Rather than thus, unpitying, fee my Moan,
Far rather frown, and fix me here in Stone!
But mock not thus - Alas! (the Charmer said,
Smiling; and, in her Smile, foft Radiance play'd)
Alas! no more eluded Strength employ,

To clafp a Shade!

What more is mortal Joy?
Man's Blifs is, like his Knowledge, but furmis'd;
One Ignorance, the other Pain difguis'd!
Thou wert (had all thy Wish been still poffeft)
Supremely curft from being greatly bleft;
For oh! fo fair, fo dear was I to Thee,
Thou hadft forgot thy God, to worship me;
This he forefaw, and fnatch'd me to the Tomb;
Above I flourish in unfading Bloom.

Think me not loft; for thee I Heav'n implore!
Thy guardian Angel, tho' a Wife no more!
I, when abstracted from this World you feem,
Hint the pure Thought, and frame the heav'nly Dream!
Close at thy Side, when Morning ftreaks the Air,
In Mufick's Voice I wake thy Mind to Prayer!
By me, thy Hymns, like pureft Incense, rife,
Fragrant with Grace, and pleafing to the Skies!
And when that Form fhall from its Clay refine,
(That only Bar betwixt my Soul and Thine!)
When thy lov'd Spirit mounts to Realms of Light,
Then shall Olympia aid thy earliest Flight;
Mingled we'll flame in Raptures, that afpire
Beyond all Youth, all Senfe, and all Defire.

She ended. Still fuch Sweetnefs dwells behind,
Th' inchanting Voice still warbles in my Mind,
But lo! th'unbodied Vision fleets away!
-Stay, my Olympia!-I conjure thee, stay!
Yet ftay for thee my Mem'ry learns to fmart!
Sure ev'ry Vein contains a bleeding Heart!
Sooner fhall Splendor leave the Blaze of Day,
Than Love, so pure, fo vast as mine, decay!
From the fame heav'nly Source its Luftre came,
And glows, immortal, with congenial Flame!
Ah!-let me not with Fires neglected burn;
Sweet Mifuefs of my Soul, return, return!

Alas!.

fhe's fled! I traverse now the Place, Where my enamour'd Thoughts her Footsteps trace. Now, o'er the Tomb, I bend my drooping Head, There Tears, the Eloquence of Sorrow, fhed. Sighs choak my Words, unable to express The Pangs, the Throbs of speechless Tenderness! Not with more ardent, more transparent Flame, Call dying Saints on their Creator's Name, Than I on her's;-But, thro' yon yielding Door, Glides a new Phantom o'er th' illumin'd Floor! The Roof fwift-kindles from the beaming Ground, And Floods of living Luftre flame around! In all the Majesty of Light array'd,

Awful it fhines!-'tis Cato's honour'd Shade!

As

As I, the Heav'nly Vifitant pursue,

Sublimer Glory opens

to my

View!

He fpeaks! - But, oh! what Words fhall dare repeat
His Thoughts?-They leave me fir'd with Patriot Heat!
More than poetic Raptures now I feel,

And own that god-like Paffion, Publick Zeal!
But, from my Frailty, it receives a Stain,
I grow, unlike my great Infpirer, vain ;
And burn, once more, the bufy World to know,
And would, in Scenes of Action, foremost glow!
Where proud Ambition points her dazzling Rays!
Where Coronets, and Crowns, attractive, blaze!
When my Olympia leaves the Realms above,
And lures me back to folitary Love.

She tells me Truth, prefers an humble State,
That genuine Greatness fhuns the being Great!
That mean are those, who falfe-term'd Honour prize;
Whofe Fabricks, from their Country's Ruin rise;
Who look the Traytor, like the Patriot, fair;
Who, to enjoy the Vineyard, wrong the Heir.

thro' all my Veins new Transports roll! Warm Love comes rushing on my Soul!

-

Ravish'd I gaze! Again her Charms decay!
Again my Manhood to my Grief gives Way!
Cato returns! - Zeal takes her Course to reign!
But Zeal is in Ambition loft again!

4

:

I'm

I'm now the Slave of Fondnefs! -
-now of Pride!

- By Turns they conquer, and by Turns fubfide!
These ballanc'd Each by Each, the golden Mean,
Betwixt 'em found, gives Happiness ferene;

This I'll enjoy! He ended! I replied,
O Hermit! thou are Worth feverely tried!
But had not innate Grief produc'd thy Woes,
Men, barb'rous Men had prey'd on thy Repose.
When feeking Joy, we feldom Sorrow mifs,
And often Mis'ry points the Path to Bliss.
The Soil, most worthy of the thrifty Swain,
Is wounded thus, ere trufted with the Grain;
The struggling Grain must work obscure its Way,
Ere the first Green springs upward to the Day;
Up-fprung, fuch weed-like Coarseness it betrays,
Flocks on th' abandon'd Blade permiffive graze;
Then shoots the Wealth, from Imperfection clear,
And thus a grateful Harvest crowns the Year.

The END of the SECOND CAN to.

THE

THE

WANDERER.

A

VISIO N.

ΤΗ

CANTO III.

HUS free our focial Time from Morning flows, 'Till rifing Shades attempt the Day to close. Thus my new Friend: Behold the Light's Decay: Back to yon City let me point thy Way. South-Weft, behind yon Hill, the floping Sun, To Ocean's Verge his fluent Course has run : His parting Eyes a watry Radiance shed,

Glance through the Vale, and tip the Mountain's Head; To which oppos'd, the fhad'wy Gulphs, below,

Beauteous, reflect the party-colour'd Snow.

I

Now