e preserve thy mild controul,
Correct my views, and elevate my soul;
Grant me thy peace and purity of mind,
Devout yet cheerful, active yet resign'd;
Grant me, like thee, whose heart knew no disguise,
Whose blameless wishes never aim'd to rise,
To meet the changes Time and Chance present,
With modest dignity and calm content.
When thy last breath, ere Nature sunk to rest,
Thy meek submission to thy God express'd;
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled,
A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed;
What to thy soul its glad assurance gave,
Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave?
The sweet Remembrance of unblemish'd youth,
The still inspiring voice of Innocence and Truth!
Hail, MEMORY, hail! in thy exhaustless mine
From age to age unnumber'd treasures shine!
Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey,
And Place and Time are subject to thy sway!
Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone;
The only pleasures we can call our own.
Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die,
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky;
If but a beam of sober Reason play,
Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away!
But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power,
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour?
These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight,
Pour round her path a stream of living light;
And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest,
Where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest!

NOTES ON THE FIRST PART.

NOTE a.

_Up springs at every step to claim a tear_,

I came to the place of my birth, and cried, "The friends of my Youth,
where are they?"--And an echo answered, "Where are they?" From an
Arabic MS.

NOTE b.

_Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise!_

When a traveller, who was surveying the ruins of Rome, expressed a
desire to possess some relic of its antient grandeur, Poussin, who
attended him, stooped down, and, gathering up a handful of earth
shining with small grains of porphyry, "Take this home," said he,
"for your cabinet; and say boldly, _Questa e Roma Antica_."

NOTE c.

_The church-yard yews round which his fathers sleep_;

Every man, like Gulliver in Lilliput, is fastened to some spot of
earth, by the thousand small threads which habit and association are
continually stealing over him. Of these, perhaps, one of the
strongest is here alluded to.

When the Canadian Indians were once solicited to emigrate, "What!"
they replied, "shall we say to the bones of our fathers, Arise,