The southern plain a lordly city crown’d: 
    Its ample range with marble turrets frown’d. 
    The golden spires with pointed radiance glow’d;
    From tower to tower the pure effulgence flow’d. 
    The lofty gates for ever open stood,
    And o’er the region pour’d a living flood. 
    Their dusky sides by piny groves conceal’d,
    A range of snow-capp’d hills the north reveal’d: 
    Amidst the dark-brow’d woods with murmurs hoarse
    A thousand torrents took their foamy course. 
    The eastern limit show’d a spacious bay;
    Blue Ocean redden’d in the morning ray: 
    Reflected lustre crown’d the chalky steep,
    And stately navies darkened half the deep. 
    From the tall hill, beneath the sunny beam,
    Three rivers, issuing, pour a various stream,
    Now thro’ the lawns in parted currents glide,
    And now, uniting, spread an equal tide. 
    Unnumber’d tints the forest-boughs unfold,
    And the bright waters seem to roll in gold.

      Successive wonders on the Exile’s breast
    A visionary strange amaze impress’d;
    New hopes, new fears, his trembling bosom throng,
    Doubt follows doubt, and thought drives thought along. 
    When now the Angel, with that awful grace,
    That waits on spirits of celestial race,
    On the pale mortal lost in dark surprize,
    Fix’d the keen radiance of his sun-like eyes: 
    Mild were his looks:  yet, when his accents flow’d,
    It seem’d as thunder shook the bursting cloud.

      “Beneath the weight of earthly evil bent,
    In varied toils and woes thy days were spent;
    ’Till cold Misfortune, with unceasing lower,
    Weigh’d down thy soul, and deaden’d every power,
    Reflection’s lamp withdrew her guiding ray,
    And fail’d to point thee on thy darkling way,
    And thy wild soul prepared to launch alone
    From Night’s dark bosom into worlds unknown: 
    When, sent by Heaven thy earthly deeds to guide,
    And o’er thy term of varied life preside,
    I check’d thy course:  and Providence by me
    Unfolds her secret train of destiny.

      “Oh, ignorant! to deem thyself the first
    Of mortals with unmingled troubles curs’d! 
    Thou hast not yet the height of woe attain’d,
    Nor every cup of human sorrow drain’d. 
    Thy path of suffering has been trod alone; }
    No following friend, no consort, hast thou known, }
    To double all thy sorrows with their own:  }
    No artful foe has doom’d thy humble name
    To public enmity, or public shame;
    And last, and worst of all, the pangs of woe
    Hell can inflict, or vengeful Heaven bestow,
    Relentless Conscience has not shed on thee
    Her poison’d darts,—­her stings of misery! 
    Thy virtue shone thro’ the dim vale of earth,
    And toils and dangers proved thy blameless worth. 
    For this, my hand its timely aid bestow’d
    To draw thee back from error’s devious road.