Fuscus, the Man, whose quiet heart No conscious crimes molest, Needs not the Moor's envenomed dart, To guard his guiltless breast. Safe he may range Getulia's sands, Virtue and Peace his guides, Or where the desart Garma stands, Or famed Hydaspes glides. Late, as I ranged the Sabine Grove, Beyond my usual bounds, And, void of care, I sang my Love, In soft melodious sounds, Sudden I met, without defence, A Wolf in fierceness bred; But, awed by peaceful innocence, The savage monster fled. Not scorched Numidia's thirsty fields, Where tawny Lions feed, Nor warlike Daunia's dreary wilds, So dire a monster breed. Remove me far from cheerful day, To night and endless shades, Where not a bright celestial ray The awful gloom pervades: Or place me near the solar blaze, Beneath the burning Zone, Where no refreshing breeze allays The influence of the Sun. Still shall the memory of my Love, Her soft enchanting smile, Her charming voice, my woes remove, And all my cares beguile. VERSES. Written during an Excursion among the Alleghany Mountains. How calm and glorious is the hour of night In these uncultured solitary wilds, When o'er each lowly vale and lofty height The full-orb'd moon in cloudless lustre smiles. Those lofty mountains with their forest green And craggy summits tow'ring to the sky-- How proudly do they rise o'er all the scene, And lift the thoughts from earth to muse on high! And yon pure rivulet that pours along, Playing and sparkling in the moon-beams clear-- How sweet the music of its vesper song In tuneful cadence falls upon the ear! And hark! the roar of these far spreading woods, Sinking or rising as the winds sweep by! Myriads of voices fill these solitudes, And send the notes of melody on high. While all his works with one accord rejoice, And pour forth praises to the Great Supreme, Shall man unmoved withhold his nobler voice Nor glow with raptures on the glorious theme? His bounteous goodness all creation fills,-- Even these wild woods where solitude prevails; He sends his dews upon the untrodden hills, And flowers he scatters o'er the lonely vales. {94} Scenes unfrequented by the feet of men Display his goodness, and proclaim his might: He feeds the wild deer in the secret glen, And the young eagles on the craggy height. His mighty arm the vivid lightning speeds, And bursts the clouds that o'er the hills impend: The mountain stream through distant lands he leads And Joy and Melody his steps attend. To trace his wonders through each varying clime, And all his mercies to the sons of men, Fills the rapt soul with ecstacy sublime Beyond the effort of the poet's pen.