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LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN
Once more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander
ing near, I bless thy milky waters cold and clear. Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. For not through pathless grove with murmur rude Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, SOLITUDE; Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, The HERMIT-FOUNTAIN of some dripping cell! Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The scattered cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks With infant uproar age soul-soothing pranks, Released from school, their little hearts at rest, Launch
paper navies on thy waveless breast. The rustic here at eve with pensive look Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread
LINES ON A FRIEND.
WIIO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY
EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye I scan,
outcast-Man ! 'Tis tempest all or gloom : in early youth If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth We force to start amid her feigned caress VICE, siren-hag ! in native ugliness; A Brother's fate will haply rouse the tear, And on we go in heaviness and fear! But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground And mingled forms of Misery rise around : Heart-fretting FEAR, with pallid look aghast, That courts the future woe to hide the past ; REMORSE, the poisoned arrow in his side, And loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close allied : Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain, Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain.
Rest, injur'd shade! Shall SLANDER squatting near
that rolled around in asking gaze, And tongue that trafficked in the trade of praise. Thy follies such! the hard world marked them well! Were they more wise, the PROUD who never fell? Rest, injured shade! the poor man's grateful prayer On heaven-ward wing thy wounded soul shall bear. As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, And sit me down upon its recent grass, With introverted eye I contemplate Similitude of soul, perhaps of-Fate! To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assigned Energic Reason and a shaping mind, The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. Sloth-jaundiced all! and from my graspless hand Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hour glass sand.