When life's warm fountains feel the frost of time; When the cold dews of darkness close their eyes, She shows the parting soul, upraised sublime, The brighter glories of her kindred skies. Thus the pale Moon, whose pure celestial light Has chased the gloomy clouds of Heaven away, Rests her white cheek, with silver radiance bright, On the soft bosom of the Western sea. Lost in the glowing wave, her radiance dies; Yet, while she sinks, she points her ling'ring ray To the bright azure of the orient skies-- To the fair dawning of the glorious day. Like the tumultuous billows of the sea Succeed the generations of mankind; Some in oblivious silence pass away, And leave no vestige of their lives behind. Others, like those proud waves which beat the shore, A loud and momentary murmur raise; But soon their transient glories are no more,-- No future ages echo with their praise. Like yon proud rocks amidst the sea of time, Superior, scorning all the billows' rage, The living Sons of Genius stand sublime, Th' immortal children of another age. For those exist whose pure ethereal minds, Imbibing portions of celestial day, Scorn all terrestrial cares, all mean designs, As bright-eyed eagles scorn the lunar ray. Their's is the glory of a lasting name, The meed of Genius and her living fires, Their's is the laurel of eternal fame, And their's the sweetness of the Muse's lyres. D.--1795. THE SONG OF PLEASURE. The genial influence of the day Had chased the lingering cold away; Borne upon the Zephyr's wing, Sweetly smiled the radiant Spring: Her mild re-animating breath Wakes Nature from her wintry death; Attended by the laughing Hours, She rises clad in flowers, And lightly as she trips along, The vernal warblers raise the song. Rich in a thousand radiant dyes, Around her steps the flow'rets rise, The Zephyr sports, the sunbeams sleep On the blue bosom of the deep. And now, within my throbbing breast I feel the influence of the Spring, To ecstasy I tune my string, And garlanded with odorous flowers, I hasted to the shady grove, I hasted to the roseate bowers Where Pleasure dwells with Love. There Youth, and Love, and Beauty, bound The glowing rose my harp around; Then to the daughter of Desire, To bright-eyed Pleasure gave the lyre: She tuned the string, And smiling softer than the rosy sea, When the young Morning blushes on her breast, She raised the raptured lay, I heard her sing, The song lull'd every care and every thought to rest.