in soft Pleasure's arms?
Ambition, these are thine!
These from the soul erase the form divine;
And quench the animating fire,
That warms the bosom with sublime desire.
Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel,
And Hatred triumphs on the o'erwhelming brow,
And midnight Rancour grasps the cruel steel;
Blaze the blue flames of death, and sound the shrieks of woe.

IV. 2.

From Albion fled, thy once beloved retreat,
What regions brighten in thy smile,
Creative PEACE! and underneath thy feet
See sudden flowers adorn the rugged soil?
In bleak Siberia blows,
Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy rose?
Waved over by thy magic wand,
Does life inform fell Lybia's burning sand?
Or does some isle thy parting flight detain,
Where roves the Indian through primaeval shades;
Haunts the pure pleasures of the sylvan reign,
And, led by Reason's light, the path of Nature treads?

IV. 3.

On Cuba's utmost steep,
Far leaning o'er the deep,
The Goddess' pensive form was seen:
Her robe, of Nature's varied green,
Waved on the gale; grief dimmed her radiant eyes,
Her bosom heaved with boding sighs.
She eyed the main; where, gaining on the view,
Emerging from the ethereal blue,
Midst the dread pomp of war,
Blazed the Iberian streamer from afar:
She saw; and, on refulgent pinions borne,
Slow winged her way sublime, and mingled with the morn.

THE
TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY.

Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
These scenes so deeply stained with sorrow's dye?
Is there in all thy stores no cheerful draught,
To brighten yet once more in Fancy's eye?

Yes--from afar a landscape seems to rise,
Embellished by the lavish hand of spring;
Thin gilded clouds float lightly through the skies,
And laughing loves disport on fluttering wing.

How blest the youth in yonder valley laid!
What smiles in every conscious feature play!
While, to the murmurs of the breezy glade,
His merry pipe attunes the rural lay.

Hail, Innocence! whose bosom all serene,
Feels not, as yet, the internal tempest roll.
Oh, ne'er may care distract thy placid mein!
Ne'er may the shades of doubt o'erwhelm thy soul!

Vain wish! for lo,