And, now I mark thy features, I behold The cause of thy complaining. Thou art here A persecuted Exile! one, whose soul Unbow’d by guilt, demands no patronage From blunted feeling, or the frozen hand Of gilded Ostentation. Thou, poor PRIEST! Art here, a Stranger, from thy kindred torn— Thy kindred massacred! thy quiet home, The rural palace of some village scant, Shelter’d by vineyards, skirted by fair meads, And by the music of a shallow rill Made ever chearful, now thou hast exchang’d For stranger woods and vallies. What of that! Here, or on torrid desarts; o’er the world Of trackless waves, or on the frozen cliffs Of black Siberia, thou art not alone! For there, on each, on all, The DEITY Is thy companion still! Then, exiled MAN! Be chearful as the Lark that o’er yon hill In Nature’s language, wild, yet musical, Hails the Creator! nor thus, sullenly Repine, that, through the day, the sunny beam Of lust’rous fortune gilds the palace roof, While thy short path, in this wild labyrinth, Is lost in transient shadow. Who, that lives, Hath not his portion of calamity? Who, that feels, can boast a tranquil bosom? The fever, throbbing in the Tyrant’s veins In quick, strong language, tells the daring wretch That He is mortal, like the poorest slave Who wears his chain, yet healthfully suspires. The sweetest Rose will wither, while the storm Passes the mountain thistle. The bold Bird, Whose strong eye braves the ever burning Orb, Falls like the Summer Fly, and has at most, But his allotted sojourn. EXILED MAN! Be chearful! Thou art not a fugitive! All are thy kindred—all thy brothers, here— The hoping—trembling Creatures—of _one_ GOD! THE _HAUNTED BEACH_. Upon a lonely desart Beach Where the white foam was scatter’d, A little shed uprear’d its head Though lofty Barks were shatter’d. The Sea-weeds gath’ring near the door, A sombre path display’d; And, all around, the deaf’ning roar, Re-echo’d on the chalky shore, By the green billows made.