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JAMES SCOTT, D.D.
Led by the Muse, my step pervades
Where Art and Sculpture reign :
And marble breathe through every vein!
To find his pow'r malignant fled; “ And what avails my dart,” he cries,
“ Since these can animate the dead? “ Since wak'd to mimic life again in stone “ The patriot seems to speak, the hero frown." There Virtue's silent train are seen, Fast fix'd their looks, erect their nien. Lo! while with more than stoic soul, The Attic sage exhausts the bowl, A pale suffusion shades his eyes, 'Till by degrees the marble dies!
See there the injur'd Poet bleed!
What horror freezes every vein!
Yet not alone such themes demand
I view with melting eyes
Her infant sire with food supplies.
His squalid hair, and galling chains:
His hóary head her hand sustains;
Lo! there the wild Assyrian queen,
sudden silence, the mad crowd obey'd
With hope, or fear, or love, by turns,
As Sculpture waves her hand;
And rise and fall by her command.
When sinks to dust this mortal frame,
Her touch revives the lambent flame;
Hence, where the organ full and clear,
Where tints of thousand hues are stor'd;
Aower in painted robes is drest,
Here, as Devotion, heavenly queen,
At Newton's shrine they bow!
Behold their ardent bosoms glow!
Hail, mighty Mind ! hail, awful name!
I feel inspir’d my lab’ring breast; And lo! I pant, I burn for fame!
Come, Science, bright etheral guest,
Could I to one faint ray aspire,
of Music dwell;
To thee shall swell the breathing bust :
THE REV. THOMAS COLE.
Come, musing Silence, nor refuse to shed
Thy sober influence o'er this darkling cell:
Nor dost thou only love to dwell
For still at eve's serenest hour
The last faint gleamings of the twilight sky.