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According to thy faith shall it be given

To thee, with spiritual glories, to be graced. As well all facts whence man experience hath, As doubt immunities bound up in faith.

'Tis easy thing to say, that men are knaves;

'Tis easy thing to say, that men arc fools;
'Tis easy thing to say, an author raves;

Easy, to him who always ridicules
The incomprehensible, to allege—and saves

Trouble of farther thought—that oft there rules
Fanatic feeling in a mad-man's brain:
That half-pretence oft ekes out half-insane.

We know all this; but we know also well.
These men we speak of tried by every test

Admissible, all other men excel

In virtue, and in happiness. Since bless'd

Are they, stern Fate, spite of thy direst spell!
Infection, loathsome maladies, each pest

And plague,—for these have they,—should they assail,

A panacea which will never fail.

God is their rock, their fortress of defence.
In time of trouble, a defence most holy;

For them the wrath of man is impotence;
His pride, a bubble; and his wisdom, folly.

That" peace" have they—unspeakable intense,—
"Which passeth understanding!" Melancholy

Life's gauds to them: the unseen they explore:

Rooted in heaven, to live is—to adore 1

Ye, that might cavil at these humble lays,

Peruse the page of child-like Fenelon;
Hear what the wrapped, transfigur'd Guion says

With ills of body such as few have known;—
Tedious imprisonment; in youthful days

To luxuries used, they all aside are thrown; To poverty devoted, she defies

Its sorest ills, blessing the sacrifice.

Was e'er an instance known, that man could taste
True peace of mind, and spurn religion's laws?

In other things were this alliance traced;
Constant coincidence; effect, and cause,

We scruple not to call them; or, at least,
Condition indispensable, whence draws

The one, the other. This coincidence

But grant me here;—and grant the consequence.

Facts, facts, are stubborn things! We trust the sense

Of sight, because th' experience of each day Warrants our trust in it. Now, tell me whence

It is, no mortal yet could dare to say, Man trusted in his God for his defence,

And was confounded? cover'd with dismay? Loses he friends? Religion dries his tears! Loses he life? Religion calms his fears!

Loses he health? Religion balms his mind,

And pains of flesh seem ministers of grace, And wait upon a rapture more refin'd,

Then e'en in lustiest health e'er found a place.
Loses he wealth? the pleasure it can find

He had before renounced; thus he can trace
No difference, but that now the heart bestows
What through a hand less affluent scantier flows.

He too as much enjoys the spectacle

Of good, when done by others as by him: Loses he fame? the honour he loves well

Is not of earth, but that which seraphim Might prize! Loses he liberty? his cell,

And all its vaults, echo his rapturous hymn! He feels as free as freest bird in air! His heaven-shrin'd spirit finds heaven every where!

'Tis not romance which we are uttering! No;

Thousands of volumes each word's truth attest! Thousands of souls redeem'd from all below

Can bring a proof, that, e'en while earthly guest, 'Tis possible for man that peace to know,

Which maketh him impassive to the test
Of mortal sufferance! Many and many a martyr
Has found this bound up in religion's charter.

Pleasure, or philosophical or sensual,

Is not, ought not to be, man's primary rule; We often feel bound by a law potential

To do those things which e'en our reasons fool. God, and he only, sees the consequential;

The mind, well nurtur'd in religion's school Feels that He only—to whom all's obedient— Has right to guide itself by the expedient.

Duty is man's first law, not satisfaction!

That satisfaction comes from this perform'd, We grant! But should this be the prime attraction

That led us to performance, soon inform'd By finding that we've miss'd the meed of action,

We shall confess our error. Oft we're warm'd,
By a strong spirit we cannot restrain,
To deeds, which make all calculation vain.

Had Regulus reason'd, whether on the scale
Of use, in Rome, his faculties would most,

Or Carthage—patriotism's cause avail,
He never had resum'd his fatal post.

Brutus, Virginius had they tried by tale
Their country's cause, had never been her boast.

Yet had it not these self doom'd heroes seen,

Rome " the eternal city," ne'er had been!

Shall Christ submit upon the cross to bleed,
And man for all he does a reason ask?

Have martyrs died, and confessors, indeed,
That he must seek a why for every task?

If it be so, to prate we've little need

Of this enlighten'd age! Takeoff the mask!

If it be so, and ye'll find this our proud age,

Its grand climacterick past is in its dotage.

Thy name, Thermopylffi, had ne'er been heard.
Were not the Greeks wiser than our wise men.

I grant, that heaven alone to man transfcrr'd,
When he would raise up states for history's pen,

This more than mortal instinct! Yet absurd
It is (because, perhaps, our narrower ken

Their heights cannot descry; yea, and a curse

'Twill bring) to make a theory of the worse.

A theory for a declining race!

No, let us keep at least our lips from lies;
If we have forfeited Truth's soaring grace,

Let us notfalsify her prodigies.
We well may wear a blush upon our face,

From her past triumphs so t' apostatize
In deeds; but let us not with this invent
And infidelity of argument.

Go to Palmyra's ruins; visit Greece,

Behold! The wrecks of her magnificence

Seem left, in spite of man, thus to increase
The sting of satire on his impotence.

As to betray how soon man's glories cease;

Tombs, time defying, of the most pretence
But only make us feel with more surprise,
How mean the things they would immortalize!

The following is only a portion of a series of reminiscences equally luxurious and intense, and which are attended throughout by that vein of reflection which our author never loses:

Oh, were the eye of youth a moment ours!

When every flower that gemm'd the various earth
Brought down from Heaven enjoyment's genial showers!

And every bird, of everlasting mirth
Prophecied to us in romantic bowers!

Love was the garniture, whose blameless birth
Caus'd that each filmy web where dew-drops trembled,
The gossamery haunt of elves resembled!

We can remember earliest days of spring,

When violets blue and white, and primrose pale,

Like callow nestlings 'neath their mother's wing,
Each peep'd from under the broad leaf's green veil.

When streams look'd blue; and thin clouds clustering
O'er the wide empyrean did prevail,

Rising like incense from the breathing world, ,

Whose gracious aspect was with dew impearl'd.

When a soft moisture, steaming every where,

To the earth's countenance mellower hues imparted;

When sylvan choristers self-pois'd in air,

Or perched on bows, in shrilly quiverings darted

Their little raptures forth; when the warm glare

(While glancing lights backwards and forwards started,

As if with meteors silver-sheath'd 'twere flooded)

Sultry, and silent, on the hill's turf brooded.

Oh, in these moments we such joy have felt,

As if the earth were nothing but a shrine;
Where all, or awe inspir'd, or made one melt

Gratefully towards its architect divine!
Father! in future (as I once have dwelt

Within that very sanctuary of thine
When shapes, and sounds, seem'd as but modes of Thee!)
That with experience gain'd were heaven to me!

Oft in the fulness of the joy ye give,
Oh, days of youth! in summer's noon-tide hours,

Did I a depth of quietness receive

From insects' drowsy hum, that all my powers

Would baffle to portray! Let them that live
In vacant solitude, speak from their bowers

What nameless pleasures letter'd ease may cheer,

Thee, Nature! bless'd to mark with eye and ear!—

Who can have watch'd the wild rose' blushing dye,
And seen what treasures its rich cups contain;

Who, of soft shades the fine variety,
From white to deepest flush of vermeil-stain?

Who, when impearl'd with dew-drop's radiancy
Its petals breath'd perfume, while he did strain

His very being, lest the sense should fail

T* imbibe each sweet its beauties did exhale?

Who amid lanes, on eve of summer days,

Which sheep brouse, could the thicket's wealth behold? The fragrant honey-suckle's bowery maze?

The furze bush, with its vegetable gold?
In every satin sheath that helps to raise

The fox-glove's cone, the figures manifold
With such a dainty exquisiteness wrought ?—
Nor grant that thoughtful love they all have taught?

The daisy, cowslip, each have to them given—
The wood anemone, the strawberry wild,

Grass of Parnassus, meek as star of even:

Bright, as the brightening eye of smiling child,

And bathed in blue transparency of heaven,
Veronica; the primrose pale, and mild ;—

Of charms (of which to speak no tongue is able)

Intercommunion incommunicable!

I had a cottage in a Paradise!

'Twere hard to enumerate the charms combin'd Within the little space, greeting the eyes, ,

Its unpretending precincts that confin'd. Onward, in front, a mountain stream did rise

Up, whose long course the fascinated mind (So apt the scene to awaken wildest themes) Might localize the most romantic dreams.

When winter torrents, by the rain and snow,

Surlily dashing down the hills, were fed, Its mighty mass of waters seem'd to flow

With deafening course precipitous: its bed

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