MEDITATION IN A CHURCH-YARD. ANONYMOUS. HARK! not a breath of wind; no zephyr now A tribute to the main-thus art thou born Comes on with tott'ring pace, and shuts the scene. Alas! the impartial grave no diff'rence owns 'Twixt king and peasant: where's the monarch now? Fast by the tyrant sleeps the tyrant's slave; Rules with a nod, or with a whisper kills? The dear enliv'ning smile and melting eye, AN EVENING'S CONTEMPLATION. ANONYMOUS. How smooth that lake expands its ample breast, When smiles in soften'd glow the summer sky! How vast the rocks that o'er its surface rest! How wild the scenes its winding shores supply! Now down the western steep low sinks the sun, And paints with yellow gleams the tufted woods; While here the mountain's shadow, broad and dun, Sweeps o'er the crystal mirror of the floods. Mark how his splendour tips with partial light Those shatter'd battlements, that on the brow Of yon bold promontory burst to sight From o'er the woods that darkly spread below. In the soft blush of light's reflected power, The ridgy rocks, the woods that crown its steep; The illumin'd battlements, the darker tower, On the smooth wave in trembling beauty sleep. How sweet that strain of melancholy horn, But, lo! the sun recalls his fervid ray, And cold and dim the wat'ry visions fail, While o'er yon cliff, whose pointed crags decay, Mild Evening draws her thin empurpled veil. Hail, shadowy forms of still expressive eve! TO THE GLOW-WORM. DR WOLCOT. BRIGHT stranger! welcome to my field, To me, oh! nightly be thy splendour giv'n; Oh! could a wish of mine the skies command, How would I gem thy leaf with lib'ral hand, With every sweetest dew of heav'n! Saydost thou kindly light the Fairy train, Amidst their gambols on the stilly plain, Hanging thy lamp upon the moisten'd blade? What lamp so fit, so pure as thine, Amidst the gentle elfin band to shine, And chase the horrors of the midnight shade? Oh! may no feather'd foe disturb thy bower, Oh! may no ruthless torrent of the sky, Queen of the insect world! what leaves delight? Of such these willing hands a bower shall form, To guard thee from the rushing rains of night, And hide thee from the wild wing of the storm! Sweet child of stillness! 'mid the awful calin Of pausing nature, thou art pleas'd to dwell In happy silence to enjoy thy balm, And shed through life a lustre round thy cell. How diff'rent man!-the imp of noise and strife, Who courts the storm that tears and darkens life, Blest when the passions wild his soul invade! How nobler far to bid these whirlwinds cease, To taste, like thee, the luxury of peace, And, silent, shine in solitude and shade! THE SEA-NYMPH. ANONYMOUS. WHEN the night-winds rock the sea-bird's nest, That sooth me in my moonlight bowers. On gliding feet unseen I rove Through gelid grots of whit'ning spar, I love to wreathe my humid brow Where many a wide transparent wing I hail the spirit of the breeze That sings to rest the trembling tide, I gem the myrtle's vernal bowers |