Thy fate 't is easy to foreshow,
Preserved—to perish in a safer snare !
Spider! thy worthless life I spare!
Advice on thee 't were vain to spend,
Thy wicked ways thou wilt not mend, -
Then haste thee, spoiler, mend thy net;
Wiser than I
Must be yon fly,
If he escapes thy trammels yet;
Most eagerly the trap is sought
In which a fool has once been caught.
And thou, poor Rose, whose livid leaves expand
Cold to the sun, untempting to the hand,
Bloom unadmired,--uninjured die;
Thine aspect squalid and forlorn,
Ensures thy peaceful dull decay;
Hadst thou with blushes hid thy thorn,
Grown “sweet to sense and lovely to the eye,”
I might have plucked thy flower,
Worn it an hour,
Then cast it like a loathsome weed away.”

LINES WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING OF

YARDLEY OAK,

CELEBRATED BY COWPER. *

THIS sole survivor of a race
Of giant oaks, where once the wood
Rang with the battle or the chase,
In stern and lonely grandeur stood.

From age to age it slowly spread
Its gradual boughs to sun and wind;
From age to age its noble head
As slowly withered and declined.

A thousand years are

But mournful Cowper, wandering nigh,
For rest beneath its shadow came,
When lo! the voice of days gone by
Ascended from its hollow frame.
Oh that the Poet had revealed
The words of those prophetic strains,
Ere death the eternal mystery sealed !
-Yet in his song the Oak remains.
And fresh in undecaying prime,
There may it live, beyond the power
Of storm and earthquake, Man and Time,
Till Nature's conflagration-hour.

ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH.

HIGHER, higher will we climb

Up the mount of glory,
That our names may live through time

In our country's story;
Happy, when our welfare calls,
He who conquers, he who falls.
Deeper, deeper let us toil

In the mines of knowledge;
Nature's wealth and learning's spoil

Win from school or college;
Delve we there for richer gems
Than the stars of diadems.
Onward, onward may we press

Through the path of duty;
Virtue is true happiness,

Excellence true beauty.
Minds are of celestial birth,
Make we then a heaven on earth.
Closer, closer let us knit

Hearts and hands together,
Where our fireside comforts sit,

In the wildest weather:
Oh! they wander wide, who roam
For the joys of life from home.

THE PEAK MOUNTAINS.

IN TWO PARTS.

Written at Buxton, in August, 1812. It may be useful to remark, that the scenery in the neighbourhood of Buxton, when

surveyed from any of the surrounding eminences, consists chiefly of numerous and naked hills, of which many are yet unenclosed, and the rest poorly cultivated; the whole district, except in the immediate precincts of the Baths and the village of Fairfield, being miserably bare of both trees and houses.

PART 1.

HEALTH on these open hills I seek,

By these delicious springs, in vain;
The rose on this deserted cheek

Shall never bloom again;
For youth is fled ;--and less by time

Than sorrow torn away,
The pride, the strength of manhood's prime

Falls to decay.

Restless and fluttering to expire,

Life's vapour sheds a cold dim light,
Frail as the evanescent fire

Amidst the murky night,
That tempts the traveller from afar

To follow, o'er the heath,
Its baneful and bewildering star

To snares of death.

A dreary torpor numbs my brain;

Now shivering pale,-now flushed with heat;
Hurried, then slow, from vein to vein

Unequal pulses beat;
Quick palpitations heave my heart,

Anon seems to sink;
Alarmed at sudden sounds I start,

From shadows shrink.

Bear me, my failing limbs! Oh, bear

A melancholy sufferer forth,
To breathe abroad the mountain air
Fresh from the vigorous north;

To view the prospect, waste and wild,

Tempestuous or serene,
Still dear to me, as to the child

The mother's mien.

Ah! who can look on Nature's face,

And feel unholy passions move? Her forms of majesty and grace

I cannot choose but love:
Her frowns or smiles my woes disarm,

Care and repining cease;
Her terrors awe, her beauties charm

My thoughts to peace.

Already through mine inmost soul,

A deep tranquillity I feel,
O'er every nerve, with mild control,

Her consolations steal;
This fevered frame and fretful mind,

Jarring 'midst doubts and fears,
Are soothed to harmony :-I find

Delight in tears.

I quit the path, and track with toil

The mountain's unfrequented maze; Deep moss and heather clothe the soil,

And many a springlet plays,
That, welling from its secret source,

Down rugged dells is tost,
Or spreads through rushy fens its course,

Silently lost.

The flocks and herds, that freely range

These moorlands, turn a jealous eye,
As if the forin of man were strange,

To watch me stealing by;
The heifer stands aloof to gaze,

The colt comes boldly on:
I pause,-he shakes his forelock, neighs,

Starts, and is gone.

I seek the valley :-all alone

I seem in this sequestered place;-Not so; I meet, unseen yet known, My Maker face to face;

My heart perceives His presence nigh,

And hears His voice proclaim, While bright His glory passes by,

His noblest name.

Love is that name,--for God is LOVE!

Here, where, unbuilt by mortal hands, Mountains below and heaven above,

His awful Temple stands, I worship :-"LORD! though I am dust

And ashes in Thy sight, Be Thou my strength; in Thee I trust;

Be Thou my light."

!

PART II.

Emerging from the caverned glen,

From steep to steep I slowly climb,
And far above the haunts of men,

I tread in air sublime;
Beneath my path the swallows sweep;

Yet higher crags impend,
And wild flowers from the fissures peep,

And rills descend.

Now on the ridges bare and bleak,

Cool round my temples sighs the gale; Ye winds! that wander o'er the Peak,

Ye mountain spirits ! hail! Angels of health! to man below

Ye bring celestial airs;
Bear back to Him, from whom ye blow,

Our praise and prayers.
Here, like the eagle from his nest,

I take my proud and dizzy stand;
Here, from the cliff's sublimest crest,

Look down upon the land: Oh for the eagle's eye to gaze

Undazzled through this light! Oh for the eagle's wings to raise O'er all my flight!