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Pricks her bob-lail, and waves her ears,

“When wasted down to dust the creature dies, And happier than a queen appears :

Quick, from its cell, the enfranchised spirit flies; —Poor beast! from fell ambition free,

Fills, with fresh energy, another form, And all the woes of LIBERTY;

And towers an elephant, or glides a worm; Born in a gaol, a prisoner bred,

The awful lion's royal shape assumes ; No dreams of hunting rack thine head; The fox's subtlety, or peacock's plumes; Ah! mayst thou never pass these bounds Swims, like an eagle, in the eye of noon, To see the world--and feel the hounds! Or wails, a screech-owl, to the deaf, cold moon; Sull all her beauty, all her art,

Haunts the dread brakes, where serpents hiss and glare, Have fail'd to win her husband's heart; Or hums, a glittering insect, in the air. Her lambent eyes, and lovely chest;

The illustrious souls of great and virtuous men, Her swan-like neck, and ermine breast; In noble animals revive again : Her taper legs, and spotty hide,

But base and vicious spirits wind their way So softly, delicately pied,

In scorpions, vultures, sharks, and beasts of prey. In vain their fond allurements spread,

The fair, the gay, the witty, and the braye, To love and joy her spouse is dead.

The fool, the coward, courtier, tyrant, slave; But lo! the evening shadows fall

Each, in congenial animals, shall find
Broader and browner from the wall ;

A home and kindred for his wandering mind.
A warning voice, like curfew-bell,
Commands each captive to his cell;

“Even the cold body, when enshrined in earth, My faithful dog and I retire,

Rises again in vegetable birth : To play and chatter by the fire:

From the vile ashes of the bad proceeds ' Soon comes a turnkey with “Good night, sir!”

A baneful harvest of pernicious weeds ; And bolts the door with all his might, sir :

The relics of the good, awaked by showers, Then leisurely to bed I creep,

Peep from the lap of death, and live in flowers; And sometimes wake--and sometimes sleep.

Sweet modest flowers, that blush along the vale, These are the joys that reign in prison,

Whose fragrant lips embalm the passing gale."
And if I'm happy, 't is with reason :
Yet still this prospect o'er the rest

EXTRACT FROM CANTO II.
Makes every blessing doubly blest;
That soon these pleasures will be vanish'd,
And I, from all these comforts, banish'd!

Now, mark the words these dying lips impart, June 14, 1796.

And wear this grand memorial round your heart :
All that inhabit ocean, air, or earth,
From ONE ETERNAL SIRE derive their birth.

The Hand that built the palace of the sky
THE BRAMIN.

Form'd the light wings that decorate a fly;

The Power that wheels the circling planets round EXTRACT FROM CANTO I.

Rears every infant flow'ret on the ground; ONCE, on the mountain's balmy lap reclined,

That Bounty which the mightiest beings share
The sage unlock'd the treasures of his mind; Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air.
Pure from his lips sublime instruction came, Thus all the wild inhabitants of woods,
As the blest altar breathes celestial flame;

Children of air, and tenants of the floods;
A band of youths and virgins round him pressid, All, all are equal, independent, free,
Whom thus the prophet and the sage address’d. And all the heirs of immortality!

For all that live and breathe have once been men, * Through the wide universe's boundless range, And, in succession, will be such again : All that exist decay, revive, and change :

Even you, in turn, that human shape must change, No atorn torpid or inactive lies;

And through ten thousand forms of being range. A being, once created, never dies. The waning moon, when quench'd in shades of night, 'Ah! then, refrain your brethren's blood to spill, Renews her youth with all the charms of light; And, till you can create, forbear to kill ! The flowery beauties of the blooming year

Oft as a guiltless fellow-creature dies, Shrink from the shivering blast, and disappear; The blood of innocence for vengeance cries : Yet, warm’d with quickening showers of genial rain, Even grim, rapacious 'savages of prey, Spring from their graves, and purple all the plain. Presume not, save in self-defence, to slay. As day the night, and night succeeds the day, What, though to Heaven their forfeit lives they owe, So death reanimates, so lives decay:

Hath Heaven commission'd thee to deal the blow ? Like billows on the undulating main,

Crush not the feeble, inoffensive worm, The swelling fall, the falling swell again ;

Thy sister's spirit wears that humble form! Thus, on the tide of time, inconstant, roll

Why should thy cruel arrow smite yon bird ? The dying body and the living soul.

In him thy brother's plaintive song is heard. In every animal, inspired with breath,

When the poor, harmless kid, all trembling, lies, The flowers of life produce the seeds of death ; And begs his little life with infant cries, The seeds of death, though scatter'd in the tomb, Think, ere you take the throbbing victim's breath, Spring with new vigor, vegetate and bloom. You doom a dear, an only child, to death.

303

When at the ring the beauteous heifer stands, From age to age, from world to world aspire,

-Stay, monster! stay those parricidal hands; And climb the scale of being higher and higher; Canst thou not, in that mild dejected face,

But who these awful mysteries dare explore ! The sacred features of thy mother trace?

Pause, O my soul! and tremble, and adore.
When to the stake the generous bull you lead,
Tremble,-ah, tremble,-lest your father bleed.

There is a Power, all other powers above,
Let not your anger on your dog descend,

Whose name is Goodness, and His nature Love: The faithful animal was once your friend; Who call'd the infant universe to light, The friend whose courage snatch'd you from the grave, From central nothing and circumfluent night. When wrapt in flames or sinking in the wave. On His great providence all worlds depend, -Rash, impious youth! renounce that horrid knife, As trembling atoms to their centre tend : Spare the sweet antelope! ah, spare thy wife!

In nature's face His glory shines confest, In the meek victim's tear-illumined eyes,

She wears His sacred image on her breast; See the soft image of thy consort rise ;

His spirit breathes in every living soul; Such as she is, when by romantic streams,

His bounty feeds, his presence fills the whole ; Her spirit greets thee in delightful dreams; Though seen, in visible though felt, unknown: Not as she look'd, when blighted in her bloom; All that exist, exist in Him alone. Not as she lies, all pale in yonder tomb;

But who the wonders of His hand can trace That mournful tomb, where all thy joys repose ! Through the dread ocean of unfathom'd space! That hallow'd tomb, where all thy griefs shall close. When from the shore we lift our fainting eyes,

Where boundless scenes of God-like grandeur rise ; While yet I sing, the weary king of light Resigns his sceptre to the queen of night;

|Like sparkling atoms in the noontide rays, Unnumber'd orbs of living fire appear,

Worlds, stars, and suns, and universes blaze!

Yet these transcendent monuments that shine, And roll in glittering grandeur o'er the sphere. Perhaps the soul, released from earthly ties,

Eternal miracles of skill divine,

These, and ten thousand more, are only still
A thousand ages hence may mount the skies;
Through suns and planets, stars and systems range,

The shadow of His power, the transcript of His will In each new forms assume, relinquish, change; April 14, 1796.

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For Misery stole me at my birth,
And cast me helpless on the wild :
I perish ;-0 my Mother Earth,

Take home thy Child.
On thy dear lap these limbs reclined,
Shall gently moulder into thee;
Nor leave one wretched trace behind

Resembling me.

“ Lash'd by the furies of the mind,
From Wrath and Vengeance wouldst thou flee!
Ah! think not, hope not, fool, to find

A friend in me

" By all the terrors of the tomb,
Beyond the power of tongue to tell ;
By the dread secrets of my womb;

By Death and Hell;
"I charge thee Live!repent and pray,
In dust thine infamy deplore;
There yet is mercy-go thy way,

And sin no more.
“Art thou a MOURNER ?_Hast thou known
The joy of innocent delights,
Endearing days for ever flown,

And tranquil nights ?
“O LIVE and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of the past :
Rely on Heaven's unchanging will

For peace at last.
« Art thou a WANDERER ?-Hast thou seen
O'erwbelming tempests drown thy bark?
A shipwreck'd sufferer, hast thou been

Misfortune's mark?
“Though long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemn'd in wretchedness to roam,
Live!-thou shalt reach a sheltering port,

A quiet home.
“To FRIENDSHIP didst thou trust thy fame,
And was thy friend a deadly foe,
Who stole into thy breast to aim

A surer blow?
"Live and repine not o'er his loss,
A loss unworthy to be told :
Thou hast mistaken sordid dross

For friendship’s gold.
"Seek the true treasure, seldom found,
of power the fiercest griefs to calm,
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound

With heavenly balm.
"Did Woman's charms thy youth beguile,
And did the Fair One faithless prove?
Hath she betray'd thee with a smile,

And sold thy love?
" Live! "T was a false bewildering fire :
Too often Love's insidious dart
Thrills the fond soul with wild desire,

But kills the heart

“A bruised reed he will not break;
Afflictions all his children feel;
He wounds them for his mercy's sake,

He wounds to heal.
“ Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Prostrate his Providence adore :
"Tis done ! -Arise! He bids thee stand,

To fall no more.
“Now, Traveller in the vale of tears,
To realms of everlasting light,
Through Time's dark wilderness of years,

Pursue thy flight.
“ There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary Pilgrims found;
And while the mouldering ashes sleep

Low in the ground,
“The Soul, of origin divine,
God's glorious image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine

A star of day.
“The Sun is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The SOUL, immortal as its Sire,

SHALL NEVER DIE."

THE LYRE.

Ah! who would love the lyre ?

W. B. Stevens

WHERE the roving rill meander'd

Down the green retiring vale,
Poor, forlorn ALCÆUS Wander'd,

Pale with thought, serenely pale :
Timeless sorrow o'er his face

Breathed a melancholy grace,
And fix'd on every feature there
The mournful resignation of despair.
O'er his arm, his lyre neglected,

Once his dear companion, hung,
And, in spirit deep dejected,

Thus the pensi ve poet sung :
While, at midnight's solemn noon,

Sweetly shone the cloudless moon, And all the stars, around his head, Bénignly bright, their mildest influence shed.

- Thou yet shalt know, how sweet, how dear, To gaze on listening Beauty's eye ; To ask and pause in hope and fear

Till she reply.

* A nobler flame shall warm thy breast, A brighter maiden faithful prove; Thy youth, thine age, shall yet be blest

In woman's love.

“ Lyre! O Lyre! my chosen treasure,

Solace of my bleeding heart; Lyre! O Lyre! my only pleasure,

We must now for ever part: For in vain thy poet sings,

Wooes in vain thine heavenly strings; The Muse's wretched sons are born To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn. “That which Alexander sigh'd for,

That which Cæsar's soul possess'd, That which heroes, kings, have died for Glory-animates my breast :

-Whate'er thy lot, whoe'er thou be, Confess thy folly, kiss the rod, And in thy chastening sorrows see

The hand of GOD.

“What, though all the world neglect me,

Shall my haughty soul repine! And shall poverty deject me,

While this hallow'd Lyre is mine? Heaven-that o'er my helpless head

Many a wrathful vial shed, Heaven gave this Lyre,—and thus decreed, Be thou a bruised, but not a broken reed."

Hark! the charging trumpets' throats

Pour their death-defying notes ; • To arms!' they call : to arms I fly, Like Wolfe to conquer, and like Wolfe to die. "Soft!-the blood of murder'd legions

Summons vengeance from the skies;
Flaming towns and ravaged regions,

All in awful judgment rise.
O then, innocently brave,

I will wrestle with the wave;
Lo! Commerce spreads the daring sail,
And yokes her naval chariots to the gale.
“Blow, ye breezes gently blowing,

Waft me to that happy shore,
Where from fountains ever flowing

Indian realms their treasures pour :
Thence returning, poor in health,

Rich in honesty and wealth,
O'er thee, my dear paternal soil,
I'll strew the golden harvest of my toil.
" Then shall Misery's sons and daughters

In their lowly dwellings sing ;
Bounteous as the Nile's dark waters,

Undiscover'd as the spring,
I will scatter o'er the land

Blessings with a secret hand-
For such angelic tasks design'd,
I give the Lyre and sorrow to the wind."
On an oak, whose branches hoary

Sigh'd to every passing breeze,
Sigh'd and told the simple story

of the patriarch of trees;
High in the air his harp he hung,

Now no more to rapture strung;
Then warm in hope, no longer pale,
He blush'd adieu, and rambled down the dale.

REMONSTRANCE TO WINTER Ah! why, unfeeling Winter, why

Still flags thy torpid wing ? Fly, melancholy Season, fly,

And yield the year to Spring.
Spring,--the young harbinger of love,

An exile in disgrace,-
Flits o'er the scene, like Noah's dove,

Nor finds & resting-place.
When on the mountain's azure peak

Alights her fairy form,
Cold blow the winds_and dark and blesk

Around her rolls the storm.

If to the valley she repair

For shelter and defence, Thy wrath pursues the mourner there,

And drives her, weeping, thence.

She seeks the brook, the faithless brook,

Of her unmindful grown,
Feels the chill magic of thy look,

And lingers into stone.

She wooes her embryo flowers in vain

To rear their infant heads Deaf to her voice, her flowers remain

Enchanted in their beds

In vain she bids the trees expand

Their green luxuriant charms Bare in the wilderness they stand,

And stretch their withering arms.

Lightly touch'd by fairy fingers,

Hark!—the Lyre enchants the wind; Fond Alcæus listens, lingers,

-Lingering, listening, looks behind. Now the music mounts on high,

Sweetly swelling through the sky;
To every tone, with tender heat,
His heart-strings vibrate, and his pulses beat.
Now the strains to silence stealing,

Soft in ecstacies expire ;
Oh! with what romantic feeling

Poor Alcæus grasps the Lyre.
Lo! his furious hand he flings

In a tempest o'er the strings; He strikes the chords so quick, so loud, "Tis Jove that scatters lightning from a cloud. " Lyre! O Lyre! my chosen treasure,

Solace of my bleeding heart;
Lyre! O Lyre! my only pleasure,

We will never, never part.
Glory, Commerce, now in vain

Tempt me to the field, the main ;
The Muse's sons are blest, though born
To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn.

Her favorite birds, in feeble noter,

Lament thy long delay ;
And strain their little stammering throats

To charm thy blasts away.
Ah, Winter, calm thy cruel rage,

Release the struggling year;
Thy power is past, decrepit Sage,

Arise and disappear.
The stars that graced thy splendid night

Are lost in warmer rays;
The Sun, rejoicing in his might,

Unrolls celestial days.
Then why, usurping Winter, why

Still flags thy frozen wing?
Fly, unrelenting tyrant, fly-
And yield the year to Spring

SONG.
Round Love's Elysian bowers

The fairest prospects rise ;
There bloom the sweetest flowers,

There shine the purest skies,
And joy and rapture gild awhile
The cloudless heaven of Beauty's smile.
Round Love's deserted bowers

Tremendous rocks arise ;
Cold mildews blight the flowers,

Tornadoes rend the skies :
And Pleasure's waning moon goes down
Amid the night of Beauty's frown.
Then, Youth, thou fond believer!

The wily Siren shun:
Who trusts the dear Deceiver

Will surely be undone.
When Beauty triumphs, ah! beware :
Her smile is hope-her frown despair.

Sweet roses grace the thorny way

Along this vale of sorrow;
The flowers that shed their leaves to-day

Shall bloom again to-morrow :
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy "Friendship, Love, and Truth!"
On halcyon wings our moments pass,

Life's cruel cares beguiling;
Old Time lays down his scythe and glass,

In gay good-humor smiling:
With ermine beard and forelock grey,

His reverend front adorning,
He looks like Winter turn'd to May,

Night soften'd into Morning.
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy “ Friendship, Love, and Truth!”
From these delightful fountains flow

Ambrosial rills of pleasure :
Can man desire, can Heaven bestow,

A more resplendent treasure ?
Adorn'd with gems so richly bright,
• We'll form a Constellation,
Where every Star, with modest light,

Shall gild his proper station.
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy “ Friendship, Love, and Truth!"

LINES WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING OF YARDLY OAK,

CELEBRATED BY COWPER.

See Hayles's Life and Letters of W. Cowper, Esq.

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 wither'd and declined.

RELIGION, AN OCCASIONAL HYMN. THROUGH shades and solitudes profound

The fainting traveller winds his way; Bewildering meteors glare around,

And tempt his wandering feet astray. Welcome, thrice welcome, to his eye,

The sudden moon's inspiring light, When forth she sallies through the sky,

The guardian angel of the night.

A thousand years are like a day,
When fled ;- no longer known than seen;
This tree was doom'd to pass away,
And be as if it ne'er had been;

But mournful Cowper, wandering nigh, For rest beneath its shadow came, When, lo! the voice of days gone by Ascended from its hollow frame.

Thus mortals, blind and weak, below

Pursue the phantom Bliss, in vain ; The world's a wilderness of woe,

And life a pilgrimage of pain,

O that the Poet had reveal'd
The words of those prophetic strains,
Ere Death the eternal mystery seal'd!

-Yet in his song the Oak remains.

Till mild RELIGION, from above,

Descends, a sweet engaging formThe messenger of heavenly love,

The bow of promise in a storm.

And fresh in undecaying prime,
There may it live, beyond the power
Of storm and earthquake, Man and Time,
Till Nature's conflagration-hour.

· Then guilty passions wing their flight,

Sorrow, remorse, affliction cease; Religion's yoke is soft and light,

And all her paths are paths of peace.

Ambition, pride, revenge depart,

And folly flies her chastening rod; She makes the humble contrite heart

A temple of the living God.

SONG WRITTEN FOR A SOCIETY, WHOSE MOTTO WAS

" FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND TRUTH." WHEN “Friendship, Love, and Truth" abound

Among a band of Brothers,
The cup of joy goes gaily round,

Each shares the bliss of others :

Beyond the narrow vale of time,

Where bright celestial ages roll, To scenes eternal, scenes sublime, She points the way, and leads the soul.

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