sweetness rise,
And tulips tinged with beauty's fairest dyes.



Since still my passion-pleading strains
Have failed her heart to move,

Show, mirror, to that lovely maid,
The charms that make me love.

Reflect on her the thrilling beam

Of magic from her eye;
So, like Narcissus, she shall gaze,

And, self-enamoured, die.


And round about the same her yellow hair, Having through stirring loosed their wonted band, Like to a golden border did appear, Framed in goldsmith's forge with cunning hand. Yet goldsmiths' cunning could not understand To frame such subtle wire, so shiny clear; For it did glisten like the golden sand, The which Pactolus, with his waters sheer, Throws forth upon the rivage round about him near.


Ay, this is he,

A proud and mighty spirit; how fine his form
Gigantic! moulded like the race that strove
To take Jove's heaven by storm, and scare him from
Olympus. There he sits, a demi-god,
Stern as when he of yore forsook the maid
Who doting saved him from the Cretan toil,
Where he had slain the Minotaur. Alas!
Fond Ariadne, thee did he desert,
And heartless left thee on the Naxos shore
To languish. This is he who dared to roam
The world infernal, and on Pluto's queen,
Ceres' own lost Proserpina, did lay
His hand; thence was he prisoned in the vaults
Beneath, till freed by Hercules. Methinks
(So perfect is the Phidian stone) his sire,
The sea god Neptune, hath in anger stopped
The current of life, and with his trident touch
Hath struck him into marble.

Barey Cohnwall,


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