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EXTRACTS FROM "THE EXCURSION.'

Philosophy! and thou more vaunted name
Religion! with thy Ktatelier retinue.
Faith,hope,and charity,from the visible world
Choose for your emblems whatsoe'er ye find
OF safest guidance and of firmest trust,—
The Torch, the Star, the Anchor; nor except
The Cross itself, at whose unconscious feet
The generations of Mankind have knelt
Ruefully seized, and shedding hitter tears,
And through that conflict seeking rest ~ofy on.
High-titled Powers, am I constrained to ask.
Here standing, with the unvoyagcable sky
In faint reflection of infinitude
Stretched overhead, and at my pensive feet
A subterraneous magazine of bones
In whose dark vaults my own shall soon be

laid, Where are your triumphs? your dominion

where if And in what age admitted and confirmed? Not for a happy land do I inquire, Island or Grove, that hides a blessed few Who, with obedience willing and sincere, To your serene authorities conform; But whom, I ask, of individual souls, Have ye withdrawn from passion's crooked

ways, Inspired, and thoroughly fortified?—If the

heart Could he inspected to its inmost folds By sight undazzled with the glare of praise, Who shall be named—In the resplendent line Of Sages, Martyrs, Confessors—the Man Whom the best might of Conscience, Truth

and Hope, For one day's little compass, has preserved From painful and discreditable shocks Of contradiction, from some vague desire Culpably cherished, or corrupt relapse To some unsanctioned fear?

The voice of gladness, less and less supply Of outward sunshine and internal warmth; And with this change, sharp air and falling

leaves. Foretelling total Winter, blank and cold.

In the life of Man,

If to the poetry of common speech
Faith may be given, we sec as in a glass
A true reflection of the circling year.
With all its seasons. Grant that Spring is

there.
In spite of many a rough untoward blast.
Hopeful and promising with buds and flowers;
Yet where is glowing Summer's long rich day.
That ought to follow faithfully expressed?
And mellow Autumn, charged with bounteous

fruit. Where is she imaged ? in what favoured clime Her lavish pomp nnd ripe magnificence? Yet while the better part is missed, the worse In Man's autumnal season is set forth With a resemblance not to he denied. And that contents him; bowers that hear

no more

Alas! what differs more than man from man! And whence that difference? Whence but

from himself? For see the universal Race endowed With the same upright form!—The San is

fixed And the infinite magnificence of heaven Within the reach of every human eye; The sleepless Ocean murmurs for all ears; The vernal field infuses fresh delight Into all hearts. Throughout the world of

sense Even as an object is sublime or fair, That object is laid open to the view Without reserve or veil; and as a power Is salutary, or an influence sweet, Are each and all enabled to perceive That power, that influence, by impartial law. Gifts nobler are vouchsafed alike to all; Reason,—and with that reason, smiles and

tears; Imagination, freedom in the will, Conscience to guide and check; and death

to he Foretasted, immortality presumed. Strange, then, nor less than monstrous might

be deemrd The failure1, if the Almighty to this point Liberal and undistinguishing, should hide The excellence of moral qualities From common understanding; leaving truth And virtue, difficult, abstruse, and dark; Hard to be won, nnd only by a few; Strange, should he deal herein with nice

respect, And frustrate all the rest! Relieve it not: The primal duties shine aloft—like stars; The charities that sooth, and heal, and bless Are scattered at the feet of Man—like flowers. The generous inclination, the just rule, Kind wishes, and good actions, and pure

thoughts— No mystery it here, no special boon For high nnd not for low, for proudly grared And not for meek of heart. The smoke

ascends, To heaven as lightly from the cottage-hearth As from the haughty palace. He, whose soul Ponders this true equality, may walk The fields of earth with gratitude and hope, Yet. in that meditation, will he find Motive to sadder grief, as we have found,— Lamenting ancient virtues overthrown. And for the injustice grieving, that hath

made So wide a difference betwixt Man and Man.

SAMUEL ROGERS.

THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

Oh could my mind, unfolded in my page, Enlighten climes and mould a future age; There as it glowed, with noblest frenzy

fraught, Dispense the treasures of exalted thought; To virtue wake the pulses of the heart, And hid the tear of emulation start! Oh could it still, through each succeeding

year, My life, my manners, and my name endear;— And when the poet sleeps in silent dust, Still hold communion with the wise and

just !— Yet should this Terse, my leasure's best

resource, When through the world it steals its secret

course, llfiiir but once a generous wish supprest. Chase but a sigh, or charm a care to rest; In one good deed a fleeting hour employ, Or flush one faded cheek with honest joy; Blest were my lines, though limited their

sphere, Though short their date, as his who traced

them here.

PART I.

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the villagc

'green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet

broke, When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day. Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more With treasured tales, anil legendary lore. All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows To chase the dreams of innocent repose. All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! What secret charms this silent spot endear? Mark yon old Mansion, frowning thro'

the trees, Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling

breeze.

That casement, arched with ivy's brownest

shade, First to these eyes the light of heaven conveyed. The mouldering gateway strews the grass

, grown court,

Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; When nature pleased,for life itself was new, And the heart promised what the fancy drew. Sec, thro' the fractured pediment revealed, Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured

shield, The martin's old hereditary nest. Long may the ruin spare its hallowed guest! As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall! That hall, where once, in nntiqunted state, The chair of justice held, the grave debate. Now stained with dews, with cobwebs darkly

hung, Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; When round yon ample board, in due degree, We sweetened every meal with social glee. The heart's light laugh pursued the circling

jest; And all was sunshine in each little breast. 'Twas here we chased the slipper by it*

sound; And turned the blindfold hero round and

round. 'Twashere, at eve, we formed our fniry-ring; And Fancy fluttered on her wildest wing. Giants and genii chained each wondering ear; And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear. Oft with the babes we wandered in the wood. Or viewed the forest-feats of Robin Hood: Oft, fnncy-led, at midnight's fearful hour, With startling step we scaled the lonely

tower; O'er infant innocence to hang and weep, Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling

in its sleep. Ye Household Deities! whose guardian eye Marked each pure thought, ere registered

. on high; Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground. And breathe the soul of Inspiration round.

As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. The storied arras, source of fond delight, With old achievement charms the wildered

sight; And still, with Heraldry's rich hues imprest, On the dim window glows the pictured crest; The screen unfolds its many-coloured chart; The clock still points its moral to the heart; That faithful monitor 'twas heaven to hear, When soft it spoke a promised pleasure

near: And has its solier hand, its simple chime, Forgot to trnce the feathered feet of Time? That massive Leant with curious carvings

wrought. Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive

thought; Those muskets, cased with vcnerahle rust; Those once-loved forms, still breathing thro'

their dust, Still, from the frame in mould gigantic cast, Starting to life—all whisper of the past!

As thro' the garden's desert paths I rove. What fond illusions swarm in every grove! How oft, when purple-evening tinged the

west, We watched the emmet to her grainy nest; Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing. Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring! How oft inscribed, with Friendship's votive

rhyme, The bark now Bilvered by the touch of Time; Soared in the swing, half pleased and half

•afraid. Thro' sister-elms that waved their summershade; Or strewed with crumbs yon root-inwoven

sent, To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat! Childhood's lov'd group revisits eTcry

scene, The tangled wood-walk and the tufted green! Indulgent Memory wakes, andlo! they live! Clothed with far softer hues than light can

give. Thou first, best friend that Heaven assigns

below, To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know; W hose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, When nature fades and life forgets to charm; Thee would the Muse invoke!—to thee

belong The sage's precept, and the poet's song. What softened vipws thy magic glass reveals, When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight steals! As when in ocean sinks the orb of day, Long on the wave reflected lustres play; Thy tempered gleams of happiness resigned Glance on the darkened mirror of the mind. The School's lone porch, with reverend

mosses gray. Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the hell that rung at peep of dawn, Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn: Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, When the slow dial gave a pause to care.

Up springs, at Ivery step, to claim a tear. Some little friendship formed and cherished

here! And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems With golden visions, and romantic dreams! Down by yon hazel-copse, at evening,

blazed The Gipsy's faggot—-there we stood and

gazed; Gazed on her sun-burnt face with silent awe, Her tntter'd mantle, and her hood of straw; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore. Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred, From rilled roost at nightly revel fed; Whose dark eyes flashed thro' lock* of

blackest shade. When in the breeze the distant watch-dog;

hayed:— And heroes fled the Sybil's muttered call. Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard-wall. As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew. And traced the line of life with searching

view, How throbb'd my fluttering pulse with hope*

and fears, To learn the colour of my future years! Ah, then, what honest triumph flushed

my breast! This truth once known—To bless is to be

blest! We led the bending beggar on his way, (Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-gray") Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit felt, And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. As in his scrip we dropt our little store. And sighed to think that little was no more, He breathed his prayer: Long may such

goodness live! 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give. But hark! thro' those old firs, with sullen

swell, The church-clock strikes! ye tender scenes,

farewell! It calls me hence, heneath their shade, to

trace The few fond lines that Time may soon

• ■(Viler.

On yon gray stone, that fronts the chanceldoor,

Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more,

Each eve we shot the marble thro' the ring.

When the heart danced, and life was in its spring;

Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth.

That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth. The glow-worm loves her emerald light to shed,

Where now the sexton rests his hoary head.

Oft, as he turned the greensward with hia spade,

He lectured every youth that round him played;

And calmly pointing where his fathers lay.

Roused him to rival each, the hero of bis day. Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while

here alone I search the records of each mouldering

■tone. Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth! Mho first unveiled the hallowed form of

Truth; Whose every word enlightened and endeared; In age beloved, in poverty revered; In Friendship's silent register ye live, Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give. But when the sons of peace and pleasure

sleep, When only Sorrow wakes, and wakes to

weep, What spells entrance my visionary mind With sighs so sweet, with transports so

refined V Ethereal Power! whose smile, at noon of

night. Recalls the far-fled spirit of delight; Inatila that musing, melancholy mood, Which charms the wise.and elevates the good; Blest Memory, hail.' Oh grant the grateful

Muse, Her pencil dipt in Nature's living hues,Tn pa»s the clouds that round thy empire roll, And trace its airy precincts in the soul. Lulled in the countless chambers of the

brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden

chain. Awake hut one, and lo, what myriads rise! Each stamps its image as the other flies! Each, as the various avenues of sense Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, Controul the latent fibres of the heart. As studious Pbospeko's mysterious spell Convened the subject-spirits to his cell: Each, at thy call, advances or retires, As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred

source Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy

course, And thro1 the frame invisibly convey The subtle, quick vibrations as they play.

Survey the globe,each ruder real m explore; From Reason's faintest ray to Newton soar. What different spheres to human bliss assigned! What slow gradations in the scale of mind! Yet mark in each these mystic wonders

ru. , . , wrought;

un mark the sleepless energies of thought! The adventurous boy, that asks his little

share, And hies from home with many a gossip's

prayer, Turns on the neighbouring "hill, once more

to see The dear abode of peace and privacy; And as he turns, the thatch among the trees, The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with

the breeze,

The village-common spotted white with

sheep, The church-yard-yews round which his

fathers sleep; All rouse Reflection's sadly-pleasing train, And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again.

So, when the mild Tupia dared explore Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown

before, And, with the sons of Science, wooed the

gale That, rising, swelled their strange expanse

of sail; So, when he breathed his firm yet fond

adieu, Borne from his leafy hut, his enrved canoe, And all his soul best loved—such tears he

shed, While each soft scene of summer-beauty fled: Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast, Long watched the streaming signal from the

mast; Till twilight's dewy tints deceived his eye, And fairy-forests fringed the evening-sky. So Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawned the

day, Rose on her couch, and gazed her soul away. Her eyes had blessed the beacon's glimmering height, That faintly tipt the feathery surge with

light; But now the morn with orient hues portrayed Each castled cliff and brown monastic shade: All touched the talisman's resistless spring, And lo, what busy tribes were instant on

the wing! Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts

inspire, As summer-clouds flash forth electric fire. And hence this spot gives back the joys of

youth, Warm as the life, and with the mirror's

truth. Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the

Patriot's sigh; This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. For this young Foscari, whose hapless fate Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate, When exile wore his blooming years away, To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey, When reason, justice, vainly urg'd his cause, For tins he rnus'd her sanguinary laws; Glad to return,tho' Hope could grant no more, And chains and torture hailed him to the shore. And hence the charm historic scenes

impart: Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. Aerial forms, in Tempo's classic vale. Glance thro' the gloom, and whisper in the

gale; In wild \aucluse with love and Laura dwell, And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell. 'Twas ever thus. As now at Vircil's tomb, We bless the shade and bid the verdure

bloom:

So Tully paused, amid the wrecks of Time, On the rude stone to trarc the truth sublime; When at Inn feet, in honoured dust disclosed. The immortal Sage of Syracuse reposed. And as his youth in sweet delusion hung. Where once a Plato taught, a Pindar sung; Who now but meets him musing, when he

roves His ruin'd Tusculan's romantic groves? In Rome's great forum, who but hears him roll His moral thunders o'er the subject soul? And hence that calm delight the portrait

gives: We gaze on every feature till it lives! Still the fond lover sees the absent maid; And the lost friend still lingers in his shade! Say why the pensive widow loves to weep, When on her knee she rocks her babe to

sleep? Tremblingly still, she lifts his veil to trace The father's features in his infant face, The hoary grandsire smiles the hour away, Won by the raptures of a game at play; He bends to meet each artless burst of joy, Forgets his age, and acts again the boy.

What tho' the iron school of War erase Each milder virtue, and each softer grace; What tho' the fiend's torpedo-touch arrest Each gentler, finer impulse of the breast; Still shall this active principle preside, And wake the tear to Pity's self denied. The intrepid Swiss, who guards a foreign

shore, Condemned to climb his mountain-cliffs no

more, If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild Which on those cliffs his infant hours

beguil'd, Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him

rise, And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs. Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the

charm: Say why Vespasian lov'd his Sabine farm; Wliy great Navarre, when France and

freedom bled, Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed? When Dioclktian's self-corrected mind The imperial fasces of a world resigned, Say why we trace the labours of his spade In calm Salona's philosophic shade? Say, when contentious Charles renounced a

throne, To muse with monks unlettered and unknown, Whatfrom his soul the parting tribute drew? What claimed the sorrows of a last adieu? The still retreats that soothed his tranquil

breast, Ere grandeur dazzled,and its cares oppressed. Undamped by time, the generous Instinct

glows Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows; Glows in the tiger's den, the serpent's nest, On every form of varied life imprest. The social tribes its choicest influence hail: — And, when the drum brats briskly in the gale,

The war-worn courser charges at the sound. And with young vigour wheels the pasture

round. Oft has the aged tenant of the vale Leaned on bis staff to lengthen out the tale; Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breathed. From sire to son with pious zeal bequeathed. When o'er the blasted heath the day declined, And on the scathed oak warred the winterwind; When not a distant taper's twinkling ray Gleamed o'er the furze to light him on his

way; When not a sheep-hell soothed his listening

ear, And the big rain-drops told the tempest near; Then did his horse the homeward track

descry, The track that shunned his sad inquiring eye; And win each wavering purpose to relent, With warmth so mild, so gently violent, That his charmed hand the careless rein

resigned, And doubts and terrors vanished from his

mind. Recall the traveller, whose altered form Has borne the buffet of the mountain-storm; And who will first his fond impatience meet? His faithful dog's already at his feet! Yes, tho' the porter spurn him from the

door, Tho'all that knew him know his face no more, His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each. With that mute eloquence which pastes

speech. And see. the master but returns to die! Yet who shall bid the watchful sen ant fly? The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews

of earth, The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth. These, when to guard Misfortune's sacred

grave, Will firm Fidelity exult to brave.

Led by what chart, transports the timid

dove The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of

love? Say, thro' the clouds what compass points

her flight? Monnrchs have gazed, and nations blessed

the sight. Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise, Eclipse her native shades, her native skies ;— 'Tis vain! thro' Ether's pathless wilds she

goes, And lights at last where all her cares repose. Sweet bird '.thy truth shall Harlem's walls

attest, And unborn ages consecrate thy nest. When with the silent energy of grief, With looks that asked, yet dared not hope

relief. Want, with her babes, round generous Valour

clung. To wring the slow surrender from his tongue,

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