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By Mr. Thomas WARTON.
OTHER of musings, Contemplation sage,

Whose grotto stands upon the topmoft rock
Of Teneriff: 'mid the tempestuous night,
On which, in calmeft meditation held,
Thou hear'ft with, howling winds the beating rain
And drifting hail descend; or if the skies
Unclouded shine, and thro' the blue ferene
Pale Cynthia rolls her filver-axled car,
Whence gazing ftedfast on the spangled vault
Raptur'd thou fitift, while marmurs indistinct
Of diftant billows fogth shy penfive ear
With, hoarse and hollow soundsa: secure, self-blett,
There oft thou liften'it to the wild aproar
Of fleets encount'ring, that in whispers low
Ascends the rocky summit, where thou dwell'it
Remote from man, conversing with the spheres 1
O lead me, queen sublime, to solemn glooms
Congenial with my soul; to chearless shades,

То

To ruin'd feats, or twilight cells and bow'rs,
Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to muse,
Her fav’rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes
Of purple Spring, where all the wanton train
Of Smiles and Graces seem to lead the dance
In sportive round, while from their hands they fhow'r
Ambrofial blooms and flow'rs, no longer charm;
Tempe, no more I court thy balmy breeze,
Adieu green vales! ye broider'd meads, adiea!

Beneath yon' ruin'd abbey's moss-grown piles
Oft let me fit, at twilight hour of eve,
Where thro' some western window the pale moon
Pours her long-levell'd rule of streaming light;
While sullen facred silence reigns around,
Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bow's
Amid the mould'ring caverns dark and damp,
Or the calm breeze, that rustles in the leaves
Of flaunting ivy, that with mantle green
Invests some wasted tow'r. Or let me tread
Its neighb’ring walk of pines, where mus'd of old
The cloyster'd brother : thro' the gloomy void
That far extends beneath their ample arch
As on I pace, religious horror wraps
My soul in dread repose. But when the world
Is clad in Midnight's raven-colour'd robe,
'Mid hollow charnels let me watch the flame
Of taper dim, shedding a livid glare
D'er the wan heaps; while airy voices talk

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Along

Along the glimm'ring walls: or ghostly shape
At distance feen, invites with beck’ning hand
My lonesome steps, thro' the far-winding vaults.
Nor undelightful is the solemn noon
Of night, when haply wakeful from my couch
I start: lo, all is motionless around !
Roars not the rushing wind; the fons of men
And every beast in mute oblivion lie;
All nature's hulh'd in silence and in sleep.
O then how fearful is it to reflect,
That thro' the still globe's aweful solitude,
No being wakes but me! 'till stealing fleep
My drooping temples bathes in opiate dews.
Nor then let dreams, of wanton folly born,
My fenfes lead thro' flowery paths of joy;
But let the sacred Genius of the night
Such myftic vifions fend, as Spenser saw,
When thro' bewild'ring Fancy's magic maze,
To the fell house of Busyrane, he led
Th' unshaken Britomart; or Milton knew,
When in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd
All heav'n in tumult, and the Seraphim
Come tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold.

Let others love foft fummer's ev'ning Smiles,
As, lift'ning to the distant water-fall,
They mark the blushes of the streaky weft;
I choose the pale December's foggy glooms.
Then, when the fullen shades of ev'ning close,

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Where

Where thro' the room a blindly-glimm'ring gleam
The dying embers scatter, far remote
From Mirth's mad shouts, that thro' th' illumin'd roof
Resound with festive echo, let me fit,
Bleft with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge.
Then let my thought contemplative explore
This fleeting state of things, the vain delights,
The fruitless toils, that still our search elude,
As thro' the wilderness of life we rove.
This sober hour of silence will unmasks
False Folly's smiles, that like the dazzling spells
Of wily Comas cheat th' unweeting eye
With blear illufion, and persuade to drink
That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair
Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man.
Eager we tafte, but in the luscious dravght
Forget the pois'nous dregs that lurk beneath.

Few know that elegance of soul refin'd,
Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy
From Melancholy's fcenes, than the dull pride
Of tafteless splendor and magnificence
Can e'er afford. Thus Eloise, whose mind
Had languish’d to the pangs of melting love,
More genuine transport found, as on some tomb
Reclin’d, she watch'd the tapers of the dead ;
Or thro' the pillar'd iles, amid pale shrines
Of imag'd saints, and intermingled graves,
Mus'd a veil'd, votaress : than Flavia feels,
O 3

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As thro' the mazes of the festive ball
Proud of her conquering charms, and beauty's blaze,
She floats amid the filken fons of drefs,
And shines the fairest of th' assembled fair.

When azure noon tide chears the dædal globe,
And the bleft regent of the golden day
Rejoices in his bright meridian bow'r,
How oft my wishes as the night's return,
That beft befriends the melancholy mind!
Hail, facred Night! thou too halt share my song!
Sifter of ebon-scepter'd Hecat, hail !
Whether in congregated clouds thou wrap'st
Thy viewless chariot, or with silver crown
Thy beaming head encircleft, ever hail !
What cho' beneath thy gloom the forceress-train,
Ear in obscured haunt of Lapland-moors,
With rhymes uncoath the bloody cauldron bless;
Tho' Murder wan, beneath thy shrouding hade
Summons her flow.ey'd vot'ries to devise
Of secret slaughter, while by one blue lamp
In hideous conf'rence fits the listening band,
And start at each low wind, or wakeful found:
What tho' thy stay the pilgrim curseth oft,
As all benighted in Arabian waftes
He hears the wilderness around him how)
With roaming monsters, while on his hoar head
The black-descending tempest ceaseless. beats;
Yet more delightful to my pensive mind

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