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Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
Primeval Hope, the Aönian Muses say, When Man and Nature mourned their first decay; When every
form of death, and every woe, Shot from malignant stars to earth below, When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War Yoked the red dragons of her iron car, When Peace and Mercy, banished from the plain, Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again ; All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, But Hope, the charmer, lingered still behind.
Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air, The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world-a sacred gift to man.
Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe; Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring ! What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play, And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought away.
EDWIN AND EMMA.
Fast by a sheltering wood,
A humble cottage stood.
Beneath a mother's eye,
To see her blessed, and die.
Gave colour to her cheek:
When vernal mornings break.
This charmer of the plains;
To paint our lily deigns.
Each maiden with despair ;
Yet knew not she was fair ;
Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,
A soul devoid of art;
Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual fame was quickly caught;
Was quickly too revealed ;
That virtue keeps concealed.
What happy hours of heart-felt bliss
Did love on both bestow !
Where fortune proves a foe.
His sister, who, like Envy formed,
Like her in mischief joyed, To work them harm, with wicked skill
Each darker art employed. •
The father too, a sordid man,
Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the clod
From whence his riches grew.
Long had he seen their secret flame,
And seen it long unmoved : Then with a father's frown at last
He sternly disapproved.
In Edwin's gentle heart, a war
Of differing passions strove : His heart, that durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.
Denied her sight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept,
Where Emma walked and wept.
Oft too on Stanmore's wintry waste,
Beneath the moonlight shade,
The midnight mourner strayed.
His cheek, where health with beauty glowed,
A deadly pale o'ercast;
Before the northern blast.
The parents now, with late remorse,
Hung o'er his dying bed;
And fruitless sorrow shed.
“ 'Tis past !” he cried—“ but if your souls
“Sweet mercy yet can move, “Let these dim eyes once more behold
" What they must ever love."
She came; his cold hand softly touched,
And bathed with many a tear ; Fast falling o'er the primrose pale,
So morning dews appear.
But oh! his sister's jealous care
(A cruel sister she) Forbade what Emma came to say;
“ My Edwin ! live for me.”
Now homeward as she hopeless went
The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl screamed
Her lover's funeral song.
Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her startling fancy found
His groan in every sound.
Alone, appalled, thus had she passed
The visionary vale-
Sad-sounding in the gale.
Her aged mother's door-
" That angel face no more!
“ Beat high against my side”
She shivering sighed, and died.
VOYAGE OF THE FIRST MISSIONARIES TO
The moon is watching in the sky; the stars
Hark! through the calm and silence of the scene,