5. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure ?
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She called on Echo still through all her song:
And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair.

6. And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose.

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo:

And, ever and anon, he beat,

The doubling drum with furious heat:

And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,

While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.

7. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixedSad proof of thy distressful state-

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd ; And now it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate.

S. With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd,
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;

And, from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes, by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul;

And, dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound:

Through glades and glooms the mingled measures stole, Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay

(Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,)

In hollow murmurs died away.

9. But, O! how alter'd was its sprightlier ton When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across ner shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung!—
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.

The oak crown'd Sisters, and their chaste eyed Queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green:

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear. 10. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd-
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amidst the festal-sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing;
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth, a gay fantastic round;
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,

Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.-Collins.

SECTION XIII.

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard.
1. THE curfew tolls--the knell of parting day-
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight
And all the air a solemn stillness holds;
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;—
3. Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow, twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
No children run to lisp their sire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.

9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;-

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where, through the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

11. Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,

Or Flattery soothe the dulì, cold ear of death?

12. Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid

Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:

13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

14. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

15. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest;

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

16. Th' applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes,

17. Their lot forbade nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;—

18. The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame;
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride,

With incense kindled at the muse's flame.

19. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray · Along the cool, sequestered vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

20. Yet ev❜n these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial, still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

21. Their name, their years, spell'd by the unletter'd muse
The place of fame and elegy supply;
And many a holy text around she strew
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned-
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day-
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?

23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.

24. For thee, who mindful of th' unhonored dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale reiate,
If chance by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate.-

25. Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn
Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

26. "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreaths its old, fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

27. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

28. "One morn I missed him on th' accustomed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he :

29. "The next, with dirges, due, in sad array,

Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne: Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

The Epitaph.

30. HERE rests nis head upon the lap of earth,
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown:
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,

And Melancholy marked him for her own.
31. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere:
Heaven did a recompense as largely send :—
He gave to misery all he had--a tear;

He gained from heaven-'twas all he wished-a friend. 32. No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode

(There they, alike, in trembling hope repose)The bosom of his Father and his God.

Gray.

SECTION XIV.

On the Barrows, or Monumental Mounds, in the Prairies of the Western Rivers.

1. THE sun's last rays were fading from the west,
The deep'ning shade stole slowly o'er the plain,
The evening breeze had lulled itself to rest,
And all was silence,-save the mournful strain