Part 17 (1/2)

O yet once more shall Peace from heaven return, And young Simplicity with mortals dwell!

Nor Innocence the august pavilion scorn, Nor meek Contentment fly the humble cell!

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Wilt thou, my prince, the beauteous train implore 'Midst earth's forsaken scenes once more to bide?

Then shall the shepherd sing in every bower, And Love with garlands wreathe the domes of Pride.

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The bright tear starting in the impa.s.sion'd eyes Of silent Grat.i.tude: the smiling gaze Of Gratulation, faltering while he tries With voice of transport to proclaim thy praise:

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The ethereal glow that stimulates thy frame, When all the according powers harmonious move, And wake to energy each social aim, Attuned spontaneous to the will of Jove:

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Be these, O man, the triumphs of thy soul; And all the conqueror's dazzling glories slight, That meteor-like o'er trembling nations roll, To sink at once in deep and dreadful night.

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Like thine, yon orb's stupendous glories burn With genial beam; nor, at the approach of even, In shades of horror leave the world to mourn, But gild with lingering light the empurpled heaven.”

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Thus while she spoke, her eye, sedately meek, Look'd the pure fervour of maternal love.

No rival zeal intemperate flush'd her cheek-- Can Beauty's boast the soul of Wisdom move?

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Worth's n.o.ble pride, can Envy's leer appal, Or staring Folly's vain applauses soothe?

Can jealous Fear Truth's dauntless heart enthrall?

Suspicion lurks not in the heart of Truth.

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And now the shepherd raised his pensive head: Yet unresolved and fearful roved his eyes, Scared at the glances of the awful maid; For young unpractised Guilt distrusts the guise

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