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By many a stroke to keenest misery brought,
Now in a shower dissolv’d, now lost in inward thought.

As the rous'd Tiger gaunt and fell

Kindles into cruel rage,
With flashing glare and murd'rous yell-

Thus Anger past th’ideal stage,

Too fierce for wounds or groans to feel, Onward she sprung, and shook the bloody steel.

While far behind, with silent pace and slow,
Malice was content to go,

Patient the distant hour to wait,
And hide with courteous smiles the blackest hate.

Secret long her wrath she'd keep, 'Till time disarm’d the foe, then drove lier poniard

deep.

To Malice link'd, as near allied,

Envy march'd with baneful lour;
Detraction halted by her side,
Upheld by Falshood's feeble

power.

. No more!--no more !” the holy Seer exclaim'd,

“ Passions wild, unbroke, untam’d,

“ Must sure the human heart o'erthrow, “ And plunge in all the energy of woe.

• Grant then the boon, all-gracious Heav'n,

“ Let reason ever take the helm ;

Lest, by unheeded whirlwinds driv'n, “ The pinnace frail some gust may overwhelm!

“ Hang out the friendly lamp, that clear “ From Error's perils she may safely steer ; « Till death shall bid each trial cease, “ And moor the shatter'd bark in peace!”

ODE IX.

AGAINST DESPAIR.

BY JOSEPH WARTON, D.D.

Farewell thou dimpled cherub Joy,
Thou rose-crown'd, ever-smiling boy,
Wont thy sister Hope to lead
To dance along the primrose mead!
No more, bereft of happy hours,
I seek thy lute-resounding bowers,
But to yon ruin’d tower repair,
To meet the God of groans, Despair ;
Who, on that ivy-darken'd ground,
Still takes at eve his silent round,
Or sits yon new-made grave beside,
Where lies a frantic Suicide :
While labouring sighs my heart-strings break,
Thus to the sullen Power I speak :

“ Haste, with thy poison'd dagger, haste, To pierce this sorrow-laden breast; “ Or lead me at the dead of night, “ To some sea-beat mountain's height, “ Whence with headlong haste I'll leap “ To the dark bosom of the deep ;

" Or shew me far from human eye,
“ Some cave to muse in, starve, and die,
“ No weeping friend or brother near,
My last fond, faltering words to hear!"

1

'Twas thus, with weight of woes opprest, I sought to ease my bruised breast : When straight more gloomy grew the shade, And lo! a tall majestic maid ! Her limbs, not delicately fair, Robust, and of a martial air; She bore of steel a polish'd shield, Where highly-sculptur'd I beheld Th’ Athenian martyr smiling stand, The baleful goblet in his hand; Sparkled her eyes with lively flame, And Patience was the seraph's name; Sternly she look'd, and stern began“ Thy sorrows cease, complaining man, “ Rouse thy weak soul, appease thy moan, • Soon are the clouds of sadness gone; - Tho' now in Grief's dark groves you walk, “ Where grisly fiends around you stalk,

Beyond a blissful city lies, “ Far from whose gates each anguish flies: “ Take thou this shield, which once of yore “ Ulysses and Alcides wore, " And which in later days I gave “ To Regulus and Raleigh brave;

“ In exile or in dungeon drear " Their mighty minds could banish fear; “ Thy heart no tenfold woes shall feel, “ 'Twas Virtue temper'd the rough steel, “ And, by her heavenly fingers wrought, “ To me the precious present brought.”

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