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The nightingale and the glow worm.

A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,-
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark.
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop,
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent—
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"A much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same pow'r divine,
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."
The songster heard his short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Releas'd him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
Hence, jarring sectaries may learn

Their real interest to discern:

That brother should not war with brother, and devour each other:

And worry

But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Till life's poor transient night is spent ;

Respecting, in each other's case,
The gifts of nature and of grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name,
Who studiously make peace their aim :
Peace, both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps, and him that flies.


The trials of virtue.

PLAC'D on the verge of youth, my mind
Life's op'ning scene survey'd :

I view'd its ills of various kind,
Afflicted and afraid.

But chief my fear the dangers mov'd,
That virtue's path enclose:
My heart the wise pursuit approv'd ;
But O, what toils oppose!

For see, ah see! while yet her ways
With doubtful step I tread,
A hostile world its terrors raise,
Its snares delusive spread.

O how shall I, with heart prepar'd,
Those terrors learn to meet?
How, from the thousand snares, to guard
My unexperienc'd feet?

As thus I mus'd, oppressive sleep
Soft o'er my temples drew
Oblivion's veil.-The wat'ry deep,
An object strange and new,

Before me rose: on the wide shore
Observant as I stood,


The gathering storms around me roar,
And heave the boiling flood.

Near and more near the billows rise;
Ev'n now my steps they lave;
And death to my affrighted eyes
Approach'd in every wave.

What hope, or whither to retreat!
Each nerve at once unstrung;
Chill fear had fetter'd fast my
And chain'd my speechless tongue.

I felt

my heart within me die ;
When sudden to mine ear

A voice, descending from on high,
Reprov'd my erring fear.

"What tho' the swelling surge thou see Impatient to devour;

Rest, mortal, rest on God's decree,
And thankful own his pow'r.

Know, when he bade the deep appear,
Thus far,' the' Almighty said,
'Thus far, no farther, rage; and here
Let thy proud waves be stay'd."

I heard; and lo! at once controll'd,
The waves, in wild retreat,
Back on themselves reluctant roll'd,
And murm'ring left my feet.

Deeps to assembling deeps in vain
Once more the signal gave:

The shores the rushing weight sustain,
And check th' usurping wave.

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Convinc'd, in nature's volume wise,
The imag'd truth I read;

And sudden from my waking eyes
Th' instructive vision fled.

Then why thus heavy, O my soul!
Say, why, distrustful still,
Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
O'er scenes of future ill?

Let faith suppress each rising fear,
Each anxious doubt exclude;
Thy Maker's will has plac'd thee here,
Á Maker wise and good!

He to thy ev'ry trial knows
Its just restraint to give ;
Attentive to behold thy woes,
And faithful to relieve.

Then why thus heavy, O my soul!
Say why, distrustful still,

Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
O'er scenes of future ill?

Tho' griefs unnumber'd throng thee round,
Still in thy God confide,

Whose finger marks the seas their bound,
And curbs the headlong tide.


The youth and the philosopher.

A GRECIAN youth of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care


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Had form'd for virtue's nobler view,
By precept and example too,

Would often boast his matchless skill,

To curb the steed, and guide the wheel;
And as he pass'd the gazing throng,
With graceful ease, and smack'd the thong,,
The idiot wonder they express'd,

Was praise and transport to his breast.

At length, quite vain, he needs would show His master what his art could do ;

And bade his slaves the chariot lead

To Academus' sacred shade.

The trembling grove confess'd its fright,
The wood-nymph started at the sight;
The muses drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmost shades retire.
Howe'er, the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the sage, and mounts the car.
The lash resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring:
And gath'ring crowds, with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.
Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd:
And now along th' indented plain
The self-same track he marks again,
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.
Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glow'd;
Ev'n bearded sages hail'd the boy;
And all but Plato gaz'd with joy.
For he, deep-judging sage, beheld
With pain the triumphs of the field
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye,
"Alas! unhappy youth," he cry'd,


Expect no praise from me," (and sigh'd.);

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