On Freedom’s wing, that every wild explores, Through realms of space, th’ aspiring eagle soars! Darts o’er the clouds, exulting to admire, Meridian glory--on her throne of fire! Bird of the Sun! his keen unwearied gaze Hails the full noon, and triumphs in the blaze; But soon, descending from his height sublime. Day’s burning fount, and light’s empyreal clime, Once more he speeds to joys more calmly blest, Midst the dear inmates of his lonely nest! Thus Genius, mounting on his bright career Through the wide regions of the mental sphere, And proudly waving in his gifted hand, O’er Fancy’s worlds, Invention’s plastic wand, Fearless and firm, with lightning-eye surveys The clearest heaven of intellectual rays! Yet, on his course though loftiest hopes attend, And kindling raptures aid him to ascend, (While in his mind, with high-born grandeur fraught, Dilate the noblest energies of thought;) Still, from the bliss, ethereal and refined, Which crowns the soarings of triumphant mind, At length he flies, to that serene retreat, Where calm and pure the mild affections meet; Embosom’d there, to feel and to impart The softer pleasures of the social heart! Ah! weep for those, deserted and forlorn, From every tie by fate relentless torn; See, on the barren coast, the lonely isle, Mark’d with no step, uncheer’d by human smile, Heart-sick and faint the ship-wreck’d wanderer stand, Raise the dim eye, and lift the suppliant hand! Explore with fruitless gaze the billowy main, And weep--and pray--and linger--but in vain! Thence, roving wild through many a depth of shade, Where voice ne’er echo’d, footstep never stray’d, He fondly seeks, o’er cliffs and deserts rude, Haunts of mankind midst realms of solitude! And pauses oft, and sadly hears alone The wood’s deep sigh, the surge’s distant moan! All else is hush’d! so silent, so profound, As if some viewless power, presiding round, With mystic spell, unbroken by a breath, Had spread for ages the repose of death! Ah! still the wanderer, by the boundless deep, Lives but to watch--and watches but to weep! He sees no sail in faint perspective rise, His the dread loneliness of sea and skies! Far from his cherish’d friends, his native shore, Banish’d from being--to return no more; There must he die!--within that circling wave, That lonely isle--his prison and his grave!