(Oh, let none cenfure, if, untried by Grief, If, amidst Woe, untempted by Relief!) He ftoop'd reluctant to low Arts of Shame, Which then, ev'n then he fcorn'd, and blush'd to name. Heav'n fees, and makes th' imperfect Worth its Care, And chears the trembling Heart, unform'd to bear. Now rifing Fortune elevates his Mind, He fhines unclouded, and adorns Mankind. So in fome Engine, that denies a Vent, If unrefpiring is fome Creature pent, It fickens, droops, and pants, and gafps for Breath, From trembling Tombs the Ghofts of Greatness rife, And o'er their Bodies hang with wistful Eyes; Or discontented stalk, and mix their Howls The Interval 'twixt Night and Morn is nigh, Winter more nitrous chills the fhadow'd Sky. Springs with foft Heats no more give Borders green Nor fmoaking breathe along the whiten'd Scene; While While fteamy Currents fweet in Prospect charm Now Sleep to Fancy parts with half his Pow'r, And broken Slumbers drag the restless Hour. The Murder'd feems alive, and ghaftly glares, And in dire Dreams the conscious Murd'rer scares, Shews the yet-spouting Wound, th'enfanguin'd Floor, The Walls yet-fmoaking with the spatter'd Gore; Or fhrieks to dozing Justice, and reveals The Deed, which fraudful Art from Day conceals; The Delve obfcene, where no Sufpicion pries, Where the disfigur'd Corfe unfhrouded lies; The fure, the striking Proof, fo ftrong maintain❜d, Pale Guilt ftarts felf-convicted, when arraign'd. These Spirits Treason of its Power divest, But we deceive the Gloom, the Matin Bell Summons to Prayer!-Now breaks th'Inchanter's Spell! And now-But yon fair Spirit's Form furvey! "Tis fhe! Olympia beckons me away! I hafte! I fly!-adieu!- and when you fee The Youth, who bleeds with Fondness, think on me! Tell him my Tale, and be his Pain careft; Still thro' the Shades Olympia dawning breaks! What Bloem, what Brightness lufters o'er her Cheeks! Again fhe calls! - I dare no longer stay! A kind Farewell-Olympia, I obey. He turn'd, nor longer in my Sight remain'd; The Mountain he, I fafe the City gain'd. The END of the THIRD CANTO. THE S THE WANDERER. A VISIO N. CANTO IV. TILL o'er my Mind wild Fancy holds her Sway, Now Scenes crowd thick! Now indiftinct appear! Near the Bull's Horn Light's rifing Monarch draws; Now on it's Back the Pleiades he thaws! From vernal Heat pale Winter forc'd to flie, Northward retires, yet turns a wat❜ry Eye; Then with an aguish Breath nips infant Blooms, Deprives unfolding Spring of rich Perfumes, Shakes WANDERER. Shakes the flow-circling Blood of human Race, And in sharp, livid Looks contracts the Face. Now o'er Norwegian Hills he ftrides away: Such flipp'ry Paths Ambition's Steps betray. Turning, with Sighs, far fpiral Firs he fees, Which bow obedient to the Southern Breeze. Now from yon Zemblan Rock his Crest he shrouds, Like Fame's, obfcur'd amid the whitening Clouds ; Thence his loft Empire is with Tears deplor❜d: Such Tyrants fhed o'er Liberty reftor❜d. Beneath his Eye (that throws malignant Light Ten Times the measur'd Round of mortal Sight) A Waste, pale-glimm'ring, like a Moon, that wanes A wild Expanfe of frozen Sea contains. It cracks! vaft, floating Mountains beat the Shore! Far off he hears thofe icy Ruins roar, And from the hideous Crash distracted flies, Like One, who feels his dying Infant's Cries. O'er crackling Vales, embrown'd with melting Snows; At : |