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Who now will guard bewildered youth
Safe from the fierce assaults of hostile rage?
Virtue, that bears the sacred shield of Truth !
Ill-fated youth! then, whither wilt thou fly?
No friend, no shelter now is nigh,
And onward rolls the storm.
But whence the sudden beam that shoots along?
Why shrink aghast the hostile throng?
Lo! from amidst Affliction's night,
Hope bursts, all radiant, on the sight: Her words the troubled bosom sooth. "Why thus dismayed?
"Who tread the path of truth.
"Tis I, who smooth the rugged way,
I, who close the eyes of Sorrow,
And, with glad visions of to-morrow,
Repair the weary soul's decay.
"When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing heart, "Dreams of Heaven's opening glories I impart, "Till the freed spirit springs on high
In rapture too severe for weak Mortality."
THE PYGMIES AND CRANES.
THE LATIN OF ADDISON.
I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs,
Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines;
The flashing swords and fluttering wings display,
Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumbered woes.
Have oft resounded in Pierian song.
Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece,
And Argo, manned with all the flower of Greece;
Of Thebes' fell brethren, Theseus, stern of face, And Peleus' son, unrivalled in the race,
Eneas, founder of the Roman line,
And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne?
Where India reddens to the early dawn,
But now, to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray, Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way, He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth,
Its godlings mouldering on the abandoned hearth;
And starts, where small white bones are spread around,
"Or little footsteps lightly print the ground;" While the proud crane her nest securely builds, Chattering amid the desolated fields.
But different fates befel her hostile rage, While reigned, invincible through many an age, The dreaded Pygmy: roused by war's alarms, Forth rushed the madding Mannikin to arms. Fierce to the field of death the hero flies;
The faint Crane, fluttering, flaps the ground, and dies; And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!)
With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road.
And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay,
And often made the callow young his prey;
With slaughtered victims heaped his board, and smiled
To visit the sire's trespass on the child.
Oft, where his feathered foe had reared her nest,
And laid her eggs and household gods to rest,
The eighteen-inch militia burst their way:
All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell,
When scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell.