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So shuts the moping bird of night
That glads the cheerful day ;
She wings her dubious way.
The cloud that nimbly rides,
Whose influence they obey :
At whose command decay.
And ye aerial throng,
Or sustenance or song :
Who, in the ocean's waste domain,
With liberal hand supplies ?
The floods in icy fetters binds,
Or bids the tempest rise?
Above the morning's wings, Beyond the sea's remotest tides, Beneath the daedal earth resides
Th' Almighty King of Kings.
BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ.
(Late Poet-Laureat. )
Once, I remember well the day, •Twas ere the blooming sweets of May
Had lost their freshest hues: When every flower on ev'ry hill, In ev'ry vale had drank its fill
Of sun-shine and of dews.
In short, 'twas that sweet season's prime,
To Summer's glowing hand,
Which fan the smiling land.
'Twas then, beside a green-wood shade, Which cloth'd a lawn's aspiring head,
I urg'd my devious way,
So wondrous bright the day.
And now my eyes with transport rove
Unbroken by a cloud!
A full brimm'd river flow'd.
in accents rude, To thee, serenest Solitude,
Burst forth th' unbidden lay; “ Begone, vile world, the learn'd, the wise, The great, the busy I despise,
And pity e'en the gay.
« These, these are joys alone, I cry;
Thou deign'st to fix thy thronel
These, these are joys alone!
“ Adieu, ye vain low-thoughted cares, Ye human hopes, and human fears,
Ye pleasures and ye pains !" While thus I spake, o'er all my
soul A philosophic calmness stole,
A stoic stillness reigns.
The tyrant passions all subside;
No more my bosom move :
Of universal love.
When lo! a voice, a voice I hear ! 'Twas Reason whisper'd in my ear
These monitory strains : « What mean'st thou, many would'st thou unbind The ties which constitute thy kind,
The pleasures and the pains?
“ The same Almighty Power unseen,
To Contemplation's eye,
And quicken'd every joy.
« He bids the tyrant passions rage,
And combat each his foe:
And happiness from woe.