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Fired at the sound, my genius spreads Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and her wing,



And flies where Britain courts the western Still gather strength, and force unwilling
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian Hence all obedience bows to these alone,
And talent sinks, and merit weeps un-


And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes glide.

There all around the gentlest breezes stray,

There gentle music melts on every spray ; Creation's mildest charms are there combined,

Extremes are only in the master's mind. Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state,

With daring aims irregularly great;
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of humankind pass by:
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's

Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,
True to imagined right, above control,-
While e'en the peasant boasts these rights

to scan,

And learns to venerate himself as man.

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Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pic- The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry tured here,


Thine are those charms that dazzle and Thou transitory flower, alike undone
By proud contempt or favor's fostering


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But when contending chiefs blockade the


E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays

Contracting regal power to stretch their Through tangled forests and through dan


When I behold a factious band agree

To call it freedom when themselves are free,

Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw,

gerous ways,

Where beasts with man divided empire


And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim;

There, while above the giddy tempest flies,

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule And all around distressful yells arise,

the law,

The pensive exile, bending with his woe,

The wealth of climes where savage nations To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Casts a long look where England's glories


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Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore,


And bids his bosom sympathize with mine.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind; Why have I stray'd from pleasure and re


To seek a good each government bestows? In every government, though terrors reign, Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain,

How small, of all that human hearts endure,

That part which laws or kings can cause

or cure!

Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, Our own felicity we make or find; Her useful sons exchanged for useless With secret course which no loud storms


Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste,

Like flaring tapers brightening as they


Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
Lead stern depopulation in her train,
And over fields where scatter'd hamlets


In barren, solitary pomp repose?
Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call,
The smiling, long-frequented village fall?
Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd,
The modest matron, and the blushing

Forced from their homes, a melancholy train,

To traverse climes beyond the western main,

Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around,

And Niagara stuns with thundering sound?

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Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,

Come to visit me once more.

He, the young and strong, who cherish'd
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perish'd,
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,

Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in Heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me

With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.

Utter'd not, yet comprehended,

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depress'd and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died!


ALL yesterday I was spinning,
Sitting alone in the sun;

And the dream that I spun was so lengthy,
It lasted till day was done.

I heeded not cloud or shadow
That flitted over the hill,

Or the humming-bees, or the swallows,
Or the trickling of the rill.

I took the threads for my spinning,
All of blue summer air,

And a flickering ray of sunlight

Was woven in here and there.

The shadows grew longer and longer,
The evening wind pass'd by,
And the purple splendor of sunset
Was flooding the western sky.

But I could not leave my spinning,
For so fair my dream had grown,
I heeded not, hour by hour,

How the silent day had flown.

At last the gray shadows fell round me, And the night came dark and chill, And I rose and ran down the valley, And left it all on the hill.

I went up the hill this morning,

To the place where my spinning lay,— There was nothing but glistening dewdrops Remain'd of my dream to-day.



THE day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist:
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
That my soul cannot resist :

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,

Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

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COME sleep, O sleep! the certain knot of peace,

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of


The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's re lease,

The indifferent judge between the high and low!

With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease

Of those fierce darts Despair doth at me

Oh make in me those civil wars to cease;
I will good tribute pay if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to

A rosy garland and a weary head;

And if these things, as being thine by right,

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in


Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.




WHEN Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes

And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare


Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, Without the torment of the night's untruth.

Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, To model forth the passions of the


Never let rising sun approve you liars

To add more grief to aggravate my


Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain,


Each change of many-color'd life he drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new: Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting Time toil'd after him in vain; His powerful strokes presiding truth impress'd,

And unresisted passion storm'd the breast. Then Jonson came, instructed from the


To please in method, and invent by rule; His studious patience and laborious art,

And never wake to feel the day's dis- By regular approach, essay'd the heart;



Cold approbation gave the lingering bays; For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise.

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