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And can that something, each man calls “ HIMSELF,"
Midst this wide miracle of earth and sky, Walte the swift moments in the toil for pelf,
Nor raise one thought to Nature's Majesty ?
Nor joy the noon-tide radiance to behold
But deem existence relative to gold?
To think, to breathe, to wonder at the Whole,
To call the mystic consciousness, my foui! Fain would I seek awhile the sportive shade,
Ere the scene close upon this doubtful state;
And leave the vast uncertainty to Fate.
Whose bosoms burn with avarice and pride,
Or tell my feelings to the boilt'rous tide. For are there not, as journeying on we go,
With pilgrim step through an unfriendly vale, Oppression, Malice, Cruelty, and Woe?
And do not Falsehood's venom'd shafts allail ? Were it not nobler far, with social love,
As fellow-trav’llers in a rugged road, That each the other's evils should remove,
And with joint force sustain the gen’ral load ? O! while such fancy'd happiness I trace,
A glow of sadness runs through ev'ry vein; Rapture's warm tear steals silent down my face,
And thus I wake the philanthropic Atrain : Long, long, may Britain's gen'rous: Ille be blest
With foreign fame, domestic joys increase; At ev'ry insult shake the warlike crest;
Then wave her laurels in the Bow'r of Peace ! Bleft be her Sons, in hardy valour bold,
And all who haunt meek Learning's facred shade;
Th'aspiring young, and the reposing old;
The modest matron, and th' enchanting maid; And might the bard upon himself bestow
One humble wish, that soon his cares may end; With the dead year, resign his weight of woe!
Or, with the thorns of life, at least some roses blend !
S trav’llers through life's vary'd paths we go,
What form is that, which wanders up and down,
Ah! happier innocent! on whose chaste cheek
Written to diffuade a young Lady from frequenting the Tomb
of her deceased Lover.
BY THE REV. N. BULL.
OW, through the dusky air, on leaden wings, Hark! in the breeze the gath’ring tempest sings;
How drear it murmurs in the rustling shade! Loud, and more loud, is heard the bursting sound
Of thunder, and the peal of distant rain; While lightnings, gliding o'er the wild profound,
Fire the broad bosom of the dashing main. Now dies the voice of village mirth ; no more
Is seen the friendly lantern's glimm'ring light; Safe in his cot, the shepherd bars his door
On thee, Eliza! and the storm of night. In yon sequester'd grove, whose sullen shade
Sighs deeply on the blast, dost thou remain, Still faithful to the spot, where he is laid,
For whom the tears of beauty flow in vain! Ah! left alone beneath the dreadful gloom,
Companion of the tempest! left alone ! I see thee, sad-reclining o'er the tomb,
A pallid form, and wedded to the stone ! Ah! what avails it, Sorrow's gentlest child !
To wet th' unfruitful urn with many a tear; To call on Edward's name, with accents wild,
And bid his phantom from the grave appear? No gliding spirits skim the dreary ground,
Dress the green turf, or animate the gloom; No soft aërial music swells around,
Nor voice of sadness murmurs from the tomb. Cold is the breast that glow'd with love, and pale
The cheek that, like the morning, blush'd before ; Mute are the lips that told the flatt'ring tale,
And rayless is the eye that flatter'd more.
Deep, deep beneath the dark mysterious grave,
Thy tears he sees not, nor can hear thy sighs : Deaf is thine Edward as th' Atlantic wave,
Cold as the blast that rends the polar skies. Oh! turn, and seek some shelt'ring kind retreat ;
Bleak howls the wind, and deadly is the dew : No pitying star, to guide thy weary feet,
Breaks through the void of darkness on thy view. Think on the dangers that attend thy way!
The gulph deep-yawning, and the treach’rous flood; The midnight ruffian, prowling for his prey,
Fiend of despair and darkness, grim with blood ! But, oh! if thoughts terrific fail to move,
Let pity win thee back to thine abode ; Melt at a lifter's tears, a mother's love,
Aw'd by the voice of reason, and of God!
THE PENITENT MOTHER.
BY MISS HOLCROFT.
R E ! cale;
The buskin'd step, and clear high-sounding phrase, ,
-Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend,