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To mortals lent to trace his boundless works
From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame
In all philosophy. For lofty sense,
Creative fancy and inspection keen,

Through the deep windings of the human heart
Is not wild Shakespeare thine and nature's boast ?
Is not each great, each amiable Muse

Of classic ages in thy Milton met ?
A genius universal as his theme:
Astonishing as chaos, as the bloom.
Of owing Eden fair, as heaven sublime.
May my song soften, as thy Daughters I,
Britannia hail! for beauty is their own,
The feeling heart, simplicity of life,

And elegance, and taste; the faultless form,
Shap'd by the hand of harmony; the cheek,
Where the live crimson, through the native white,
Soft shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom,
And every nameless grace; the parted lip,
Like the red rosebud moist with morning dew,
Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet,
Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown,
The neck slight shaded, and the swelling breast;
The look resistless, piercing to the soul,
And by the soul inform'd, when dress'd in love
She sits high smiling in the conscious eye.
Island of bliss! amid the subject seas,
That thunder round thy rocky coasts set up,
At once the wonder, terrour and delight
Of distant nations, whose remotest shores
Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm;
Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults
Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea wave.

O thou! by whose Almighty nod, the scale
Of empire rises, or alternate falls,

Send forth thy saving virtues round the land,
In bright patroul; white Peace, and social Love;
The tender looking Charity, intent

On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles;
Undaunted Truth and dignity of mind;

Courage compos'd and keen-sound Temperance, Healthful in heart and look-clear Chastity,

With blushes reddening as she moves along,
Disorder'd at the deep regard she draws-
Rough Industry-Activity untir'd,

With copious life inform'd, and all awake
While in the radiant front, superiour shines
That first paternal virtue, Public Zeal-
Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey,
And, ever musing on the common weal,
Still labours glorious with some great design.

XII.-Hymn to the Deity, on the Seasons of the Year—IB.
THESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love.
Wide flush the fields-the softening air is balm-
Echo the mountains round-the forest smiles,
And every sense, and every heart is joy.
Then comes thy glory in the summer months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy son
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year.
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks;
And oft at dawn, deep noon or falling eve.
By brooks and groves, and hollow whispering gales,
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin❜d,
And spreads a common feast for all that live.
In Winter awful thou! with clouds and storms
Around thee thrown-tempest o'er tempest roll'd-
Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing
Riding sublime, thou bid'st the world adore,
And humblest nature with thy northern blast.
Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine,
Deep felt in these appear! a simple train-
Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combin❜d-
Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening in to shade-
And all so forming an harmonious whole-
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.
But wandering oft with brute unconcious gaze,
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand,
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres-
Works in the secret deep-shoots, streaming, thence
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring-

Flings from the sun direct the flaming day :
Feeds every creature-hurls the tempest forth :
And as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport touches all the springs of life.
Nature, attend! join every living soul,
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join-and ardent, raise
One general song! To him, ye vocal gales,
Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes :
O talk of him in solitary glooms!

Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe.
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,

Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heaven
Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage,
His praise, ye brooks attune, ye trembling rills-
And let me catch it as I muse along.

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound-
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale-and thou majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself-
Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.

Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave to him-
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams
Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Great source of day! blest image here below,
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,

From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On Nature write with every beam his praise.
Ye thunders roll; be hush'd the prostrate world,
While cloud to cloud returns the solemu hymn,
Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks
Retain the sound; the broad responsive low,
Ye vallies raise; for the great Shepherd reigns,
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come.

Ye woodlands all, awake; a boundless song
Burst from the groves; and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds, sweet Philomela, charm

The listening shades, and teach the night his praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles:
At once the head, the heart, the tongue of all;
Crown the great hymn! In swarming cities vast,
Assembled men to the deep organ join

The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, through the swelling base-
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour rise to heaven-
Or if you rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fane in every sacred grove-
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray
Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams,
Or winter rises in the blackening east-
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!

Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barb'rous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on the Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me—
Since God is ever present, ever felt,

In the void waste as in the city full

And where He vital spreads, there must be joy.
When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey-there with new powers,
Will rising wonders sing-I cannot go,
Where UNIVERSAL LOVE smiles not around.
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns-
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression-but I lose
Myself in HIM, in Light Ineffable !
Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise.


I-The Camelion.-MERRICK
OFT has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
Returning from his finish'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before;
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travell'd fool your mouth will stop-
"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-
I've seen-and sure I ought to know.”—.
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd;
And on their way in friendly chat,
Now talk'd of this and then of that-
Discours'd awhile 'mongst other matter,.
Of the Camelion's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never liv'd beneath the sun :
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its tooth with triple claw disjoin'd-
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! and then its hue-
Who ever saw so fine a blue ?”

"Hold there," the other quick replies,
"Tis green-I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warm'd it in the sunny ray:
Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"Ive seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue.
At leisure I the beast survey'd,
Extended in the cooling shade."

"'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye,”; "Green!" cries the other in a fury

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