978 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1805, 



One moment conscious of benevolcnee, 

 More worth than luxuries eternity ! 



Say, St. John say, — for sure thy spirit still 

 IVInst haunt these solitudes, these blest retreats, 

 Those spotted lawns, — this grove, — that raurm'ring rill. 

 For 'twas thou gave to nature all these sweets. 



Thy hand did plant the many a twig, which now 

 Spreads to the sky, nor fears the tempest force ; 

 For thee yon mound did rise, yon stream did flow, 

 And wanton in its self-enliven'd course ! 



For thy lone hours of deep muslngrthought 

 Yon solitary allystrctch'd a way; 

 There, hast thou oft a peaceful hour sought. 

 There, calm reflection clos'd thy busyday. 



Say, — in that hour did e'er thy fancy glean 

 One grain of mental bliss from greatness past ? 

 When fortune frowning vcil'd the splendid scene, 

 Say, — did it precious to thy meuiory last ? 



Or, if recoii'd some deed of private w.orth, 

 Happy intruder on thy musing vein ; 

 Say, — wouldst thou barter that, for what this earth, 

 Its thrones of power, its mines of wealth contain ? 



No, — then away ye scenes of splendid toil; 

 Away ye slaves to factions not your own; 

 I'll fear nor fortune's frown, nor court her smile, — 

 Passion my subject, and content my throne. 



But now the shadow, length'ning on the plain. 

 Bids the lone wand'rer to his home retire. 

 And evening's gloom speaks out in solemn strain, 

 And many a holy thought its shades inspire. 



To watch the parting of the brilliant day, 



To bid the jocund scene of life adieu ; 



Tho' but a night, seems awfully to say, 



*' Think of the night of death, which shall ensue.'* 



Think well upon that long and fearful night, 

 And for the eternal dream thy soul prepare ; 

 Reason the darksome way shall poorly light, 

 A Locke shall wander, — and a St. John err. 



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