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The rural day, and talked the flowing heart,
Or sighed, and looked unutterable things.

So passed their life, a clear united stream,
By care unruffled; till, in evil hour,
The tempest caught them on the tender walk,
Heedless how far, and where its mazes strayed,
While, with each other blest, creative love
Still bade eternal Eden smile around.
Presaging instant fate her bosom heaved
Unwonted sighs; and stealing oft a look
Towards the big gloom, on Celadon her eye
Fell tearful, wetting her disordered cheek.
In vain assuring love, and confidence
In Heaven, repressed her fear; it grew, and shook
Her frame near dissolution. He perceived
The unequal conflict, and as angels look
On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed,
With love illumined high. “Fear not,” he said,
“ Sweet innocence ! thou stranger to offence
“ And inward storm! He, who yon

skies involves “ In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee “ With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft “ That wastes at midnight, or the undreaded hour “ Of noon, Aies harmless; and that very voice, • Which thunders terror through the guilty heart, “ With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine. “ 'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus To clasp perfection !" From his void embrace, (Mysterious Heaven !) that moment to the ground, A blackened corse, was struck the beauteous maid. But who can paint the lover as he stood, Pierced by severe amazement, hating life, Speechless, and fixed in all the death of woe ? So, faint resemblance !-on the marble tomb, The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands, For ever silent, and for ever sad.

The Lord our God is full of might,

The winds obey his will ;
He speaks, and in his heavenly height,

The rolling sun stands still.
Rebel ye waves, and o'er the land,

With threatening aspect roar;
The Lord uplifts his awful hand,

And chains you to the shore.
Howl winds of night, your force combine ;

Without his high behest,
Ye shall not in the mountain pine,

Disturb the sparrow's nest.
His voice sublime is heard afar,

In distant peals it dies;
He yokes the whirlwind to his car,

And sweeps the bowling skies.
Ye nations bend, in reverence bend,

Ye monarchs wait his nod,
And bid the choral song ascend

To celebrate your God.


The Lord our God is Lord of all,

His station who can find ?
I hear him in the waterfall !

I hear him in the wind !
If in the gloom of night I shroud,

His face I cannot fly;
I see him in the evening cloud,

And in the morning sky.

He lives, he reigns, in every land,

From winter's polar snows,
To where across the burning sand,

The blasting meteor glows.
He smiles, we live,-he frowns, we die-

We hang upon his word :
He rears his red right arm on high,

And ruin bares his sword.
He bids his blast the fields deform-

Then, when his thunders cease,
Sits like the ruler of the storm,

And smiles the winds to peace.

HENRY IV.'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP. How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the Great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull God! why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch, A watch-case to a common larum-bell? Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast, Seal up the shipboy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafening clamours in the slippery shrouds,
That with the hurly Death itself awakes :
Canst thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose
To the wet seaboy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king ? Then, happy lowly clown;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Reft of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
Mourn, widowed queen, forgotten Sion, mourn !
Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne,
Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone?
While sons unblest their angry lustre fling,
And wayworn pilgrims seek the scanty spring ?-
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy viewed ?
Where now thy might, which all those kings subdued ?
No martial myriads muster in thy gate ;
No suppliant nations in thy temple wait;
No prophet bards, thy glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song:
But lawless Force, and meagre Want, are there,
And the quick-darting eye of restless Fear;
While cold Oblivion, 'mid thy ruins laid,
Folds his dank wing beneath the ivy shade.

Ye guardian saints ! ye warrior sons of heaven!
To whose high care Judea's state was given !
0, wont of old your nightly watch to keep,
A host of gods, on Sion's towery steep!
If e'er your secret footsteps linger still
By Siloa's fount, or Tabor's echoing hill ;
If e'er your song on Salem's glories dwell,
And mourn the captive land you loved so well ;

(For oft, 'tis said, in Kedron's palmy vale,
Mysterious harpings swell the midnight gale,
And, blest as balmy dews that Hermon cheer,
Melt in soft cadence on the pilgrim's ear!)
Forgive, blest spirits, if a theme so high
Mock the weak notes of mortal minstrelsy!

O Thou, their Guide, their Father, and their Lord !
Loved for thy mercies, for thy power adored :
If at thy name the waves forgot their force,
And refluent Jordan sought his trembling source;
If at thy name like sheep the mountains fled,
And haughty Sirion bowed his marble head;
To Israel's woes a pitying ear incline,
And raise from earth thy long-neglected vine !
Her rifled fruits behold the heathen bear,
And wild-wood boars her mangled clusters tear.
Was it for this she stretched her peopled reign
From far Euphrates to the western main ?
For this, o'er many a hill her boughs she threw,
And her wide arms like goodly cedars grew ?
For this, proud Edom slept beneath her shade,
And o'er the Arabian deep her branches played ?

O feeble boast of transitory power! Vain, fruitless trust of Judah's happier hour! Not such their hope, when through the parted main The cloudy wonder led the warrior train : Not such their hope, when through the fields of night The torch of heaven diffused its friendly light: Not, when fierce Conquest urged the onward war, And hurled stern Canaan from his iron car: Nor when five monarchs led to Gideon's fight, In rude array, the harnessed Amorite : Yes—in that hour, by mortal accents stayed, The lingering sun his fiery wheels delayed ; The moon, obedient, trembled at the sound, Curbed her pale car, and checked her mazy round! Let Sinai tell—for she beheld his might, And God's own darkness veiled her conscious height;

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