Thy arm the tyrant from his throne has hurled,
And roused from slumber the lethargick world;
Thy hand broke off the shackles of control,
And gave new freedom to the imprisoned soul.
To thee the Arts their first existence owe,
And Commerce owns, from thee her sources flow.
Thy voice decreed; in heaven the voice was heard,
And sky-born Virtue on the earth appeared.
Thou bad'st the sightless mind of man to see,
And human nature seems renewed by thee!
Where auburn Ceres o'er the waving plain
Rolls her light car, and spreads her golden reign;
The swains industrious, and inured to toil,
Inclement Sirius, and the rugged soil,
With hope's fond dreams their swift-winged hours beguile,
And view in spring the embryo harvest smile;
Far from the cares, that gorgeous courts molest,
And all the thorns, that pageant pomp infest;
Contentment's wings o'erspread their straw-thatched cot,
And Health and Hymen bless their happy lot.
Day bounds the labour of the teeming soil,
And night unbends the aching nerves of toil.
The hard fatigues, that daily sweat their brows,
Add charms to rest, and raptures to repose;
Labour and Sleep vicissive thrones maintain,
The downy pillow, and the sun-burnt plain.
By mutual wants induced, the rustick band
Soon learn the blessings of a friendly hand.
The rugged hardships of the plough they share,
And soothe ferocious minds by mutual care.
Their social labour social warmth inspires,
And dawning friendship lights her purest fires.
Their generous breasts with growing ardour burn,
And love for love, and heart for heart return.
Thus private friendship forms the social chain,
And links the barbarous tenants of the plain.
Still, like a herd, they rove, with laws unblest,
No civil head to govern o'er the rest;
Till some wise sire, whose silver tresses flow,
And form a mantle of the purest snow,
Quivering with age, and venerably great,
Assumes the sceptre, and the chair of state.
The obedient tribes the palsied sage revere,
Whose wisdom taught them, both to love and fear;
Their filial breasts, unbought by courtly bribes,
With reverence see the father of the tribes;
His voice is fate, and not a lisp could fall,
That was not thought an oracle by all;
With eyes of homage; they beheld his age,
And called their realm the household of the sage.
Pleased with his reign, which met too soon a close,
The tribes beneath elective kings repose.
Now laws are formed to guard the rights of man,
And peace and freedom bless the social plan;
Now art, the offspring of the ingenious mind,
Completes the system and adorns mankind.
Delivered on the 21st of June, 1791, being the day when Mr. Paine and his class left College.
LONG have the zephyrs, in their sea-green caves,
Shunned the calm bosom of the slumbering waves;
While halcyon Pleasure nursed her tender brood,
Spread her smooth wings, and skimmed the tranquil flood
The rising gale now curls the lucid seas;
The canvass wantons with the buoyant breeze;
The bark is launched; we throng the crowded shore,
Eye the dark main, and hear the billows roar;
The tender scene unfolds; our bosoms melt;
And silence speaks the throbs, we all have felt.
Here let us pause, and ere our anchors weigh,
And shoreless ocean bounds the vast survey,
Let Friendship, kneeling on the weeping strand,
Kiss her last tribute to her native land.
Sweet, lovely Cam, no more thy rural scenes,
Thy shady arbours, and thy splendid greens,
Thy reverend elms, thy soft Idalian bowers,
Thy rush-clad hamlets, and thy lofty towers,
Thy spicy valleys, and thy opening glades,
Thy falling fountains, and thy silent shades;
No more these dear delights, that once were ours,
Smile time along, nor strew our couch with flowers.
Hail, winding Charles, old Ocean's favourite son,
To his vast urn thy gay meanders run.
Diffusing wealth, thou rollest a liquid mine;
Earth drinks no current, that surpasses thine!
Thy cooling waves succeed the sleeping hearth,
The peasant's fountain, and the muses' bath.
Yet, fairest flood, adieu! our happy day
Like thy smooth stream, has flowed unseen away.
No more thy banks shall bear our sportive feet;
No more thy waves shall quench the dogstar's heat.
Our fate reflected in thy face we view;
Thou hast thy ebb, and we must bid adieu!
Hail, happy Harvard! hail, ye sacred groves,
Where Science dwells, and lovely Friendship roves!
Ye tender pleasures, and ye social sweets,
Which softened life, and blessed these tranquil seats! To part with you-a solemn gloom is spread;
The sigh half-stifled, and the tear half-shed.
Come then, my friends, and, while the willow weaves
A weeping garland with its drooping leaves,
Let Friendship's myrtle in the foliage flow,
And Wisdom's ivy wreath the shaded brow.
Life is a stage, with varied scenery gay,
But scenes more various mark the chequered play.
Virtue and Vice here shine in equal state,
The same their wardrobe, and the same their gait;
Here gay delusions cheat the dazzled eyes,
And bliss and sorrow intermingled rise.
The soil of life their equal growth manures;
One sky supports them, and one sun matures.
Deep in the bosom of each distant clime,
Their roots defy the furrowing share of time.
Alike they bloom, while circling seasons wing
The raving whirlwind and the smiling spring.
One luckless day the extremes of fate surveys,
And one sad hour sees both the tropicks blaze.
A bitter tincture every sweet alloys,
And woes, like heirs, succeed insolvent joys.
Hard is the lot of life, by fears consumed,
Or hopes, that wither, ere they well have bloomed!
Who breathes, may draw the death-infected air;
Who quaffs the nectar, must the poison share.
Untainted pleasures soon the taste would cloy;
Woe forms a relish for returning joy.
The raging storm gives vegetation birth;
And thunders, while they rock, preserve the earth.
Vain are the gilded dreams, that Fancy weaves, With the light texture of the sybil's leaves. Sweet are the hours of Life's expanding years, When drest in splendour, every scene appears. Romantick hopes illusive phantoms feed; New prospects open as the old recede; In flowering verdure, smiling Edens rise, And isles of pleasure tempt the enamoured eyes; Still unexplored new beauties strike the sight, Till Fancy's wings grow weary in their flight.
Resplendent bubbles, decked with every hue, Whose tints entrance the most enraptured view,
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