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Sweeps the long tract of day.

Then high she soars

The blue profound, and hovering round the sun, |
Beholds him pouring the redundant stream

Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway |
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve

The fated rounds of time. Thence far effused |
She darts her swiftness up the long career
Of devious comets: thro' its burning signs
Exulting measures the perennial wheel

Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars, |
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,
Invests the orient.

Now amazed she views
The empyreal waste, where happy spirits hold, I
Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode; }
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light |
Has travell'd the profound six thousand years,
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things. |
E'en on the barriers of the world untired |
She meditates the eternal depth below,
Till, half recoiling, down the headlong steep

She plunges; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallowed up 1
In that immense of being. i

There her hopes Rest at the fatal goal: for, from the birth Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said, | That not in humble nor in brief delight, | Not in the fading echoes of renown,

Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap, |
The soul should find enjoyment; but, from these
Turning disdainful to an equal good, I

Thro' all the ascent of things enlarge her view, |
Till every bound at length should disappear, |
And infinite perfection close the scene.




Some wit of old | such wits of old there were, |
Whose hints show'd meaning, whose allusions care,
By one brave stroke, to mark all human kind, |
Call'd clear blank paper ev'ry infant mind; |
Where, still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, |
Fair Virtue put a seal, or Vice, a blot. |
The thought was happy, pertinent, and true; |
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue.

I (can you pardon my presumption ?), | I,
No wit, no genius, yet, for once, will try. |
Various the paper, various wants produce; |
The wants of fashion | elegance, and use. |
Men are as various; and if right I scan, |
Each sort of paper represents some man. |
Pray note the fop, half powder and half lace; |
Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling place; |
He's the gilt-paper, which apart you store,
And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoire.a
Mechanics, farmers, servants, and so forth, |
Are copy-paper, of inferior worth; |

Less priz'd, more useful, for your desk decreed ; |
Free to all pens, | and prompt at ev'ry need. |

The wretch, whom avarice bids to pinch and spare |
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, |
Is coarse brown paper, such as pedlars choose |
To wrap up wares, which better men will use.

Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys |
Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys;

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Will any paper match him? Yes, throughout; |
He's a true sinking paper, past all doubt. ¦

The retail politician's anxious thought |

Deems this side always right, and that stark nought;
He foams with censure; with applause he raves; ¦
A dupe to rumors, and a tool of knaves; |
He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim,
While such a thing as foolscap has a name. I
The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high,!
Who picks a quarrel if you step awry,
Who can't a jest, a hint, or look, endure; |
What is he? What? Touch-paper to be sure. |

What are our poets, take them as they fall,

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Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all!
Them and their works in the same class you'll find: |
They are the mere waste-paper of mankind. |
Observe the maiden, innocently sweet; |
She's fair white paper, an unsullied sheet;!
On which the happy man whom fate ordains, |
May write his name, and take her for his pains.
One instance more, and only one, I'll bring:|
'Tis the great man who scorns a little thing; |
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are his


Form'd on the feelings of his heart alone:|
True, genuine, royal-paper is his breast; |
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, | best. |



On the parch'd plains the tribes of Israel lay,!
Fatigued and sad, to raging thirst a prey:|
In that lone region, in that desert drear, |
No streamlet's murmur stole upon the ear;]
No brook pellucid glanc'd its light along,
To cheer the vision of that fainting throng. I

Nought met the eye | save Horeb's rock that frown'd, |
In gloomy grandeur, on the scene around. !

At its broad base, behold the patriarch stand, |
And with his rod, at the Divine command, |
Smite its dark front: o'erawed by Power Supreme,
Its riven breast expell'd a copious stream; !
The new-born waters pour'd their torrents wide, |
And foam'd, and thunder'd, down its craggy side. |

At the glad sound each Hebrew mother there
Her infant clasp'd, and look'd to Heaven a prayer: |
Joy thrill'd all hearts; for lo! the sunbeams play, |
In radiant glory, on the flashing spray |

That dash'd its crystals o'er the rocky pile, I
A beauteous emblem of Jehovah's smile. I



My silent and mysterious flight |
Reveals each morn the glorious light |
That gilds the passing year; |
I never stop to rest my wing:|
Triumphant on the blast I spring — |
My plumage, dark and sere. I

Onward I speed my flight sublime; |
Before me withers manhood's prime, |
While pillar, dome, and tower,
And massy piles, and temples grand, |
Lie crush'd beneath my iron hand—|
Resistless is my power. I

Remorseless boaster, hold! thy wings |
May sweep aside earth's mightiest things,'
Mere creatures of an hour:

Thou canst not reach the Heavenly bloom, I
Celestial tints, and rich perfume,

Of virtue's lovely flower. i



When freedom from her mountain height
Unfurl'd her standard to the air, |
She tore the azure robe of night, |
And set the stars of glory there! |
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes |
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white, I
With streakings from the morning light!
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle-bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand |
The symbol of her chosen land ! |
Majestic monarch of the cloud! |

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, |
To hear the tempest trumping loud, I
And see the lightning lances driven, |
When strides the warrior of the storm, |
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven!:
Child of the sun! | to thee 't is given
To guard the banner of the free-
To hover in the sulphur smoke, |
To ward away the battle-stroke, |
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbinger of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high!
When speaks the signal-trumpet's tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on;
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, |
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet-!
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn,
To where thy meteor glories burn,

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