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Breathes there a spirit on this ample orb

That owns affection for no favourite clime, Such as the surdīd passions ne'er absorb,

Glowing in generous hearts unchill’d by time?

Is it, ye sophists say, a venial crime

To damp the love of home with scornful mirth?

Tho', led by scientific views sublime, Ye range, with various search, the realms of earth, Seeks to returning sigh the region of your birth?

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Yes! there are bands by which the soul is linkt

To scene, and which attract all human kind: Nor are the local sympathies extinct

But only dormant in the sensual mind.

Nor can the philosophic few refin'd The home-sprung instinct from their bosoms chase:

The worldling still, tho' changeful as the wind, And the proud sage, whose plans the world embrace, Some lingering hope retain, some wish inspir'd

by place.

Say, whence, so cherisht by familiar scenes,

This partial fondness? Go---the mind survey : Mark it, where such a preference intervenes.

Behold, “ the throng'd ideal hosts” display

Their never-ending series. In array One rank arises : sudden, a new train

In quiek effulgence flashes to the day: And lo, the close confederates of the brain, Connected as they start, confess the secret chain.

Tis from resemblance we observe one thought

A thought of corresponding shape excite: Nor less from contrast are the ideas brought :: Wak’d by opposing images to light:

And thus the present and the past unite. Nor seldom, one clear image brings to view

Myriads from contiguity more bright; While, as we gaze upon their kindling hue, We court each airy form, and deem the vision true.

Thus, as in magic portraiture we greet

The past emerging to the mental eye; MEMORY retains the picture ere it fleet,

While Fancy gives it an illusive dye,

And the fond Passions all their warmth supply: Yet JUDGMENT interposes, to repress

The volatile ideas mantling high; Lest they should flutter in too wild a dress, Or by their dancing shapes the dizzy brain distress,

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'Tis in these powers---affections---that we own,

Borne on excursive pinion, pure delight; Yet more or less, as some with stronger tone

Prevail or sink before superior might. But to localities, to speed our flight,

Recurring, lo, we borrow instant aid From objects that, presented to the sight, Refresh the faint ideas as they fade, . Or call them into day from pale oblivion's shade,

Thus, with delight still keener, our career

We wing: And hence, more anxious to salute The friendly spot, we hold its features dear.

To scenes that speak of life's pure morn, tho’mute,

The soul of sweet communion we impute; And Fancy the divine illusion weaves.

Hence, as their sympathies our wishes suit, With gratitude the credulous heart believes (heaves, Pleasures long-lost restor'd, and with fond ardos

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