"Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: "I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; "For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, "Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. "Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; "Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save.-- "But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn? "O, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?" 'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads, to bewilder, and dazzles, to blind; My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. "O pity, great Father of light," then I cried, "Thy creature, who fain would not wander from Thee! "Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: "From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free." And darkness and doubt are now flying away: No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb! ODE TO PEACE. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1756. I. 1. Peace, heaven-descended maid! whose powerful voice From antient darkness called the morn; And hushed of jarring elements the noise, When Chaos, from his old dominion torn, With all his bellowing throng, Far, far was hurled the void abyss along; And all the bright angelic choir, Striking, through all their ranks, the eternal lyre, Poured, in loud symphony, the impetuous strain; And every fiery orb and planet sung, And wide, through Night's dark solitary reign, Rebounding long and deep, the lays triumphant rung! I. 2. Oh, whither art thou fled, Saturnian Age! Roll round again, majestic years! To break the sceptre of tyrannic Rage; From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears; Ye years, again roll round! Hark! from afar what desolating sound, While echoes load the sighing gales, With dire presage the throbbing heart assails! Murder, deep-roused, with all the whirlwind's haste, And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs, Her tangled serpents girds around her waist, Smiles ghastly fierce, and shakes her gore-distilling wings. I. 3.