If thou be absent, life no joy affords—
Despised its titled pomps, and useless hoards.
But Moore is more felicitous when he speaks,—
There is a land where souls are free,
Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss;
If death, that world's bright opening be,
Oh! who would live a slave in this?
It cannot be surprising that the countenance of Innocence has but few lines; it is the sequestered mead over which the passions never step; it is the placid lake which is rarely ruffled, by even the playful breeze; it is the sphere of peace, free from all rugged marks of fear or sorrow.
Its eye (as we have said) describes a peaceful, unsuspicious, passionless spirit, awaiting the summons to its mansions—not made with hands—and prepared from the beginning of time, to which it received its title from that voice of love which descended from Mount Olivet.
