MISCELLANEOUS. 101 



Away, awaj, it s"hall not be, 



That thou shalt dare defile our plains : 

 The truly generous heart disdains 

 Thy meaner, lowlier fires, Avhile he 

 Joys at another's joy, and smiles at other's jollity. 



Triumphant monster ! though thy schemes succeed, — 



Schemes laid in Acheron, the brood of night. 

 Yet, but a little while, and nobly freed, 



Thy happy victim will emerge to light ; 

 When o'er his head, in silence that reposes. 



Some kindred soul shall come to drop a tear, 

 Then will his last cold pillow turn to roses. 



Which thou hadst planted with the thorn severe ; 

 Then will thy baseness stand confess'd, and ail 



Will curse the ungenerous fate that bade a Poet fall. 

 * * * * 



Yet ah : thy sorrows are too keen, too sure ! 



Couldst thou not pitch upon another prey ? 

 Alas ; in robbing him thou robb'st the poor, 



Who only boast what thou wouldst take away. 

 See the lone bard at midnight. study sitting ; 



O'er his pale features streams his dying lump; 

 While o'er fond fancy's pale perspective flitting, 



Successive forms their fleet ideas stamp. 



Yet, say, is bliss upon his brow impress'd ? 



Does jocund health in thoughts still mansion live ? 

 Lo, the cold dews that on his temples rest, 



That short quick sigh— their sad responses give 1 

 And canst thou rob a poet of his song ; 



Snatch from the bard his trivial meed of praise ? 

 Small are his gains, nor does he hold them long ; 



Then leave, O leave him to enjoy his lays 

 While yet he lives, — for, to his merits just, 



Though future ages join his fame to raise. 

 Will the loud trump awake his cold unheeding dust ! 



