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That to the grotto leads, my dark abode.' | 1 |
Scarce had he said, before the warriors' eyes | 0 |
The flood on either hand its billows rears, | 0 |
And in the mid a spacious arch appears. | 0 |
Their hands he seized and down the steep he led, | 1 |
Discovered half, and half concealed, their way, | 0 |
The uncertain crescent gleams a sickly light. | 1 |
Of many a flood they viewed the secret source, | 2 |
The birth of rivers, rising to their course; | 1 |
Whatever with copious train its channel fills, | 5 |
Further they pass, where ripening minerals flow, | 2 |
Which soon the parent sun's warm powers refine, | 3 |
In one rich mass unite the precious store, | 4 |
The parts combine and harden into over. | 0 |
Here gems break through the night with glittering beam, | 3 |
And paint the margin of the costly stream. | 1 |
All stones of lustre shoot their vivid ray, | 0 |
Here the soft emerald smiles, of verdant hue, | 2 |
And rubies flame, with sapphires heavenly blue; | 2 |
The diamond there attracts the wondering sight, | 3 |
Proud of its thousand dies and luxury of light. | 1 |
WHere gild my thoughts, rash inclinations stay, | 1 |
And let me think what it's you fool away, | 1 |
Stay ere it be to late, yet stay and take, | 1 |
O! stupid folly it's eternal Joy, | 1 |
That I'm about to barter for a toy; | 2 |
It is my God o dreadful hazard where, | 1 |
Shall I again the boundless loss repair! | 1 |
It is my Soul a Soul that cost the blood, | 1 |
And painful agonies of an humbled God, | 1 |
O blessed occasion made me stay to think, | 0 |
Ere I was hurried off the dangerous brink, | 3 |
Should I have took the charming venom in, | 0 |
And coped with all these terrors for a sin, | 1 |
How equal had my condemnation been? | 0 |
With fond regret; while in this last adieu | 0 |
A silent tear those brilliant hours shall mourn | 0 |
For ever past. So from the pleasant shore, | 1 |
Born with the struggling bark against the wind, | 0 |
The trembling pennant fluttering looks behind | 2 |
With vain reluctance! Amid those woods no more | 3 |
For me the voice of pleasure shall resound, | 2 |
Nor soft flutes warbling over the placid lake | 3 |
Aerial music shall for me awake, | 3 |
And wrap my charmed soul in peace profound! | 3 |
Though lost to me, here still may Taste delight | 1 |
IN ancient times, some hundred winters past, | 0 |
When British dames, for conscience sake, were chaste, | 0 |
If some frail nymph, by youthful passion swayed, | 1 |
From virtue's paths unhappily had strayed: | 1 |
When banished reason reassumed her place, | 1 |
In decent solitude and pious tears; | 0 |
Veiled in some convent made her peace with heaven, | 0 |
Grown old in sin, and dead to amorous joy, | 3 |
No acts of penance their great souls employ. | 3 |
Without a blush behold each nymph advance, | 0 |
The luscious Heroine of her own romance. | 1 |
Each harlot triumphs in her loss of fame, | 0 |
And boldly prints and publishes her shame. | 1 |
YOU noble few, firm fixed in virtue's cause, | 1 |
You just protectors of our sacred laws, | 1 |
Whose hearts stern avarice strove in vain to steel, | 3 |
And blessed with souls disdaining not to feel; | 0 |
Let not the genial warmth, the latent fire, | 0 |
That glows in Britain's valiant sons, expire; | 0 |
But in your breasts let justice still prevail, | 1 |
Angelic maid, thy melting eye may boast | 1 |
Unhappy land, where hostile avarice reigns, | 2 |
And rears her bloodstained banners over thy plains; | 3 |
To burst each tender tie of social love; | 0 |
Spread wide destruction over the bleeding land; | 3 |
And banished far the healing balm of peace. | 0 |
Yet once on them fair Peace propitious smiled, | 2 |
And social joy the tedious hour beguiled; | 2 |
On them bright Pleasure cast her fairest ray, | 2 |
Soft as the rosy beam of opening day; | 2 |
Love, health, and innocence, they still possessed, | 2 |
Contested tenants of the peaceful breast; | 1 |
Vindictive fate ruled over thy dreadful hour, | 3 |
Deaf to the mourning parents plaintive cry, | 0 |
The widow's fondness or the lover's sigh, | 1 |
From each fond breast the hapless victims tore, | 1 |
Far from the prospect of their native shore. | 1 |
Think not, you slaves in pleasure's venal train, | 3 |
The weeping orphan's tears are poured in vain; | 0 |
Awhile in soft repose you calmly rest, | 0 |
Nor heed the pangs that tear each bleeding breast; | 0 |
And fair the fading flowers of fortune spring; | 2 |
Yet heaven, indignant, views the impious deed | 3 |
Soon shall the voice of angry Justice call, | 0 |
And bid the pointed sword of vengeance fall; | 0 |
Shall pleasure then avert the dreadful nod, | 0 |
Or calm the vengeance of an angry God? | 1 |
No, in that hour reflection wakes anew, | 0 |
And calls each crime, each folly, to the view; | 1 |
Bids the lost thoughts eternity explore, | 4 |
Or pause over scenes we can recall no more. | 3 |
To man superior reason's light was given, | 2 |
Unfailing beam, bright intellectual ray | 3 |
Thou steady guide through errors devious way; | 2 |
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