mensity, and omnipotence? Nay, even in ideas of inferior sublimity, obscurity and terror, that are their leading characteristics, often impart a nameless sensation of some unknown and mysterious presence; and darkness and silence, the tempest and the whirlwind, have borne testimony to the existence of God.

Would not an universal cloud settle upon all the beauties of creation, if it were supposed that they had not emanated from Almighty energy?-In the works of art, we are not content with the accuracy of feature and the glow of colouring, until we have traced the mind that guided the chisel and gave the pencil its delicacies and animation; nor can we look with delight upon the features of nature without hailing the celestial Intelligence that gave them birth and there is something inexpressibly mournful in beholding an object with proportions and loveliness that seem immediately from heaven, to think that fair form and that exquisite and expressive harmony was a mass flung together by the dull and unselecting hand of chance, and that no mighty master of the work rejoiced in its completion.

The Deity is too sublime for Poetry to doubt

his existence. Creation has too much of the Divinity insinuated into her beauties to allow her to hesitate: she demands no proof,-she waits for no demonstration ;-she looks, and she believes ;-she admires, and she adores. Nor is it alone with natural religion that she maintains this intimate connexion; for what is the Christian's hope, but Poetry in her purest and most ethereal essence? Mark the Christian when the holy transport is upon him,--when the world sweeps by, and is disregarded,when his whole frame seems to have precipitated his soul into other regions-is not Fancy wandering among the heavenly host, or bending beneath the throne of its Creator,-is not his soul teeming with all the imagery of heavenis it not expanding with unutterable poetry?

But let humbled Infidelity declare her triumphs, and the homage of Voltaire to the Muse's piety remain a bright memorial of her allegiance to Christianity. When the powers of hell seemed for a time to prevail, and his principles had given a shock to the faith of Europe, the daring blasphemer ventured to approach the dramatic Muse ;- but no inspiration would she vouchsafe to dignify the sentiments of impiety

and atheism. He found that no impassioned emotion could be roused,-no tragic interest excited,―no generous and lofty feeling called into action, where those dark and chilling feelings pervade: he complied with the only terms upon which the Muse would impart her fervours; and the tragedies of Voltaire display the loveliness of Christianity, below, indeed, what a Christian would feel, but almost beyond what unbelieving genius could conceive. Such was the victory of Poetry when she arrested the apostate while marching onward to the desolation of mankind,-when the champion of modern philosophy fell down before the altar she had raised, and breathed forth the incense of an infidel's adoration !-when he came, like the disobedient prophet, that he might curse the people of God, and behold "he blessed "them altogether."

But why do I adduce mortal testimony? From the beginning she was one of the ministering spirits that stand round the throne of God, to issue forth at his word, and do his errands upon the earth. Sometimes she has been the herald of an offending nation's downfall; and often has she been sent commissioned to transgressing man, with prophecy and warn

ing upon her lips ;—but (at other times) she has been intrusted with "glad tidings of great joy;" and Poetry was the anticipating Apostle, the prophetic Evangelist, whose "feet were beautiful upon the mountains-that published "salvation-that said unto Zion, Thy God

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reigneth!"-Yet has she been accused of cooperating with luxury and fostering the seeds of private indolence and public supineness; she has been stigmatised as the origin of moral deformity, because she often condescends to attend upon guilty man; and where virtue has failed to withdraw him from his vices, has softened their effects, and prevented him from falling into brutality. The spoils of Persia would have relaxed the energies of Greece although poetry had never descended from her throne on high to bless the visions of Grecian enthusiasm; and happy, polished, enchanting Greece, the idol of our fondest imagination, would have sunk into oblivion-into stupid luxury and mindless indolence. Thus, also, when the genius of Roman independence was abandoning the world to Octavius, and retiring from his empire into everlasting exile, the Muse collected all her energies to bestow departing consolation; she wrought a moral

miracle to arrest the headlong degeneracy of Rome, and raised up Augustus to counteract the crimes that Octavius had committed.

But turn to Poetry and History united for your instruction. Human nature is common to both; but different are their modes of tuition. They supply their respective delineations of character. Poetry, when at maturity, observes it as well with a painter's eye as with the scrutiny of a philosopher. She seizes the moment of sketching it when in its most picturesque attitude; or, if there be many, she groups them so as that they may produce the best general effects; and thus, without annihilating their deformities, she makes them conduce to a pleasing and fascinating impression. But rigid History takes character as she finds it; she displays it more exact and impartial, but less attractive to our contemplation. Poetry displays the moral character; History, the moral and political. Poetry makes the character more palpable; History,

more complete.

Behold History bending over the dying Theban the warriors are weeping around