“Now, mark the words these dying lips impart,
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,
Formed the light wings that decorate a fly;
The Power that wheels the circling planets round,
Rears every infant floweret on the ground;
That Bounty which the mightiest beings share,
Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air.
Thus all the wild inhabitants of woods,
Children of air, and tenants of the floods,
All, all are equal, independent, free,
And all the heirs of immortality!
For all that live and breathe have once been men,
And, in succession, will be such again :
Even you, in turn, that human shape must change,
And through ten thousand forms of being range.

“Ah! then, refrain your brethren's blood to spill,
And, till you can create, forbear to kill !
Oft as a guiltless fellow-creature dies,
The blood of innocence for vengeance cries :
Even grim, rapacious savages of prey,
Presume not, safe in self-defence, to slay;
What though to Heaven their forfeit lives they owe,
Hath Heaven commissioned thee to deal the blow?
Crush not the feeble, inoffensive worm,-
Thy sister's spirit wears that humble form!
Why should thy cruel arrow smite yon bird?
In him thy brother's plaintive song is heard.
When the poor harmless kid, all trembling, lies,
And begs his little life with infant cries,
Think, ere you take the throbbing victim's breath,
You doom a dear, an only child to death.
When at the ring the beauteous heifer stands,
Stay, monster! stay those parricidal hands;
Canst thou not, in that mild, dejected face,
The sacred features of thy mother trace?
When to the stake the generous bull you lead,
Tremble-ah, tremble-lest your father bleed.
Let not your anger on your dog descend, -
The faithful animal was once your friend ;

The friend whose courage snatched you from the grave,
When wrapt in flames or sinking in the wave.
Rash, impious youth! renounce that horrid knife,
Spare the sweet antelope !-ah, spare—thy wife !
In the meek victim's tear-illumined eyes
See the soft image of thy consort rise :
Such as she is, when, by romantic streams,
Her spirit greets thee in delightful dreams;
Not as she looked when blighted in her bloom;
Not as she lies, all pale, in yonder tonıb,-
That mournful tomb, where all thy joys repose,
That hallowed tomb, where all thy griefs shall close.

“While yet I sing, the weary king of light
Resigns his sceptre to the queen of night;
Unnumbered orbs of living fire appear,
And roll in glittering grandeur o'er the sphere.
Perhaps the soul, released from earthly ties,
A thousand ages hence may mount the skies ;
Through suns and planets, stars and systems range,
In each new forms assurne, relinquish, change;
From age to age, from world to world aspire,
And climb the scale of being higher and higher.
But who these awful mysteries dare explore ?
Pause, O my soul ! and tremble and adore !

“ There is a Power, all other powers above, Whose name is Goodness, and His nature love; Who called the infant universe to light From central nothing and circumfluent night. On His great providence all worlds depend, As trembling atoms to their centre tend : In Nature's face His glory shines confest, She wears His sacred image on her breast; His spirit breathes in every living soul; His bounty feeds, His presence fills the whole ; Though seen, invisible—though felt, unknown; All that exist, exist in Him alone. But who the wonders of His hand can trace Through the dread ocean of unfathomed space? When from the shore we lift our fainting eyes, Where boundless scenes of godlike grandeur rise ; Like sparkling atoms in the noontide rays, Worlds, stars, and suns, and universes blaze ; Yet these transcendent monuments that shine, Eternal miracles of skill divine, These, and ten thousand more, are only still The shadow of His power, the transcript of His will !” MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.


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HERE is a calm for those who weep,

A rest for weary pilgrims found ;
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,

Low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their deep repose
Than summer evening's latest sigh,

That shuts the rose.

I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
To slumber in that dreamless bed

From all my toil.
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.

Hark !--a strange sound affrights mine ear ;
My pulse,-my brain runs wild, -I rave;
-Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear?

-“ I am THE GRAVE!

“ The Grave, that never spake before, Hath found at length a tongue to chide : Oh, listen-I will speak no more

Be silent, Pride!

“ Art thou a wretch, of hope forlorn,
The victim of consuming care?
Is thy distracted conscience torn

By fell despair?

“Do foul misdeeds of former times Wring with remorse thy guilty breast? And ghosts of unforgiven crimes

Murder thy rest?

“ Lashed by the furies of the mind, From wrath and vengeance wouldst thou flec? 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 ?

“Oh, 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’erwhelming tempests drown thy bark? A shipwrecked sufferer hast thou been,

Misfortune's mark?

“ Though long of winds and waves the sport, Condemned in wretchedness to roam, Live !-thou shalt reach a sheltering port,

A quiet home.

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