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D E C. 11, 1740*.



OW to the utmost southern goal"

The Sun has trac'd his annual way,
And backward now prepares to roll,.
And bless the North withr earlier day.
Prone on Potosi's lofty brow,
Floods of sublimer fplendor flow,
Ripening the latent feeds of gold,
Whilft, panting in the lonely shade,
The afflicted Indian hides his head,
Nor dares the blaze of noon behold.


But lo! on this deserted coast,
How faint the light! how chill the air !
Lo! arm’d with whirlwind, hail, and frost,
Fierce winter desolates the year.
The fields resign their cheerful bloom ;
No more the breezes breathe perfume ;

No * This ode was afterwards entirely altered'; as may be seen in this volume, p. 191.---The reader will not be displeased to see it as it was originally written,


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No more the warbling waters roll :
Defarts of snow fatigue the eye ;
Successive tempests bloat the sky,
And gloomy damps oppress the soul.


But let my drooping genius rise, And hail the sun's remotest ray :: Now, now he climbs the northern skies, To-morrow nearer than to-day. Then, louder howl the stormy waste, Be sand and ocean worfe defac’d, Yet brighter hours are on the wing, And fancy, through the wintery gloom, Radiant with dews and flowers in bloom,. Already hails the emerging Spring.


O fountain of the golden day, Could mortal vows but urge thy speed, How soon, before the vernal ray, Should each unkindly damp recede ! How soon each tempest hovering fly, That now, fermenting, loads the sky, Prompt on our heads to burit amain, To rend the forest from the steep, And, thundering o’er the Baltic deep, To 'whelm the merchant's hopes of gain!

But let not man's imperfect views,
Presume to tax wise Nature's laws :
'Tis his with silent joy to use
The indulgence of the sovereign cause;
Secure that from the whole of things
Beauty and good consummate springs,
Beyond what he can reach to know,
And that the Providence of heaven
Has some peculiar bleffing given
To each allotted state below.

Ev'n now how sweet the wintery night
Spent with the old illustrious dead :
While, by the taper's trembling light,
I seem the awful course to tread ;
Where chiefs and legillators lie,
Whose triumphs move before my eye,
With every laurel fresh display'd :
While, charm’d, I rove in classic song,
Or bend to Freedom's fearless tongue,
Or walk the academic shade.


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