ODE ON CHARITY.

O thou! whose eye of smiling love,
Outshines yon eye-lids of the day;
Whose bosom no rude tumults move,
Whose form no pencil can pourtray;
So bright thine eye, thy form so fair,
Beauty herself seems stationed there.

Hail, Charity! thou fairest, best,
Adorn'd with virtue's peerless crown;
And wont, array'd in simple vest,

To beam with lustre of thine own:
Still let thy breast with rapture glow,
But spare a sigh for human woe.

Sweeter thy breath, than gales that play, Where summer flowers their odours fling;

Nor is so soft the voice of May,

With all the choir of tuneful spring, The smile that on thy cheek is seen, Bespeaks a paradise within.

Oh! still thy sacred form display;
Near thee a balm shall sorrow find;
Still, like the golden orb of day,

Reign the warm friend of human kind!
And let thine hand to all impart
Fair emblems of an open heart.

ODE TO MERCY.

Ố thou, who sit`st a smiling bride
By Valour's arm'd and aweful side,
Gentlest of sky-born forms, and best ador'd :

Who oft with songs, divine to hear,

Win'st from his fatal grasp the spear,

And hid'st in wreaths of flowers his bloodless sword !

Thou who, amidst the deathful field,

By godlike chiefs alone beheld,

Oft with thy bosom bare art found,

Pleading for him the youth who sinks to ground: See Mercy, see, with pure and loaded hands, Before thy shrine my country's genius stands, And decks thy altar still, though pierced with many a wound!