Let vulgar fouls ftoop to the fever's rage,
Or flow, beneath pale atrophy depart,
With gout and fcrophula weak variance wage,
Or fink, with forrow cank'ring at the heart;

Thefe, be to common minds, th' unwifh'd decree!
The firm felect an illness more fublime;

By languid pains, fcorn their high fouls to free,
But feek the fword's fwift edge, and fpurn at time.

FATAL EFFECTS of MONASTIC SECLUSION. [From BIRCH'S ABBEY of AMBRESBURY.]

H! were thefe walls permitted to rehearse,
Or might our retrofpective vifion pierce

Time's facred volume, through each crouded page
Dark with the annals of thine iron age,
What monuments of blind, mistaken zeal,
The faithful record would at once reveal!
Myriads of youth by thy deftructive spell
Sent living fun'rals to the cloifter'd cell;
Condemn'd the wretched penance to abide
Of foul hypocrify and monkifh pride.
Each warm affection and paternal care
Left unrequited for the pomp of pray'r;
Each focial duty, each endearing tye,
The foul's best bond, its native fympathy,
And thofe few virtues which our natures own,
Alike forgotten, or alike unknown.

There the pale veftal to thy fhrine betray'd,
Her fpirits wafted, and her bloom decay'd,
All melancholy mourns the ling'ring day,
Forbid to feel and tutor'd how to pray;
Taught to confefs thro' the unblushing grate
Thofe fins (if fins) the darkfome walls create,
While foft confeffion and reluctant pray'r
Follow the bead lefs frequent than the tear:
And from the lonely midnight couch arise
The lovely captive's ineffectual fighs.
With filent anguifh is her bofom torn
And native transports struggling to be born;
The figh of meek compaffion, faithful gueft!
Supreme and facred in the female breaft;
The foft vibrations of the tender vow,
And all the nameless extacies that flow
From kindred harmony, domestic peace,
Maternal rapture, and connubial bliss.
Add too the mild fenfations which await
The daily comforts of the crouded gate.

Whofe

Whofe bounty never fails the poor to bless
Like Heaven's own manna, in the wilderneís;
Where streams no forrow, where the fons of need
Are cloth'd if naked, and if hungry fed :-
Thole blameless tranfports of the virtuous mind
From Heav'n defcended, and by Heav'n defign'd
To foothe our fad variety of woe,

And harmonize the state of man below.

Such might have render'd many a vestal dear,
The fun and folace of her focial sphere.
But thefe expir'd at fome foul dæmon's hour,
Crush'd by the iron hand of papal pow'r.
Hard ftate! the foul of fympathy deny'd
To flare the pleafur, or the pain divide;
Joyle's herfelf: to others' joys unknown,
She drops no tear for forrow but her own;
Till pining in the folitary gloom,
She finks unpity'd to an early tomb.

Thus droops the beauteous plant of tender birth,
When rudely fever'd from its parent earth :

Tho' all alluring to the spoiler's view

The grace and fragrance of the vale it grew,

In fome dank cave its dying fweets exhale,

Where cheers no fun, where breathes no vernal gale;

The infant buds just bursting into day,

Strive to expand, and ere they bloom decay.

She fat, and a fhield by her fide
Shed light, like a fun, on the waves;
And, smiling divinely, fhe cried,

I go to make freemen of flaves!

Then raifing her voice to a strain,
The fweeteft that ear ever heard,
She fung of the flave-broken chain,
Wherever her glory appear'd.

Some clouds, which had over us hung,
Fled, chas'd by her melody clear;
And methought, while the liberty fung,
'Twas liberty only to hear.

Thus fwiftly dividing the flood,

To a flave-cultur'd island we came, Where a dæmon her enemy stood, Oppreffion his terrible name.

In his hand, as a fign of his fway.
A fcourge hung with lashes he bore;
And stood looking out for his prey
From Africa's forrowful fhore.

But foon as approaching the land

This Goddefs-like woman he view'd, The fcourge he let fall from his hand, With blood of his fubjects embrued.

I faw him both ficken and die,

And, the moment the monster expir'd, Heard fhouts, that afçended the sky, From thousands with raptures infpir'd.

-Awaking, how could I but muse

On what fuch a dream might betide?
But foon my ear caught the glad news,
Which ferv'd my weak thoughts for a guide:

That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves,
From the hatred fhe ever has fhewn
To the black scepter'd Ruler of Slaves,
Refolves to have none of her own,

REFLEC

REFLECTIONS on Viewing the PROSPECT from LEWESDON
HILL. From a Poem fo called. By W. Crowe, LL. B. Public
Orator to the University of Oxford.

'HOU nameless rivulet, who from the fide
Of Lewefdon foftly welling forth, doft trip
Adown the valley, wandering fportively.
Alas, how foon thy little courfe will end!
How foon thy infant stream shall lose itself
In the falt mafs of waters, ere it grow
To name of greatnefs! yet it flows along
Untainted with the commerce of the world,
Nor paffing by the noify haunts of men;
But through fequefter'd meads, a little space,
Winds fecretly, and in its wanton path
May cheer fome drooping flower, or minister
Of its cool water to the thirfty lamb:
Then falls into the ravenous fea, as pure
As when it iffued from its native hill.

So to thine early grave didft thou run on,
Spotlefs Francefca, fo, after fhort course,
Thine innocent and playful infancy

Was fwallowed up in death, and thy pure spirit
In that illimitable gulph which bounds
Our mortal continent. But not there loft,
Not there extinguifh'd, as fome falfely teach,
Who can talk much and learnedly of life,
Who know our frame and fashion, who can tell
The fubftance and the properties of man,
As they had feen him made; aye and stood by,
Spies on Heaven's work. They also can difcourfe
Wifely, to prove that what must be must be,
And fhew how thoughts are jogg'd out of the brain
By a mechanical impulfe; pufhing on
The minds of us, poor unaccountables,
To fatal refolution. Know they not,
That in this mortal life, whate'er it be,
We take the path that leads to good or evil,
And therein find our blifs or mifery?
And this includes all reasonable ends
Of knowledge or of being; farther to go
Is toil unprofitable, and th' effect

Moft perilous wandering. Yet of this be fure;
Where freedom is not, there no virtue is :
If there be none, this world is all a cheat,
And the divine stability of Heaven
(That affured feat for good men after death)

Is but a tranfient cloud; difplay'd fo fair
To cherish virtuous hope, but at our need
Eludes the fenfe, and fools our honest faith,
Vanishing in a lie. If this be fo,

Were it not better to be born a beast,
Only to feel what is, and thus to 'fcape
The aguifh fear that shakes the afflicted breaft
With fore anxiety of what fhall be ;
And all for nought? fince our most wicked aft
Is not our fin, and our religious awe
Delufion; if that ftrong neceffity

Chains up our will. But that the mind is free,
The mind herself, beft judge of her own state,
Is feelingly convinced; nor to be moved
By fubtle words, that may perplex the head,
But ne'er perfuade the heart. Vain argument,
That with falfe weapons of philofophy

Fights against hope, and fenfe, and nature's strength!

DOMES.