Sivut kuvina

But fortunes here I come to tell
Then yield me, gentle Sir, your hand :-
Within these lines what thousands dwell
And, bless me, what a heap of land !

It surely, Sir, must pleasing be
To hold such wealth in every line-
Try,—pray now try, if you can see
A little treasure lodged in mine.


“Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,
And woo the weary to profound repose !
Can Passion's wildest uproar lay to rest,
And whisper comfort to the man of woes ?
Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes,
And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.
O Solitude! the man who thee foregoes,

When lucre lures him, or ambition stings, Shallnever know thesource whence realgrandeursprings.

“ Vain man ! is grandeur given to gay attire ?
Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid :-
To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire ?
It is thy weakness that requires their aid :-
To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid ?
They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm :-
To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade ?

Behold the victor vanquished by the worm !
Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform !
True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind
Virtue has raised above the things below;
Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resigned,
Shrinks not, though Fortune aim herdeadliest blow!"-

This strain from 'midst the rocks was heard to flow,
In solemn sounds. Now beamed the evening star ;
And from embattled clouds, emerging slow,

Cynthia came riding on her silver car;
And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.


Hast thou not seen, impatient boy,

Hast thou not read the solemn truth,
That gray experience writes for giddy youth

On every mortal joy?
Pleasure must be dashed with pain :

And yet, with heedless haste,

The thirsty boy repeats the taste,
Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again.
The rills of pleasure never run sincere :

Earth has no unpolluted spring,
From the cursed soil some dangerous taint they bear;
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.
In vain we seek a heaven below the sky;

The world has false but flattering charms:
Its distant joys show big in our esteem,

But lessen still as they draw near the eye ;
In our embrace the visions die :
And when we grasp the airy forms,

We lose the pleasing dream.
Earth, with her scenes of gay delight,

Is but a landscape rudely drawn,
With glaring colours, and false light;
Distance commends it to the sight,

For fools to gaze upon ;
But bring the nauseous daubing nigh,
Coarse and confused the hideous figures lie,
Dissolve the pleasure, and offend the eye.

Look up, my soul, pant toward th' eternal hills ;

Those heavens are fairer than they seem ; There pleasures all sincere glide on in crystal rills,

There not a dreg of guilt defiles,

Nor grief disturbs the stream.
That Canaan knows no noxious thing,

No cursed soil, no tainted spring,
Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting.

ENTHRONED upon a hill of light,

A heavenly minstrel sings;
And sounds, unutterably bright,

Spring from the golden strings.
Who would have thought so fair a form
Once bent beneath an earthly storm !
Yet was he sad and lonely here;

Of low and humble birth;
And mingled, while in this dark sphere,

With meanest sons of earth.
In spirit poor, in look forlorn,
The jest of inortals, and the scorn.
A crown of heavenly radiance now,

A harp of golden strings,
Glitters upon his deathless brow,

And to his hymn-note rings.
The bower of interwoven light
Seems, at the sound, to grow more bright.
Then, while with visage blank and sear,

in soul we see,
Let us not think what he is here,

But what he soon will be ;
And look beyond this earthly night,
To crowns of gold, and bowers of light.

POVERTY. The cottage of poverty, lowly and mean, Where the poor and the humble in spirit are seen, Was the place the REDEEMER most honoured on earth, While he sought not the towers of splendor and mirth. 'Twas the poor and the simple who followed him still Through sadness and sorrow, through despite and ill, Whose hands earned his need, and whose eyes wept

his doom, Who were last at the cross, and the first at the tomb.

And in all that was dark and in all that was drear,
In every trouble, and every fear,
By every thorn that was found in their way,
Himself was more pierced, more afflicted than they.
Then away with the pride and disdain that would glow
Over all the Redeemer thus hallowed below ;
And when the high heart and proud spirit rebel,
Its scene let the CotTAGE OF BETHANY tell !

Say will no white-robed Son of Light,
Swift darting from his heavenly height,

Here deign to take his hallowed stand ;
Here wave his amber locks; unfold
His pinions clothed with downy gold ;

Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand ?
And you, ye host of Saints, for ye have known

Each dreary path in Life's perplexing maze, Though now ye circle yon eternal throne,

With harpings high of inexpressive praise, Will not your train descend in radiant state, To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of Fate?

'Tis silence all. No Son of Light
Darts swiftly from his heavenly height;

No train of radiant Saints descend.
“ Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,
If guilt, if fraud has stained your mind,

Or Saint to hear, or Angel to defend.”
So Truth proclaims : I hear the sacred sound

Burst from the centre of her burning throne,
Where aye she sits with star-wreathed lustre crowned ;

A bright Sun clasps her adamantine zone.
So Truth proclaims : her awful voice I hear :
With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.

“Attend, ye Sons of Men ; attend and say,
Does not enough of my refulgent ray
Break through the veil of your mortality!

Say, does not Reason in this form descry
Unnumbered, nameless glories, that surpass
The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing grace!

Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
With me? Shall she, whose brightest eye

But emulates the diamond's blaze,
Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume,

Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays ; Shall she be deemed my rival ? Shall a form

Of elemental dross, of mouldering clay,
Vie with these charms imperial ? The poor worm

prove her contest vain. Life's little day Shall pass and she is gone : while I appear Flushed with the bloom of youth through Heaven's

eternal year.

Know, Mortals, know, ere first ye sprung,
Ere first these orbs in ether hung,

I shone amid the heavenly throng.

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