A
FRAGMENT
.
BY
MR.
MALLET
.
*********
FAIR
morn
ascends
:
soft
zephyr's
wing
O'er
hill
and
vale
renews
the
spring
:
Where
,
sown
profusely
,
herb
and
flower
,
Of
balmy
smell
,
of
healing
power
,
Their
souls
in
fragrant
dews
exhale
,
And
breathe
fresh
life
in
every
gale
.
Here
,
spreads
a
green
expanse
of
plains
,
Where
sweetly-pensive
Silence
reigns
;
And
there
at
utmost
stretch
of
eye
,
A
mountain
fades
into
the
sky
;
While
winding
round
,
diffus'd
and
deep
,
A
river
rolls
with
sounding
sweep
,
Of
human
art
no
traces
near
,
I
seem
alone
with
Nature
here
!
Here
are
thy
walks
,
O
sacred
Health
!
The
monarch's
bliss
,
the
beggar's
wealth
!
The
seasoning
of
all
good
below
!
The
sovereign
friend
in
joy
or
woe
!
O
Thou
,
most
courted
,
most
despis'd
,
And
but
in
absence
duly
priz'd
!
Power
of
the
soft
and
rosy
face
!
The
vivid
pulse
,
the
vermil
grace
,
The
spirits
when
they
gayest
shine
,
Youth
,
beauty
,
pleasure
,
all
are
thine
!
O
sun
of
life
!
whose
heavenly
ray
Lights
up
and
chears
our
various
day
,
The
turbulence
of
hopes
and
fears
,
The
storm
of
fate
,
the
cloud
of
years
,
Till
Nature
with
thy
parting
light
Reposes
late
in
Death's
calm
night
:
Fled
from
the
trophy'd
roofs
of
state
,
Abodes
of
splendid
pain
,
and
hate
;
Fled
from
the
couch
,
where
in
sweet
sleep
Hot
Riot
would
his
anguish
steep
,
But
tosses
thro'
the
midnight
shade
,
Of
death
,
of
life
,
alike
afraid
;
For
ever
fled
to
shady
cell
,
Where
Temperance
,
where
the
Muses
dwell
,
Thou
oft
art
seen
,
at
early
dawn
Slow-pacing
o'er
the
breezy
lawn
:
Or
on
the
brow
of
mountain
high
,
In
silence
feasting
ear
and
eye
,
With
song
and
prospect
,
which
abound
From
birds
,
and
woods
,
and
waters
round
.
But
when
the
sun
,
with
noon-tide
ray
,
Flames
forth
intolerable
day
;
While
Heat
sits
fervent
on
the
plain
,
With
Thirst
and
Languor
in
his
train
,
All
nature
sickening
in
the
blaze
:
Thou
,
in
the
wild
and
woody
maze
,
That
clouds
the
vale
with
umbrage
deep
,
Impendent
from
the
neighbouring
steep
,
Wilt
find
betimes
a
calm
retreat
,
Where
breathing
Coolness
has
her
seat
.
There
,
plung'd
amid
the
shadows
brown
,
Imagination
lays
him
down
;
Attentive
in
his
airy
mood
,
To
every
murmur
of
the
wood
:
The
bee
in
yonder
flowery
nook
;
The
chidings
of
the
headlong
brook
;
The
green
leaf
shivering
in
the
gale
;
The
warbling
hill
,
the
lowing
vale
;
The
distant
woodman's
echoing
stroke
;
The
thunder
of
the
falling
oak
.
From
thought
to
thought
in
vision
led
,
He
holds
high
converse
with
the
dead
;
Sages
,
or
Poets
.
See
they
rise
!
And
shadowy
skim
before
his
eyes
.
Hark
!
Orpheus
strikes
the
lyre
again
,
That
soften'd
savages
to
men
:
Lo
!
Socrates
,
the
Sent
of
heaven
,
To
whom
it's
moral
will
was
given
.
Fathers
and
friends
of
humankind
,
They
form'd
the
nations
,
or
refin'd
,
With
all
that
mends
the
head
and
heart
,
Enlightening
truth
,
adorning
art
.
While
thus
I
mus'd
beneath
the
shade
,
At
once
the
sounding
breeze
was
laid
:
And
Nature
,
by
the
unknown
law
Shook
deep
with
reverential
awe
:
Dumb
silence
grew
upon
the
hour
;
A
browner
night
involv'd
the
bower
:
When
issuing
from
the
inmost
wood
,
Appear'd
fair
Freedom's
Genius
good
.
O
Freedom
!
sovereign
boon
of
heaven
;
Great
Charter
with
our
being
given
;
For
which
the
patriot
and
the
sage
Have
plann'd
,
have
bled
thro'
every
age
!
High
privilege
of
human
race
,
Beyond
a
mortal
monarch's
grace
:
Who
could
not
give
,
nor
can
reclaim
,
What
but
from
God
immediate
came
!
********