Said, 'Thus let all things be,' and thus they were, Where shall I seek thy presence? how unblam'd Invoke thy dread perfection?
Have the broad eyelids of the morn beheld thee?
Or does the beamy shoulder of Orion
Support thy throne! O look with pity down
On erring guilty man! not in thy names
Of terror clad; not with those thunders arm'd
That conscious Sinai felt, when fear appall'd
The scatter'd tribes! Thou hast a gentler voice
That whispers comfort to the swelling heart,
Abash'd, yet longing to behold her Maker.
But now my soul, unus'd to stretch her pow'rs
In flights so daring, drops her weary wing,
And seeks again the known accustom'd spot,
Dress'd up with sun, and shade, and lawns, and
streams;
A mansion fair and spacious for its guest,
And full replete with wonders. Let me here,
Content and grateful, wait th' appointed time,
And ripen for the skies; the hour will come
When all these splendours bursting on my sight
Shall stand unveil'd, and to my ravish'd sense
Unlock the glories of the world unknown.
"TWAS when the night in silent sable fled,
When cheerful morning sprung with rising red,
When dreams and vapours leave to crowd the brain.
And best the vision draws its heavenly scene;
"Twas then, as slumbering on my couch I lay,
A sudden splendour seem'd to kindle day;
A breeze came breathing in a sweet perfume,
Blown from eternal gardens, fill'd the room;
And in a void of blue, that clouds invest,
Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest;
Her head a ring of golden glory wore,
Her honour'd hand the sacred volume bore;
Her raiment glittering seem'd a silver white,
And all her sweet companions, sons of light.
Straight as I gaz'd, my fear and wonder grew,
Fear barr'd my voice, and wonder fix'd my
view;
When lo! a cherub of the shining crowd
That sail'd as guardian in her azure cloud,
Fann'd the soft air, and downward seem'd to glide,
And to my lips a living coal applied.
Then while the warmth o'er all my pulses ran
Diffusing comfort, thus the maid began:
'Where glorious mansions are prepar❜d above,
The seats of music, and the seats of love,
Thence I descend, and Piety my name,
To warm thy bosom with celestial flame,
To teach thee praises mix'd with humble pray'rs
And tune thy soul to sing seraphic airs:
Be thou my bard.' A vial here she caught,
(An angel's hand the crystal vial brought)
And, as with awful sound the word was said,
She pour'd a sacred unction on my head;
Then thus proceeded:-'Be thy muse thy zeal;
Dare to be good, and all my joys reveal.
While other pencils flattering forms create,
And paint the gaudy plumes that deck the great;
While other pens exalt the vain delight,
Whose wasteful revel wakes the depth of night;
Or others softly sing in idle lines
How Damon courts, or Amaryllis shines;
More wisely thou select a theme divine,
Fame is their recompense, 'tis Heaven is thine!
'Despise the raptures of discorded fire,
Where wine, or passion, or applause inspire
Low restless life, and ravings born of earth,
Whose meaner subjects speak their humble birth;
Like working seas, that when loud winters blow,
Not made for rising, only rage below.
Mine is a warm and yet a lambent heat,
More lasting still, as more intensely great,
Produc'd where prayer, and praise, and pleasure
breathe,
And ever mounting where it shot beneath.
Unpaint the love, that, hovering over beds,
From glittering pinions guilty pleasure sheds;
Restore the colour to the golden mines
With which behind the feather'd idol shines;
To flow'ring greens give back their native care,
The rose and lily, never his to wear;
To sweet Arabia send the balmy breath;
Strip their fair flesh, and call the phantom, Death;
His bow be sabled o'er, his shafts the same,
And fork and point them with eternal flame.
'But urge thy powers, thine utmost voice ad-
Make the loud strings against thy fingers dance;
"Tis love that angels praise and men adore,
"Tis love divine, that asks it all, and more.
Fling back the gates of ever-blazing day,
Pour floods of liquid light to gild the way;
And all, in glory wrap, through paths untrod,
Pursue the great unseen descent of GoD:
Hail the meek Virgin, bid the child appear,
The child is GOD! and call him JESUS here.
He comes, but where to rest? A manger's nigh,
Make the great Being in a manger lie;
Fill the wide sky with angels on the wing,
Make thousands gaze, and make ten thousand
Let men afflict him, men he came to save, [sing;
And still afflict him till he reach the grave;
Make him resign'd, his loads of sorrow meet;
And me, like Mary, weep beneath his feet;
I'll bathe my tresses there, my prayers rehearse,
And glide in flames of love along thy verse.
'Ah! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell,
My raptures smother what I long to tell.
"Tis GOD! a present God! Through cleaving air
I see the throne, and see the JESUS there,
Plac'd on the right. He shows the wounds he bore,
(My fervours oft have won him thus before) How pleas'd he looks! my words have reach'd his
He bids the gates unbar, and calls me near.'
She ceas'd. The cloud on which she seem'd to tread,
Its curls unfolded, and around her spread;
Bright angels waft their wings to raise the cloud,
And sweep their ivory lutes, and sing aloud ;
The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky
Is turn'd to wondrous music as they fly;
And soft the swelling sounds of music grow,
And faint their softness, till they fail below.
My downy sleep the warmth of Phoebus broke,
And, while my thoughts were setting, thus I
spoke :
• Thou beauteous Vision! on my soul impress'd, When most my reason would appear to rest, "Twas sure with pencils dipt in various lights Some curious Angel limn'd thy sacred sights; From blazing suns his radiant gold he drew, White moons the silver gave, and air the blue. I'll mount the roving winds' expanded wing, And seek the sacred hill, and light to sing; ('Tis known in Jewry well) I'll make my lays, Obedient to thy summons, sound with praise. 'But still I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame, I take for truth the flatteries of a dream; And barely wish the wondrous gift I boast, And faintly practise what deserves it most 'Indulgent LORD! whose gracious love displays Joy in the light, and fills the dark with ease! Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss ; Or be, to bless the nights, my dreams like this.' Parnell.
THE HERO'S SCHOOL OF MORALITY.
THERON, amongst his travels, found
A broken statue on the ground;
And searching onward as he went
He trac'd a ruin'd monument.
Mould, moss, and shades, had overgrown
The sculpture of the crumbling stone;
Yet ere he pass'd, with much ado,
He guess'd, and spelt out Sci-pi-o.
'Enough,' he cried,' I'll drudge no more
In turning the dull stoics o'er ;
Let pedants waste their hours of ease,
To sweat all night at Socrates;
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