Neglected Nymph, that with unpitied sigh
Turn’st thy white cheek to every striking gale,
While the base crew with wounding taunts assail,
And Worthless Wealth averts his wint’ry eye!
Yet the rich virtues follow in thy strain,
Thine is Compassion’s tear, Submission’s calm,
Inspiring Hope, Religion’s healing balm,
And mild Philosophy’s instructive strain.
Thine is the plaintive Poet’s touching song,
That tunes with melody the chords of Care,
To smile forgiveness on the cureless wrong,
And heal the wounded spirit of Despair.
Ah, may I ne’er forget thy voice divine,
But bless the hour, that made its precepts MINE.
* * * * *
* * * *
THE VISION:
AN ELEGY.
What time the moon, in silver robes array’d,
Propt on her lucent throne, majestic sate,
With weary steps, I trod the muse-fraught glade,
And hail’d the sombre glory of her state.
Still was the air, and solemn all the scene;
For there, immers’d in heavenly thought profound,
Deep Wisdom rov’d, whose sable robes were seen
To sweep with awful majesty the ground.
Bent o’er an urn, pale Melancholy stood,
With Pity’s smile soft melting in her eye;
Around her feet, in visionary mood,
The weeping spectres float in sorrow by.
There Contemplation held her awful reign,
And Fear, methought, burst thro’ the low’ring gloom:
While sounds terrific whisper’d in the gale,
And palid visions burst the yawning tomb.
Oppress’d I stood; when lo! from yonder sky;
Where charms celestial to the sight are giv’n,
Some Seraph’s beauties swept in glory by,
Enwrapt in all the radiant blooms of heav’n.
Propt on an amber cloud, one seem’d to stand,
While o’er his breast his radiant pinions fold:
A glitt’ring spear supports his better hand,
His blazing helmet flames with plumy gold!
I hear him say, “Why pour thy mournful strain?
Why feed with bitter grief thy woe-fraught mind,
Why pants thy heart with visionary pain?
Why give thy tresses to the ruffled wind?
No more let strains of hopeless sorrow flow;”--
He spoke, my father burst upon my eyes!
“For me no more unlock the source of woe,”
In strains divine my honour’d parent cries.
“For I am seated in the realms of light,
Where founts of bliss from joys perennial play;
Where suns of glory purify the sight,
And the soul triumphs in eternal day!
Raise thy low thoughts to images above,
And hail the form you ought not to deplore,
Lodg’d in the bosom of your maker’s love;
And learn from heav’nly precept to adore.
Frail child, no more let tears impearl thine eye,
Nor rending groans lament thy glorious fire;
Since wisdom tells you, that we all must die,
Tho’ born to flourish with celestial fire!
Be these thy precepts; learn from hence, no more
To bid the stream of erring sorrow flow:
Exalt thy eyes; you realms of light explore,
And aim to bloom where truths celestial glow!”
Corrected thus--I humbly bow’d my head:
Thrice round his breast his flaming jav’lin flies;
His radiant path eternal glories spread;
He mounts the air, and seeks the opening skies.
* * * * *
* * * *
HUMANITY’s POWER.
How delightful the season of May,
When zephyrs come sailing along!
The meadows how cheerful and gay!
How sweet is the Nightingale’s song!
The grove fragrant odours exhale
When refresh’d by the still drooping show’r,
And sweet is the eglantine gale,
But sweeter Humanity’s Power.
When Summer, refulgent array’d,
Darts fiercely his vertical beam,
How welcome the tremulous shade!
How refreshing the chrystaline stream!
The breezes soft transports bestow,
As they glide o’er the jessamine flower,
But more grateful the plasures which flow,
From gentle Humanity’s Power.
What can charm like Autumn’s bright ray,
When the fields their rich treasures resign?
Or what greater beauty display
Than the smooth polish’d fruit of the vine?
Is there ought like the morning can please?
Or the smile of the sun setting hour?
Yes, far more engaging than these,
Are the beams of Humanity’s Power.
More mild than the calm vernal scene,
More grateful than Summer retreats;
More engaging than Autumn serene,
When nature her promise completes:
More gentle than zephyrs soft wind,
And more sweet than the jessamine flow’r,
Are the joys of the tranquiliz’d mind,
Which glows with Humanity’s Power.
* * * * *
ASPIRATION
Over the Tomb of an Amiable Friend.
If honour, prudence, piety combin’d,
A noble nature, and an humble mind,
Esteem’d whilst living, claim, while dead, a tear,
The Muse is justified who pays it here.
For, O, if all which virtue ever gave
Could save her vot’ries from th’ insatiate grave,
Whom here I mourn had now in this sad hour
Been an existent instance of her pow’r.
Existent instance!--mount above the pole
Dull Muse, and trace the disembodied soul,
Who, haply now, exulting in its doom,
Views, with a smile, the disappointed tomb.
What tho’ its tent, beneath a fateful sky
Prone in the dust, by death subverted, lie,
Itself, escap’d above the stormy bow,
Securely views the ruin spread below.
So when an earthquake shakes this trembling ball,
And the high rocks in pond’rous thunders fall,
Tho’ not her nest the devastations spare
The Eagle still exults sublime in air!
NEW-YORK: _+Printed by THOMAS BURLING, Jun. No. 115, Cherry-street+--
where +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per quarter) will be
gratefully received--And at No. 33, +Oliver-Street+._
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_UTILE DULCI._
THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.
+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, February 22, 1797.+ [+No. 86.+