That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow,
And keen remorse, with blood defil'd,

And moody madness laughing wild

Amid severest woe.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath

A grisly troop are seen,

The painful family of death,

Móre hideous than their queen:

This racks the joints, this fires the veins;
That every labouring sinew strains;

Those in the deeper vitals rage

Lo, poverty, to fill the band,

That numbs the soul with icy hand ;

And slow-consuming age.

To each his suff'rings: all are men,

Condemn'd alike to groan,

The tender for another's pain,

Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies :
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more: where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.

ISIS.

Ye venerable bowers, ye seats sublime,
Clad in the mossy vest of fleeting time;
Ye stately piles of old munificence,
At once the pride of learning and defence.
Ye cloisters pale, that length'ning to the sight,
Still step by step to musings mild invite;

Ye high-arch'd walks, where oft the bard has caught

The glowing sentiment, the lofty thought;

Ye temples dim, where pious duty pays
Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praise;

Lo! your lov'd Isis, from the bordering vale,
With all a mother's fondness bids you hail!
Hail, Oxford, hail! of all that's good and great,
Of all that's fair, the guardian and the seat;
Nurse of each brave pursuit, each generous aim,
By truth exalted to the throne of fame!
Ey'n now, confess'd to my adoring eyes,
In awful ranks thy sacred sons arise,
Ev'n now fond fancy leads th' ideal train,
And ranks her troops on memory's ample plain;
Each soul whom truth could fire, or virtue move,
Each breast, strong panting with its country's love,
All that to Albion gave the heart or head,
That wisely counsel'd, or that bravely bled,
All, all appear; on me they grateful smile,
The well-earn'd prize of every virtuous toil
To me with filial reverence they bring,

And hang fresh trophies o'er my honour'd spring.
Ah! I remember well yon beechen spray,
There Addison first tun'd his polish'd lay;

'Twas there great Cato's form first met his eye,
In all the pomp of free-born majesty;

"My son," he cry'd, "observe this mien with awe,
In solemn lines the strong resemblance draw;
The piercing notes shall strike each British ear;
Each British eye shall drop the patriot tear!
And rous'd to glory by the nervous strain,
Each youth shall spurn at slavery's abject reign,
Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws,

And speak, and act, and bleed in freedom's cause."

HISTORY.

HISTORY is an account of any facts or transactions of mankind too remote in time or place to be the subject of our personal inquiry; and is that species of reading, in which we can never be too fully accomplished, if in our intercourse with society we wish to appear with advantage. There is no study so proper to entertain, and at the same time to improve as history: it strengthens the judgment, by giving a liberal and comprehensive view of human nature; and it is allowed that more materials for conversation are supplied by this kind of knowledge, than by almost any other. History is the great record of man; tracing the origin and progress of nations, their language, arts, manners, systems of polity, and all the vicissitudes of their fortune; and which, taking these facts for its guide, investigates the principles of legislation, government, commerce, and all the relations proceeding from human society with the means of improving and bringing them to perfection. These are therefore the favourite studies not only of the sage in human life, but of the ambitious man; and are peculiarly proper for those, who, by birth and talents, seem destined to fill the higher offices in the státe. The true purpose of history consists in studying the laws, customs and characters therein treated of; to judge of them wisely and cautiously; to observe their designs, prejudices, and passions; to discover all the secret springs of their actions, their arts, and the illusions they put in practice to

deceive and ensnare the unguarded heart. It is a mirror, which holds up mankind to their views: in the circle of worldly affairs the same characters and situations are perpetually returning; and in the follies and passions, the virtues and errors of the generations that are past, we read our own, or those of the present? Is there a virtue of which history does not inspire the love by rendering sacred the names of those distinguished for it? Is there a situation in life for which it does not afford some excellent instructions? Or is there a condition, from the throne of the king to the closet of the philosopher, which may not profit, in some degree, by the knowledge which it communicates? Youth should be early taught to think. It is an idle argument, that young people are incapable of reflection. To read and consider well the lives of great men, stirs us up to emulate those virtues that rendered them so justly famous, and fits us for advice and action, when our country shall have need of our assistance; for courage without conduct, and industry without information, are but of little value. Important facts recorded in an interesting manner,either in history or poetry, cannot fail to inform the understanding and inculcate noble sentiments. History has with reason been called the evidence of time, the light of truth, the school of virtue, the depository of events, and the faithful messenger of antiquity. It makes conquerors, heroes, princes, and all other great personages appear at the tribunal of posterity, to render an account of their actions and submit to a judgment, in which partiality ceases to influence. It sets before all in general, of whatever age or condition they be, both the models of virtue they are to follow, and the examples they ought to shun. For men are always the same; they act in all ages upon the same principles; the same springs almost always set states in motion, and occasion the various revolutions to which they are incident. Nothing indeed can be more useful than an acquaintance with history, and parti

cularly with such parts of it as exhibit the good or ill-suc cess, and describe the happiness or misery of those who have been most conspicuous for their virtues or their vices. It does not require those decorations of style, of which other subjects are capable: the passions and affections are not to be moved with any thing, but the truth of the narra tion. All the force and beauty must lie in the order and expression; every object and every occurrence should be so presented to the view, that while we read, we seem indeed to see them: this is the perfection of writing-and in this the History of Joseph and his Brethren, in the Old Testament, is a master-piece in its kind. It owes all its impressive power to the simplicity of the language, and the affecting situations it represents; these are natural beauties not to be equalled by the utmost efforts of art. Let us imagine for a moment the interesting scene, when the noble-minded Joseph makes himself known to his brothers "I am Joseph; doth my father yet live?" No painter could seize a more striking moment for displaying the characteristical features of the human heart. Never was there a situation of more tender and virtuous joy, on the one hand; nor, on the other, of more overwhelming confusion and conscious guilt. Joseph endeavoured to divert their attention from the remembrance of a crime which was now wringing their hearts with anguish, by representing to them the happy effects which that crime had produced. Such was the last incident that is recorded in the life of this eminent personage, than whom you will find few more distinguished by an assemblage of illustrious virtues in the lowest adversity, patient and faithful; in the highest prosperity, beneficent and generous; dutiful and affectionate as a son; kind and forgiving as a brother; accomplished, wise and provident, as a ruler of the land. In such a character you behold human nature possessing its highest honours. We should read history, especially that of our own country, with a view to render it a source of