But thanks to those, whose fond parental care
To Learning's paths my youthful steps confin'd,
I need not shun a state which lets me share

Each calm delight that soothes the studious mind.

While genius lasts, his fame shall ne'er decay,
Whose artful hand first caus'd its fruits to spread;
In lasting volumes stampt the printed lay,
And taught the Muses to embalm the dead.

To him I owe each fair instructive page,.

Where Science tells me what her sons have known; Collects their choicest works from every age, And makes me wise with knowledge not my own.

Books rightly us'd may every state secure,
From fortune's evils may our peace defend;
May teach us how to shun, or to endure,
The foe malignant, and the faithless friend.

Should rigid Want withdraw all outward aid,
Kind stores of inward comfort they can bring;
Should keen Disease life's tainted stream invade,
Sweet to the soul from them pure health may spring.

Should both at once man's weakly frame infest,
Some letter'd charm may still relief supply;
'Gainst all events prepare his patient breast,
And make him quite resign'd to live, or die.

For though no words can time or fate restrain ;

No sounds suppress the call of Nature's voice; Though neither rhymes, nor spells, can conquer pain, Nor magic's self make wretchedness our choice;

Yet reason, while it forms the subtile plan,
Some purer source of pleasure to explore,
Must deem it vain for that poor pilgrim, man,
To think of resting till his journey's o'er ;

Must deem each fruitless toil, by Heav'n design'd
To teach him where to look for real bliss;
Else why should Heaven excite the hope to find
What balk'd pursuit must here for ever miss ?

ODE VIII.

ON

DESPAIR.

BY JAMES SCOTT, D. D.

SAVE me!-what means yon grisly shade,
Her stony eye-balls staring wide;

In foul and tatter'd patches clad,

With dirt, and gore, and venom'd dy'd ?
A burning brand she whirls around,

And stamps, and raves, and tears the ground,
And madly rends her clotted hair;

While through her cank'red breast are seen
Myriads of serpents bred within,

The cursed spawn of self-consuming Care !—

'Twas thus, O poor enamour'd maid, The Stygian fiend approach'd the sea-girt tower, What time, in sad misfortune's evil hour, The faithless lamp, Love's cynosure decay'd. "And why," the ghastly phantom cries,

"Wilt thou, deluded Hero, wait "Leander's wish'd return, forbid by fate? "See floating on his wat'ry bier he lies;

"Pale are his cheeks, where Love was wont to play, "And clos'd those radiant eyes that late outshone the day."

The woe-foreboding voice she heard,
And wishing, trembling, pray'd for morn-
When lo the bleeding corse appear'd
By savage rocks all rudely torn!
Where were ye, Nymphs, O tell me where,
Daughters of Nereus fresh, and fair?
And why, sweet silver-footed Queen,
Would'st thou not leave thy coral cave,
And sooth the rough remorseless wave,
Ere Death had seiz'd thy best, thy boldest swain?-

With haggard eyes, all-streaming blood,
Distracted Hero saw her lover slain,

And thrice indignant view'd the guilty main,
And thrice accus'd each merc'less watery God.
Aye me in vain!-For " see, she cry'd,

"My dear Leander's beck'ning shade!

"And canst thou live, O lost, O wretched maid? "Shall envious Fate so fond a pair divide?

"Forbid it Love !"-Then head-long from the tower Deep in the ruthless flood she plung'd to rise no more!

With scenes of woe, O cursed Power,
How are thy greedy eyes regal'd ?

How did thy heart exult of yore,

When Heaven's vindictive rod assail'd

The Queen of arts ?—With giant-stride
Contagion stalks, and lo the bride,

The virgin-bride unpity'd dies!

Clasp'd to his daughter's throbbing breast,

The father breathes his soul to rest,

And sorrowing sons compose the widow'd mother's eyes!

Scar'd by the Damon's spotted hand,

The eagle scream'd, the famish'd vulture fled,
The hungry wolf forsook th' unburied dead,
And pale diseases shiv'ring left the land!
What cries and piercing shrieks resound
Through ev'ry street, at ev'ry fane ?

Yet ah! they weep, they weary heaven in vain !
Death and distraction stare on all around!

The wretched few, whom pois'nous Pest'lence spares,
Of moody madness die, and heart-distracting fears.

These are thy deeds, O fell Despair,
Thou tyrant of the tortur'd soul,
Sister of pale-ey'd Grief and Care,
At whose command impetuous roll
Passion's rough tides, and swelling high
Burst through each dear and sacred tye,
And ev'ry pleasing thought o'erwhelm ;
Anon the crazy bark is born,

Of winds, and waves, and rocks the scorn,

For Reason shrinks appall'd, and trembling quits the helm !