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Article THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE, A SKETCH. Page 1 of 1 Article TO INDUSTRY. Page 1 of 2 →
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Freemasons' Magazine, A Sketch.
THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE , A SKETCH .
BY T . P .
AH ! who art thou whose gentle form Hangs o ' er the bold rock's rugged brow , And seems to court the dreadful storm , That ' sweeps thc brawling wave below ? " O , Ocean ! thou whose briny tide , " Lohg , long , has roll'd o ' er Edward's head , . ' At length receive his promis'd bride ,
" And make of thine a bridal bed I " . 0 God ! she ' s gone I amid the wave I see the beauteous phantom toss'd ! The cliff abrupt forbids to save , Now to my straining vision lost . ' And wert thou , then , that wretched maid Whose reason with her lover gone ,
So long thro' gloomy glades hast stray'd , In midnight sorrows and alone . In truth ye were a matchless pair , ¦ While yet ye drew life ' s balmy breath , Still sense and beauty ' s darling care , And be ye matchless still in death ! Oft shall the main in loomy hour
g , Yield your ' sad spirits to my sight , What time from yon old ivied tow ' r The drowsy bell divides the night . Oft shall I hear your voices rise , Mix'd with the storm ' s discordant roar , Or sinking sad in broken sighs , ' ' ' Die -with the billows on the shore .
As o ' er the cliff I " sadly rove And sorrow fills my swelling breast , I'll sing the mournful song ye love , And bid your gentle spirits rest .
To Industry.
TO INDUSTRY .
BY THE SAME .
NYMPK of the ruddy cheek and nut-brown skin , O that my simple lay had pow ' r to please ye . Knock at my door , knock loud , I'll let thee in , That is , I will if I am not too Jazy 1 Dear Laziness , with soft bewitching art , Spreads o'er my limbs her robe of sober grey , Stills the wild throbbings of the mighty heart
And bids the senses silently obey . Aided by noon , I feel at her command , The subtle poison thro ' , my marrow creep , The tool sinks gradual from my pow ' rless hand , And , lo I I rush into a sea of sleep .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Freemasons' Magazine, A Sketch.
THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE , A SKETCH .
BY T . P .
AH ! who art thou whose gentle form Hangs o ' er the bold rock's rugged brow , And seems to court the dreadful storm , That ' sweeps thc brawling wave below ? " O , Ocean ! thou whose briny tide , " Lohg , long , has roll'd o ' er Edward's head , . ' At length receive his promis'd bride ,
" And make of thine a bridal bed I " . 0 God ! she ' s gone I amid the wave I see the beauteous phantom toss'd ! The cliff abrupt forbids to save , Now to my straining vision lost . ' And wert thou , then , that wretched maid Whose reason with her lover gone ,
So long thro' gloomy glades hast stray'd , In midnight sorrows and alone . In truth ye were a matchless pair , ¦ While yet ye drew life ' s balmy breath , Still sense and beauty ' s darling care , And be ye matchless still in death ! Oft shall the main in loomy hour
g , Yield your ' sad spirits to my sight , What time from yon old ivied tow ' r The drowsy bell divides the night . Oft shall I hear your voices rise , Mix'd with the storm ' s discordant roar , Or sinking sad in broken sighs , ' ' ' Die -with the billows on the shore .
As o ' er the cliff I " sadly rove And sorrow fills my swelling breast , I'll sing the mournful song ye love , And bid your gentle spirits rest .
To Industry.
TO INDUSTRY .
BY THE SAME .
NYMPK of the ruddy cheek and nut-brown skin , O that my simple lay had pow ' r to please ye . Knock at my door , knock loud , I'll let thee in , That is , I will if I am not too Jazy 1 Dear Laziness , with soft bewitching art , Spreads o'er my limbs her robe of sober grey , Stills the wild throbbings of the mighty heart
And bids the senses silently obey . Aided by noon , I feel at her command , The subtle poison thro ' , my marrow creep , The tool sinks gradual from my pow ' rless hand , And , lo I I rush into a sea of sleep .