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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 Shakespearepthine 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, a. The bloom.
Of wing Eden fair, as heaven sublime.

May my song soften, as thy Daugliters 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 Yeah 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 balmEcho 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 unconfind, And spreads a common feast for all that live. In Winter awful thou ! with clouds and storms Around thee thrown--tempest o'er tempest rollid 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 trainYet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combin'dShade, unperceived, so softening in to shade And all so forming an harmonious whole That, as they sull 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 profusinn 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 sbade with a religious awe.

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 rillsAnd 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 thyselfSound 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 bim, 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 solemn 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,
Sweelest of birds, sweet Philomela, charm
The listening shades, and teach the night his praise,
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smileş:
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
Gild3 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 coine,
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.


1.- The Camelion..MERRICK OFT has it been my lot to mark A proud, conceited, talking spark, Returning from his finish'd tour, Grown ten tiines perter than before; Whatever word you chance to drop, The travell’d fool your mouth will stopim

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,
6. 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,
66 'Tis green-I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warna'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 l ihe beast survey'd,
Extended in the cooling shade."


'tis green, sir, I assure y.e,"; 6 Green !" cries the other in a furym.

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