PREFACE This volume is based on one with the same litU published in England, in 1841, which the Editor has revised, and perhaps improved. The Sentiments have been called younger sisters of the Passions, differing from them only in intensity; hmjflte’ Webster says they are only the thoughts pflBcd by feeling, perfectly distinct from feeling itself. Whatever may be the true definition of the word, the expressions of admiration, adoration, content, courage, friendship, gratitude, honour, liberty, mercy, patriotism, and superstition, in this volume, constitute an agreeable poetical miscellany, which mav be read with as much advantage as if there had been never a diversity of opinion as to the meaning of the title isiale? which they are now published. 2xl,o% p C> 678573CONTENTS. J)MI RATION. The ocean,........— -- The Ursa Major, • ... The ship,.............. The blood horse,.......... Miranda,.................. Hermione, • •••........... The spirit of poetry, .... A forest walk,............ The sea in calm, ......... To a sky-lark,............ To Venus,................. The Parthenon,............ A health, • •• ........... To a highland girl,....... The city of Jerusalem,.... To a sleeping child,...... Coliseum,................. St. Leonard’s,............... Sunset near Venice,....... Tranquillity of nature,... The Apollo Bel vide re, Green River, ............. To Seneca Lake, - - • • * To Mont Blanc,............ Address to a wild deer,... An Italian summer evening, FJorizel’s praise of Perdita, Niagara,.................. How beautiful is earth,... Cathedral hymn,........... lover’s admiration,....ADORATION. God’s first temples, • All are thine,...... The country life,... Hymn to contentment, Hymn before sunrise i An orison of Eden, • • • The love of God,.... Hymn of the seasons, On seeing Windsor cat >f diamo Abel’s sacrificial address,........... Hymn of the daughters of Jerusalem, Hymn of nature,....................... Oh, Thou, before whose radiant.shriin The prayer of nature,-................ Morning hymn, ........................ CONTENT. My mind to me a kingdom The quiet mind,.......... Summer in the heart,..... Ambition, ............... Contentment,............. Happiness of the shepherd’ The richest jewel,....... Halbert,................. Rural content,........... Uses of adversity,....... Reflections,............. Give me a cottage on some A mingled sentiment,..... Content is happiness,.... Retirement,.............. Rural content,........... Of myself, .............. inscription in a hermitage, The fireside,............* A farewell to the vanities < CONTENTS. Sonnet, A wish, COURAGE. Redninnd in Rokeby hall,............. Ardent courage,........... .......... Hotspur’s impatience for battle,. Fitz-James in the pass of the Trosachs, Death feared because unknown,........ Courage in prospect of death,- .. Courage in extremity,................ Basil’s address to his mutinous troops, • Harold the Dauntless,................ If thou hast lost a friend,.......... FRIENDSHIP. The friendship flower,.............. On friendship,...................... The kind old friendly feelings,..... The blessings of friendship,........ Perfect friendship,................. Past times,......... ■ • •.......... An epistle to Charles Lamb,......... Friendship till death,........ • ... We have been friends together,- • •• Old friends,.................... ... Early friends, ............. — • ... To a friend,........................ Love and friendship, ■ ............. Life’s sunny spots,................. Value of friendship,................-• L’amitie est I’amour sans les ailes, ■ A reminiscence of early friendship, The dying Giaour,................... To Mrs. Agnes Baillie,.............. Recollections of friendship,.... I go, sweet friends, • ............. 3RATITUDE. A poet’s gratitude.’ONTENTX. thank then, God ! for weal an I A mother’s gratitude,............... Build up a column to Bolivar,....... A monarch’s gratitude,.............. To Charles I.loyd,.................. Conrade’s refusal to assassinate Seyd, Gulnare and Conradt ................ HONOUR. Honour its own rewaftt.,.. The pride of honour,..... Honour una fleet# d by slander Highland honour. • • .... Honour coveted,......' • • • Wounded Inon u .......... I.TBER TV The vision of .1»* ........ To Liberty,....... .........— Restraint no where ttimaWf, • •• Effects of freedom, • •_............ To freedom,..................... The hunter of the prairies,......... Sonnet,............................. The peasant,........................ Libert}%............................ Life without freedom,............... Liberty preferred before patriotism. The free,........................... Highland liberty defended,.......... Liberty..................... •• MERCY. Ode to mercy,........ Henry VI. on his lenity, Titus’ address to the .Te Kingly elemenev...... Hubert and Arthur,- • Clemency. superior to revenge. A soldier’s pardon......... PATRIOTISM. Patriotism and freedom,...... To England,...................... Ilofer,........................ The green hills of my father-land, Douglas to the populace of Stirlin« Our country, .................... A young patriot,................. New England, .................... This is my own, mv native land. - ■ SUPERSTITION. Ode to superstition,................. Bertha’s belief in the powers of darkness, Brian’s prophecy, ..............,.... Midnight imaginings, ................Poelni of tl)c Sentiments BY RICHARD H. DAN. Now stretch your eve oft’shore, o'er waieta made 1 o cleanse the air and bear the world’s great trade To rise, and wet the mountains near the sun. Then back into themselves in rivers run, Fulfilling mighty uses far and vyide, Through earth, in air, or here, as ocean-tide. lfo! how the ¿¡ant heaves himself, and strains And ftings to break his strong and viewless chains; Foams in his wrath ; and at his prison doors, llark ! hear him! how he beats, and tugs, and roars, ’ \3 if he would break forth again and sweep Kacli living thing w*thio his lowest deep12 POETRV OF 1HK SENTIMENTS Type of the Infinite! 1 look away Over thy billows, and I cannot stay My thought upon a resting -place, or matte A shore beyond my vision, where they break ; But on my spirit stretches, till it’s pain To think ; then rests, and then puts forth again Thou hold’st me by a spell; and on thy beat i l feel all soul; and thoughts unmeasured reach Far back beyond all date. And, O ! how old Thou art to me. For coup'.less years thou’st roll’d Before an ear did hear hee, thou didst mourn, Prophet of sorrows, o’er a race unborn ; Waiting, thou m:ghty minister of death, Lonely thy work, ere ma i had drawn Ills breath At last thou lidst it well! The dread commano Came, and thou swept’st tc death the breathing land; And then once more, unto the silent heaven Thy lone and melancholy voice was given. And though the land i9 throng’d again, O sea! Stiange sadness touches all that goes with thee. The small bird’s plaining note, the wild, sharp call, Share thy own spirit: it is sadness all. How dark and stern upon thy waves looks down, Yonder tall cliff—he with the iron crown. And 6ce! those sable pines along the steep, Are come to join thy requiem, gloomy deep ! Like staled monks they stand and chant the dirg* Over the dead, with thy low beating surge.ADMIRATION. TO THE URSA MA. DR. BY HENRY WARE, JR. W v. .1 what a stately and majestic step 1 hat glorious constellation of the north 7 reads its eternal circle ! going forth Its princely way among the stars in slow And silent brightness. Mighty one, all hat?1. I joy to see thee on thy glowing path Walk, like some stout and girded giant; stein, Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot Disdains t j loiter on its destined way. 7'he other tribes forsake their midnight track, And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave ; But thou dost never close thy burning eye, Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on. While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds 7'he near horizon tempts to rest in vain. Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quit Thy long-appointed tvatch ; but, sleepless still, Dost g jard the fix’d light of the universe, And bid the north for ever know its place. Ages have witness’d thy devoted trust, Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God Sent forth that shout of joy which rang through heaven, And echo’d from the outer rpherfcs that bound14 rOETK? OF THE SENTIMENTS. The* illimitable universe, thy voice Join’d the high chorus; from thy radiant ?rh* The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise, Who thus had cast another sparkling gem, Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd Of splendours that qrtrich his firmament’, As thou art now, so wast. thou then the same, Ages have roll’d their course, and time grow* gray; The earth has gather’d to her womb again, And yet again, the myriads that were born Of her uncounted, unremember’d tribes. The seas have changed their beds; the eternal hills Have stoop’d with age ; the solid continents Have left their banks; and man’s imperial works— The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flung Their haughty honours in the face of heaven, As if immortal—have been swept away • Shatter’d and mouldering, buried and forgot. But time has shed no dimness on thy front, Nor touch’d the firmness of thy ireaa; yotatfi strength, And beauty still are thine ; as clear, as bright, . As when the almighty Former sent the.e forth, Beautiful offspring of his curious skill, To watch earth’s northern beacon, and proclaim The eternal chorus of eternal Love. I wonder as J gaze That stream of light.ADMIRATION. 15 Undimm’d, uriquenc’n’d—just as I see it now— Has issued from those dazzling points through years That go hack far into eternity. Exhaustless flood ! for ever spent, renew’d For ever! Yea, and those refulgent drops, Which now descenchupon my lifted eye, Left their far fountain twice three years ago. While those wing'd particles, whose speed outstrips The flight of thought, were on their way, the earth Compass’d its tedious circuit round and round, And, in the extremes of annual change, beheld Six autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom. So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve ! So vast the void through which their beams descend ! Yes, glorious, lamp of God ! He may have quench’d Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night Rest on your spheres; and yet no tidings reach This distant planet. Messengers still come Laden with your far fire, and we may seem To see yo ir lights sti. 1 burning; while their blaze But hides the black wreck of extinguish’d realms, Where anarchy and darkness long have reign’d. Yet what is this, which to the astonish’d mind Seems measureless, and which the baffled thought Confounds? A span, a point, in those domains Which the ke/n eye can traverse, Seven starePOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS Dwell in that brilliant cluster, and the sight Embraces all at once ; «et each from each Recedes as far as each of them from earth And every star from every other bu.ns No less remote. From the profound of heaven Untravell’d even in thought, keen, piercing ray« Dart through the void, revealing to the sense Systems and worlds unnumber’d. Take the g!a:s And search the skies. The opening skies pour down Upon your gaze thick showers of sparkling fire Stars, crowded, throng’d, in regions so remote, That their swift beams—the swiftest things that be— = Have travell’d centuries on their flight to earth Earth, sun, and nearer constellations ! what Are ye amid this infinite extent And multitude of God’s most infinite works ! And these are suns ! vast central, living fire«*. Lords of dependent systems, kings of worlds That wait as satellites upon their power, And flourish in their smile. Awake, my soul, And meditate the wonder! Countless suns Blaze round thee, leading forth their countless worlds! Worlds in whose bosoms living things rejoice, And drink the bliss of being from the fount Of all-pervading Love. What mind can kno* What toneme can utter ail their multitudes ' Thus numberless in numberless abodesADMIRATION. Known but to thee, blessed Father! Thine /hey Thy children, and thy care; and none o’erlook’d Of thee ! No, not the humblest soul that dwells Upon the humblest globe, whir>h wheels its course Amid the giant glories of the sky, Like the mean mote that dances in the beam Amongst the mirror’d lamps, which fling Their wasteful splendour from the palace wall, None, none escape the kindness of thy care , All compass’d underneath thy spacious wing, Each fed and guided by thy powerful hand. Tell me, ye splendid orbs! as from youi throne Ye mark the rolling provinces that own Your sway, what beings fill those bright abodes ? How form’d, how gifted? what their powers, their stale, Their happiness, their wisdom ? Do they bear The stamp of human nature? Or has God Peopled those purer realms with lovelier forma And more celestial minds? Does Innocence Still wear her native and untainted bloom ? Or has Sin breathed his deadly blight abroad, And sow’d corruption in those fairy bowers ? Has War trod o’er them with his foot of .Ire ? And Slavery forged his chains; and Wrath, end Hate, And sordid Selfishness, and cruel LustPOET R V OF THE SENTIMENTS. Leagued their base bands to tread out light jnd truth. And scatter wo where Heaven had planted jo; ? Or are they yet all paradise, unfallen And uncorrupt? existence one long joy, Without disease upon the frame, or sin Upon the heart, or weariness of life ; Hope never quench’d, and age unknown. And death unfear’d ; while fresh and fadeless youth Glows in the light from God’s near throne of love ? Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair! Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living world« Unfold ! No language ? Everlasting light And everlasting silence? Yet the eye May read and understand. The hand of God Has written legibly what man may know, The glory of the Maker. There it shines. Ineffable, unchangeable ; and man, Round to the surface of this pigmy globe, May know and ask no more. In other d iva, When death shall give the encumber’d spirit wings. Its range shall be extended ; it shall ream, Perchance, among those vast, mysterio is sphered, Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each, Familiar with its children ; learn their laws, And share their state, and study and adore The infinite varieties of bliss :ADMIRATION. A»- oeiuty, by tho hand of Power divine Lavish’d on all its works. Eternity Shall thus roll on with ever fresh delight; No pause of pleasure or improvement; world On world still opening to the instructed mind An unexhausted universe, and time Put adding to its glories. While the soul Advancing ever to the Source of light And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss. EV MRS. SERA SMITH. With graceful waist and carvings brave, The trim hull waits the sea— And she proudly stoops to the crested wave While round go the chcerings three. Her prow swells up from the yeasty deep, Where it plunged in foam and spray : And the glad waves, gathering round her, s And buoy her in their play. Thou wert nobly rear’d, 0 heart of oak ’ In the sound of the ocean roar, Where the surging wave o’er the rough broke, And bellow’d along the shore—*0 I OF.TRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. And how wilt thou in the storm rejoice, With the wind through spar and shroud To hear a sound like the forest voice When the blast was raging loud ! With snow-white sail, and streamer gay. She sits like an ocean-sprite, Careering on in her trackless way, In sunshine or dark midnight: Her course is laid with fearless skill, For brave hearts man the helm ; And the joyous winds her canvass fill— Shall the wave the stout ship whelm ? On, on she goes, where the icebergs roll, Like floating cities by ; Where meteors flash by the northern pole, And the merry dancers fly ; Where the glittering light is backward flung From icy tower and dome, A nd the frozen shrouds are gayly hung With gems from the ocean foam. Dn the Indian sea was her shadow cast, As it lay, like molten gold, And her pendant, shroud, and towering mas? Seem’d twice on the waters told. The idle canvass slowly swung As the spicy breeze went by, And strange, rare music roun^hcr rung F rom the palm-tree growing nigh.ADMIRATION. 0, gallant ship, t.wu didst bear with 'jiw The gay and the breaking heart, vAnd weeping eyes look’d out to see Thy white-spread sails depart. And when the rattling casement told Of many a perilled ship, The anxious wife her babes would fold, And pray with trembling lip. The petrel wheel'd in its stormy flight The wind piped shrill and high ; On the topmast sat a pale blue light, That flicker’d not to the eye: The black cloud came, like a banner, dews And down came the shrieking blast; The quivering ship on her beams is thrown, And gone are helm and mast. Helmless, but on before the gale, She ploughs the deep-trough’d wave : A gurgling sound—a frenzied wail— And the ship hath found a grave. And thus is the fate of the acorn told. That fell from the old oak tree, And the woodland Fays in the f-osty mould Preserved for its destinv.TOFTRY OF THE SENTIMENT*. THE BLOOD HORSE. BY BARRY CORNWALL* Gamara is a dainty steed, Strong, black, and of a noble breed. Full of fire, and full of bone, With all hi's line of fathers known, Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, But blown abroad by the pride within! His mane is like a river flowing, And his eyes like embers glowing In the darkness of the night, And his pace as swift as light. Look ! how ’round his straining throat Grace and shifting beauty float! Sinewy strength is on his reins, And the red blood gallops through his vctta-Richer, redder, lever ran Through the boasting heart of man He can trace his lineage higher Than the Bourbons dare aspire— Dougins, Guzman, or the Guelph, Or O’Brien’s blood itself! He, who hath no peer, wjs born Here, upon a red March morn ? Bu' his famous fathers, dead, Were Arabs all. 3iid Arab bred: admiration. Anj the last of iliat great line Trod like one of a race divine! And yet—he was but friend to one, Who fed him at the set of sun, By some lone fountain fringed with &reen With him, a roving Bedouin, He lived—(none else would he obey Through all. the hot Arabian day)— And died untamed upon the sands Where Balkh amid the desert stands ! MIRANDA. BV SHAKSPEARE, Admired Miranda! Indeed the top of admiration ; worth What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lad) I have eyed with best regard ; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondag! Brought my too diligent ear ; for several virtues Have I liked several women; never any With so full soul but some defect in her . ♦Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owned And put it to the foil. But you, O you, So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature’s best.POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS HER MI ONE. BY BARRY CORNWALL. faou hast beauty bright and fair, Manner noble, aspect free, Eyes that are untouched by care : What then do we ask from thee ? Hermione, Hermio Thou hast reason quick and strong, Wit that envious men admire, And a voice, itself’a song ! What then can we still desire? Hermione, Her mime ? Something thou dost want, O queen ' (As the gold doth ask alloy), Tears, amid thy laughter seen, Pity, ir:ngling with thy joy. This is all we ash from tk-9* Hermione, Hermione 'A DM T RAT BY H. T. 7UCKERMAN. Fo'A Fame life’s meaner records vainly strive. While, in fresh beauty, thy high dreams survive Still Vesta’s temple throws its classic shade O’ei the bright foam of Tivoli’s cascade, And to one Venus still we bow the knee, Divine as if just issued from the sea; In fancy’s trance, yet deem on nights serene, We hear the revels of the fairy queen, That Dian’s smile illumes the marble fane, And Ceres whispers in the rustling grain That Ariel’s music has not died away, And in his shell still floats the culprit Fay. The sacred beings of poetic birth Immortal live to consecrate the earth. San Marco’s pavement boasts no Doge’s tread, And all its ancient pageantry has fled; Yet as we muse beneath some dim arcade. The mind’s true kindred glide from ruin’s shade i in every passing eye that sternly ! earns, We start to meet the Shylock of our dreams ; Each maiden form, where virgin grace is seen Grosses our path with Portia’s noble mien.2f, POET&Y Of THE .SENTi.«1 E.Nis. While Desdcmona, beauteous as of yore, Yields us the smile that once entranced tht Moor. How Scotland’s vales are peopled to the heart By her bold minstrels’ necromantic art! Along this fern moved Jeannie’s patient feet, Where hangs yon mist, rose Ellangowan’s seaa, Here the sad bride first gave her love a tongue, And there the chief’s last shout of triumph rung: Beside each stream, down every glen they throng, The cherished offspring of creative song! Long ere brave Nelson shook the Baltic shore. The bard of Avon hallowed Elsinore : Perchance when moored the fleet, awaiting day To fix the battle’s terrible array, Some pensive hero, musing o’er the deep, So soon to fold him in its dreamless sleep, Heard the Dane’s sad and self-communing tone Blend with the water’s melancholy, moan, Recalled, with prayer and awe-suspended breath His wild and solemn questionings of death, Or caught from land Ophelia’s dying song, Swept by the night-brecze plaintively along ?ADMIRATION. BY ALFRED B* STREET. A lovely sky, a cloudless sun, A wind that breathes of leaves and flowers O'er hill, through dale, my steps have won, To the cool forest’s shadowy bowers; One of the paths all round that wind, Traced by the browsing herds, I choose, And sights and sounds of human kind In nature’s lone recesses lose ; The beech displays its marbled bark, The spruce its green tent stretches wide, While scowls the hemlock, grim and dark, The maple’s scallop’d dome beside : All weave on high a verdant roof, That keeps the very sun aloof, Making a twilight soft and green, Within the column’d, vaulted scene. Sweet forest-odours have their birth From the clothed boughs and teeming ■ Where pine-cones dropp’d, k.*aves dead, Long tufts of grass, and stars of fern, With many a wild flower’s fairy urn, A thick, el as tic'carpet spread :28 POETRY OF THE SE.NTIMtfNTS. He'r.,, with its mossy pall, the trunk, Resolving into soil, is sunk ; There, wrench’d but lately from its throne. By some fierce whirlwind circling past, Its huge roots mass’d with earth a id stone One of the woodland kings is cast. * Above, the forest tops are bright With the broad blaze of sunny light • But now a fitful air-gust parts The screening branches, and a glow Of dazzling, startling, radiance darts Down the dark stems, and breaks below, The mingled shadows off are roll’d, The sylvan floor is bathed in gold: Low sprouts and herbs, before unseen, Display their shades of brown and green : Tints brighten o’er the velvet moss, Gleams twinkle on the laurel’s gloss ; The robin, brooding in her nest. Chirps as the quick ray strikes her breast; And, as my shadow prints the ground, I see the rabbit upward bound, With pointed ears an instant look, Then scamper to the darkest nook, Where, with crouch’d limb, and staring eye He watches while I saunter by. A narrow vista, carpeted With rich green grass, invites my tread •ADMIRATION. Here showers the light in golden dots, There sleeps the shade in ebon spots, So blended, that the very air Seems network as I enter there. The partridge, whose deep-rolling drum Afar has sounded on my ear, Ceasing his beatings as I come, Whirrs to the sheltering branches neat The little milk-snake glides away, The hrind led marmot dives from day; And now, between the boughs, a space Of the blue, laughing sky I trace : On each side shrinks the bowery shade ; Before me spreads an emerald glade ; The sunshine steeps its grass and moss, That couch my footsteps as I cross ; Merrily hums the tawny bee, The glittering humming-bird I see ; Floats the bright butterfly along, The insect choir is loud in song : A spot of light and life, it seems A fairy haunt for fancy dreams. Here stretch’d, the pleasant turf I press, in luxury of idleness; Sun-streaks, and glancing-wings, and sky Spotted with cloud-shapes, charm my eye While murmuring grass, and waving trees Their leaf-harps sounding to the breeze.'OETRY OF HIE SENTIMENTS And water tones that tinkle near, Blend their sweet music to tny ear ; And by the changing shades alone The passage of the hours is known. BY BARRY CORNWAL r,ooK what immortal floods the sunset pours Upon us!—Mark! how still (as though dreams Bound) the once wild and terrible Ocean seems! How silent are the winds ! No billow roars : But a! I is tranquil as Elysian shores . The silver margin which aye runneth round The moon-enchanted sea, hath here no sound: Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors ! What! is the giant of the ocean dead, Whose strength was all unmatched beneath the sun ? No; he reposes! Now his toils are done, More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest beADMIRATION VO A SKY-LAttic BY dHSLLEY. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad day-light art in9een, but yet 1 hear thy shriL delight Mail to thee, blithe spirit ! Bird thou never wp**t, That from heaven, oi near it, Pourest thy full heart in profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher, From the earth thou spriugest Like a cloud of fire ; The blue deep thou wingest, Aod s nging still dost soar, and soaring ever binge*! In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O’er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run ; !«ike an unb.odied joy whose race is just begunmtm POETRY OF TÏÏE SENTIMENTS Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, ITmil we nardly see,- we feel that it is tbeie. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds they flow not Drops so bright to see, \6 from thy presence showers a rain of melodv. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden. Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it lieedcth not Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower. Soothing her love-laden Soul, in secret hour, With music sweet as love, which overflows hei. bower: ADMIRAT. ON. So ^ilke a glow-worm gilden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue A.mong the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavv winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was loyous.and clear,and fresh,thy music doth surpass Teach us, spr’.te or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine fiat panted forth a flood of rapture so divine Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt— \ thing wherein we feel there is some hidden wan*'POETRY OF 1HE SENTIMENT! What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? Wha love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy keen clear joyance, Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou, lovest; but ne’er knew love’s sad satiety. Waking or asieep, Thou of death must deem Th'ngs more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such stream ? We look before and after, ■ hat is not: crystal And pine for Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of Eaddr si thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear ; If we were tilings born Not to shed a tear, l know not how thy joy we ever should come neatAEtflRATIOIT. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, rhy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ' Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world sho ild listen then, as I am listening now. TO VENUS. RY ALBERT PIKE. O, thou, most lovely and most beautiful ’ Whether thy doves now lovingly do lull Thy bright eyes to soft slumbering upon Some dreamy south wind: whether thou hast gone Upon the heaven now, or if thou art Within some floating cloud, and on its heart Pourest rich-tinted joy ; whether thy wheels Are touching on the sun-forsaken fields, And brushing off the dew from bending grass, Leaving the poor green blades to look—alas 136 POETRF OF THE SENTIMENTS. With dim eyes at the moon—(ah ! so dost inoa Full oft quench brightness!)—Venus, whethei now Thou passest o’er the sea, while each light wing Of thy fair doves is wet, while sea-maid? bring Sweet odours for thee—(ah ! how foolish they ' They have not felt thy smart!) They know not, while in ocean-caves they play, How strong thou art. Where’er thou art, O Venus ! hear our song— Kind goddess, hear l for unto thee belong All pleasant offerings ? bright doves coo to thee, The while they twine their necks with quiet glee Among the n^orning leaves : thine are all sounds Of pleasure on the earth ; and where abounds Most happiness, for thee we ever look ; Among the leaves, in dimly-lighted nook, Most often hidest thou, where winds may wave Thy sunny curls, and cool airs fondly lave Thy beaming brow, and ruffle the white wings Of thy tired doves; and where his love-song sirgs, With lightsome eyes, some little, strange, sweet bird, With notes that never but by thee are heard O, in such scene, most bright, thou iiest not» And, with half-open eye, Drinkest in beauty—0, most fair, that thou Wouldst hear our cry !mm58 POETRY Of HIE SENTIMENTS. Of wondrous languishment: thou whose great power Brings up the sea-maids from each ocean-bower With many an idle song, to sing to thee, And bright locks flowing half above ihe sea, And gleaming eyes, as if in distant caves They spied their lovers—(so among the waves Small bubbles flit, mocking the kindly sun, With little, laughing brightness)— O, come, and ere our festival be done, Our new loves bless ! O, thou who once didst weep, and with sad tears Bedew the pitying woods !—by those great fears That haunted thee when thy beloved lay With dark eyes drown’d in death—by that dull day When poor Adonis fell, with many a moan Among the leaves, and sadly and alone Breathed out his spirit—O, do thou look on All maidens who, for too great love, grow wan, And pity them : come to us when night brings Her first faint stars, and let us hear the wings Of thy most beauteous and br ght-eyed doves Stirring the breathless air ; let all thy loves Be flying round thy car, with pleasant songs Moving upon their lips: come! each maid longe For thy fair presence—goddess of rich love ' Come on the odorous air ; And, as thy light wheels roll, from us remove All iot 2«sick care !¿am admiration. 39 Lo, we have many kinds of incense here To offer thee, and sunny wine and clear, Fit for young Bacchus : flowers we have here tco, That we have gather’d when the morning dew Was moist upon them ; myrtle wreaths we hear, To place upon thy bright, luxuriant hair. And shade thy temples too; *tis now the time Of all fair beauty: thou who loves*, the clime Of our dear Cyprus, where sweet flowers blow With honey in their cups, and with a glow Like thine own cheek, raising their modest heads To be refresh’d with the transparent beads Of silver dew: behold, this April night. Our altars burn for thee ; lo, on the light We pour out incense from each golden vase, O, goddess, hear our words! And hither turn, with thine own matchless grace Thy white-wing’d birds. THE PARTHENON. BY MRS. HEMANS. Fair Parthenon! yet still must fancy weep For thee, thou work of nobler spirits flown, Bright as of old, the sunbeams o’er thee sleep (ii all the ir beaut* still—and .hine is gc 1*» *iO POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Empiies have sunk since thou wert .first revered, And varying riles have sanctified thy shrine. 'Hie dust is round thee of the race that reared Thy walls; and thou—their fate must soon be thine ! Hut when shall earth again exult to see Visions divine, like theirs, renewed in ought like thee ? Lone are thy pillows now—each passing gale Sighs o’er them as a spirit’s voice, which moaned That loneliness, and told the piaintive tale Of the bright synod once above them throned. Mourn, graceful ruin ! on thy sacred hill. Thy gods, thy rites, a kindred fate have shaded •. Yet thou art honoured in each fragment still That wasting years and barbarous hands had spared ; Each hallowed stone, from rapine’s fury borne, Shall wake bright dreams of thee in ages yet unborn. Yes; in these fragments, though by time defaced And rude insensate conquerors, yet remains All that may charm the enlightened eye of taste, On shores where still insuring freedom reigns As vital fragrance breathes from every part Of the crushed myrtle, or the bruised rose,nmitià ADMIRATION. E'en thus the essential energy of Art 'I’liere in each wreck imperishably glo‘v: The soul of Athens lives in every line, Pervading brightly still the ruins of her shi Art, unobtrusive, there ennobles form , Each pure chaste outline exquisitely flows; There, e’en the ste^d, with bold expression warm, Is clothed with majesty, with being glows. One mighty mind hath harmonized the whole ; These varied groups the same bright impress bear; One beam and essence of exalting soul Lives in the grand, the delicate, and fair; And well that pageant of the glorious dead Blends us with nobler days, and loftier spiri.s fbu12 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Of coi quering Genius! that couldst thus retain The subtle graces, fading as they rise, Eternalize expression’s fleeting reign, Arrest warm life in all its energies, And fix them on the stone—thy glorious lot Might wake ambition’s envy, and create Powers half divine : while nations are foigot, A thought, a dream of thine, hath vanquisher fate! And when thy hand first gave its wonders birth. The realms that hail them now, scarce claimed a name on earth. Wert thou some spirit of a purer sphere But once beheld, and never to return ? No—we may hail again thy bright career, Again on earth a kindred fire shall burn ! Though thy least relics, e’en in ruin, bear A stamp of heaven that ne’er hath been renewed— A light inherent—let not man despair; Still be hope ardent, patience unsubdued ; For still is nature fair, and thought divine, And art hath won a world in models pure as thine Gaze on yon forms, corroded and defaced— Yet there the germ of future glory lies! Their virtual grandeurs could not be erased ; It clothes them still, though veiled from common eyes.ADMIRATION. 43 They once were gods and heroes—and beheld As the blest guardians of their native scene ; And hearts of warriors, sages, bards, have swelled With awe that owned their sovereignty of mien. Ages have vanished since those hearts were cold And still those shattered forms retain their god like mould. Midst their bright kindred, from their marble throne, They have looked down on thousand storms of time. Surviving power, and fame, and freedom flown, They still remained, still tranquilly sublime ! Till mortal hands the heaven conclave marred. The Olympian groups have sunk, and are forgot, Not e’en their dust could weeping Athens guard-But these were destined to a nobler lot! And they have borne, to light another land. The quenchless ray that soon shall gloriously ex pand. Phidias! supreme in thought ! what hand but thine, In human works thus blending earth and heaven, O’er nature’s truth hath shed that grace divine, Vo mortal form immortal grandeur given f44 POETRV OF THE SENTIMENTS. What soul but thine infusing all its power, In.these last monuments of matchless days, Oould, from their ruins, bid young Genius tower And Hope aspire to more exalted praise ? And guide deep Thought to that secluded heigh Where excellence is throned in purity of light. A HEALTH. BY EDWARD C. PIKCK52T [ fiXjL rilis cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex Tire seeming paragon; To whom the better elements And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, ’Tis less of earth than heaven Her very tone is music’s own, Like those*of morning birds; And something more than melody Dwells ever in her words: The coinage of her heart are they; And from her lips each flows, As one may see the burden’d bee Forth issue from the rose.te llSfci ADMIRAl .Olf. Affections are as thoughts t,o he?, The measures of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrancv, The freshness of ycung flowers And lovely passions, changing oft, So fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns -The idol of past years ! Of her bright face one glance will tnvi A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain ; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life’s, but hers. I fill’d this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon— Her health ! and would on earth there Mm? Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetrv. And weariness a nameTO A HIGHLAND GIRL. AT XNVERSNEYDE, UPON JLOCH LOMONT, BY WORDSWORTH. Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head ; And these gray rocks, this household law* These trees, a veil just half withdrawn ; This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake; This little bay, a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode; In truth together do ye seem Like something fashioned in a dream ; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep : Yet, dream and vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart: God shield thee to thy latest years! I neither know thee nor thy peers; And yet my eyes are filled with tear* With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away : For never saw I mien, or face, fn which more plainly I could traceADMIRATION. Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here, scattered like a random seed. Remote from men, thou dost not need The embarrassed look of shy distress, And maidenly shamefacedness: Thou wear’st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer. A face with gladness overspread ! Sweet looks, by human kindness bred And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts, that lie beyond the react Of thy few words of English speech: A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind, Thus beating up against the wind. What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful! O happy pleasure 1 here to dwell Beside thee in some healthy dell, Adopt your homely ways and dress A shepherd—thou a shepherdess ' But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality:POETRY OF THE SENTIMENT: Thou art to me but as a wave Of the wild soa: and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but oi common neighbour hood What joy to hear thee and to see ! Thy elder brother I would be, Thy father, any thing to thee! Now *.V»nks to Heaven ! that of its gract Hath led me to this Lonely place. Joy have I had ; and going hence I bear away my recompense, In spots like these it is we prize Our memory,—feel that she hath eyes: Then why should I be loath to stir ? I feel this place was made for her; To give new pleasure like the past, Continued long as life shall last. Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to pait For I, methinks, till I grow old, *\8 lair before me shall behold, As I do now, trie cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall; And thee, l ve spirit of them all!ADMIRATION. BY JAMES A. HILLIIOUSE. How beautiful is Zion!—Like a queer Arm’d with a helm, in virgin loveliness Her heaving bosom in a bossy cuirass, She sits aloft, begirt with battlements And bulwarks swelling from the rock, to guard The sacred courts, pavilions, palaces, Soft gleaming through the umbrage of the woods Which tuft her summit, and, like raven tresses, Waved their dark beauty round the tower of David. Resplendent with a thousand golden bucklers, The embrasures of alabaster shine ; Hail’d by the pilgrims of the desert, bound To Judah’s mart with orient merchandise. But not, for thou art fair ana turret-crown’d, Wet with the choicest dew of heaven, and bless'd With golden fruits, and gales of frankincense, Dwell 1 beneath thine ample curtains. Here, Where saints and prophets teach, where the steri law Still speaks in thunder, where chief angels watch, And where the glory hovers, here I war. !•POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. TO A SLEEPING CHILD. Art thou a thing ot mortal birth, Whose happy home is on our earth ! Does human blood with life imbue These wandering veins of heavenly b That stray along thy forehead fair, Lost ’mid a gleam of golden hair? Oh! can that light and airy breath Steal from a being doomed to death ; Those features to the grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent; Or, ait tjiou, what th/ form would so The phantom of a blessed dream ? A human shape I feel thou art, I feel it at my beating heart, Those tremors both of soul and sc-nse Awoke by infant innocence ! Though dear the forms by fancy wove. We love ihem w ith a transient love: Thoughts from the living wor’d intrude Even on her deepest solitude •.'¡RATION. nut, lovely child ! thy magic stc At once int 3 my inmost soul, With feelings as thy beauty fair, And left no other vision there. To me thy pare;...? ar3 unknown ; Glad would they be their child to own And well they must have loved before, If since thy birth they loved not more. Thou art a branch of noble stem, And, seeing thee, I figure them. What many a child'ess one would give, If thou in their still home would’st live ! Though in thy face no family line Might sweetly say, “ This babe is mine In time thou would’st become the same As their own child,—all but the name ! How happy must thy parents be Who daily live in sight of thee ! Whose hearts no greater pleasure seek Than see thee smile, and hear thee speak. And feel all natural griefs beguiled By thee, their fond, their duteous child. What joy must in their souls have stirred When thy first broken words were heard Words, that, inspired by Heaven, expressed The transports dancing in thy breast! And for thy smile!—thy lip, cheek, brow. Even while I gaze are kindling now2 POETRY OF THF SENTIMENTS. I called thee duteous; am I wrong ? No ! truth I feel is in my song: Duteous thy heart’s still beatings move To God. to Nature, and to Love ! To God !—for thou, a harmless.child, Hast kept his temple undefiled: To Nature !—for thy tears and sighs Obey alone her mysteries : To Love !—for fiends of hate might nee Thou dwell’st in love and love in thee ! What wonder then, though in thy dream I'hy face with mystic meaning beams! Oh ! that my spirit’s eye could see Whence burst those gleams of ecstasy That light of dreaming soul appears To play from thoughts above thy years. Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring To Heaven, and Heaven’s God adoring' And who can tell what visions high May bless an infant’s sleeping eye ! What brighter throne can brightness fine To reign on than an infant’s mind, Ere sin destroy, or er:or dim, The glory of the Seraphim 9ADMIRATION COLISEUM. BY EDGAR A. POE. Type of the antique Rome ' rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation, left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length, at length—after so many days Of weary pilgrimage, and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an alter’d and an humble man, Within thy shadows—and so drink, within My very soul, thy grandeur, gloom, and glory and memories of old i Vast ness, and age, Silence, and desolation, and dim night! I fee. ye now—I feel ye in your strength. O, spells more sure than e’er Judaean king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! O, charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars ! Here, where a hero fell, a column falls ! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hai Waved to the wind now wave the reed at.d thistle Hr ire, where on golden throne the C «sar safe, On bed of moss lies gloating the foul adder ! Here, where on ivory couch the monarch loll’dM POETRY OP THE SENTIMENTS. •'¿rides, spectrc-like, unto his marble home, L’t by the wan light of the horned moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones! B it held!—these dark, these perishing arcades Tnese mouldering plinths, these sad and blacken’d These vague entablatures, this broken frieze, These shatter’d cornices, this wreck, this ruin. These slones—alas! these gray stones, are th All of the proud and the colossal left. By the corrosive hours to fate and me ? “ Not all,” the echoes answer me, “ not Prophetic sounds, and loud, arise for ever From us. and from all ruin, to the wise, As melody from Memnon to the sun. We rule the hearts of mightiest mem; we r With a despotic sway, all giant minds. We are not impotent, we pallid stones ; Not all our power is gone, not all our fame, Not all the magic of our high renown, Not all the wonder that encircles us, Not all the mysteries that in us lie. Not all the memories that hang upon And cling around about us as a garment, nothing us in a robe of more than glory-’ •gsMiDKiRATIO?*. BV CAMPBELL Hail to thv face arul odours, glorious Sea ! Twere thanklessness in me to bless the not Great beauteous being! in whose breath and Mcik My heart beats calmer, and my very mind Inhales salubrious thoughts. How welconver Thy murmurs than the murmurs of the world ! Though like the world thou fluctuat’st, thy din To me is peace, thy restlessness repose ; Even gladly I exchange yon spring-green lanes, With all the darling field-flowers in their prime, And gardens haunted by the nightingale’s Long trills and gushing ectasies of song, For these wild headlands, and the sea-mew’* With thee beneath my windows, pleasant Sea, I long not to o’erlook earth’s fairest glades And green savannahs—Earth has not a plain So boundless or so beautiful as thine ; The eagle’s vision cannot take it in : The lightning’s wing, too weak to sweep its spic«. Sinks half-way o’er it like a wearied bird: It is the mirror of the stars where all^6 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Their hosts within the concave firmament, Gay marching to the music of the spheres, Can see themselves at once. Nor on the stage Of rural landscape are there lights and shades Of more harmonious dance and play than thine. How vividly this moment brightens forth. Between gray parallel and leaden breadths, A belt of hues that stripes thee many a league, Flushed like the rainbow, or the ring-dove’s neck And giving to the glancing sea-bird’s wing The semblance of a meteor. Mighty Sea ! Chameleon-like thou changest, but there’s love In all thy change, and constant sympathy With yonder sky—thy mistress ; from her brow Thou tak’st thy moods and wear’st her colours on Thy faithful bosom; morning’s milky white, Noon’s sapphire, or the saffron glow of eve ; And all thy balmier hours, fair element, Have such divine complexion—crisped smiles. Luxuriant bearings, and sweet whisperings, That little is the wonder Love’s own Queen From thee of old was fabled to have sprung— Creation’s common ! which no human power Can parcel or inclose ; the lordliest floods And cataracts that the tiny hands of man Can tame, conduct, or bound, are drops of de«v To thee thaï could subdue ihe earth itselfADMIRATION. 57 And brook’st commandment from the heavens alone For marshalling thy waves— Yet, potent Sea! How placidly thy moist lips speak even now Along yon sparkling shingles. Who can he So fanciless as to feel no gratitude That power and grandeur can.be so serene, Soothing the home-bound navy’s peaceful way, And rocking even the fisher’s litle bark As gently as a mother rocks her child ? The inhabitants of other worlds behold Our orb more lucid for thy spacious share On earth’s rotundity ; and is he not A blind worm in the dust, great Deep, the man Who sees not, or, who seeing, has no joy In thy magnificence ? What though thou art Unconscious and material, thou canst reach The inmost immaterial mind’s recess, And with thy tints and motion stir its chords To music, like the light on Mem non'8 lyre! The Spirit of the Universe in thee Is visible; thou hast in thee the life— The eternal, graceful, and majestic life Of nature, and the natural human heart is therefore bound to thee with holy love. Earth has her gorgeous towns; the earth-ur cling sea Has spires and mansions more amusive still— Men’s volant homes that measure liquid spac.JPOETRY OF lil£ SENTIMENT8. On wheel or wing. The chariot of the land, With pained and panting steeds and clouds of dust, Has no sight-gladdening motion like these fai* Careerers with the foam beneath their bows. Whose streaming ensigns charm the waves by day, Whose carols and whose watch-bells cheer the night, Moored as they cast the shadows of their ma? 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 iou ^majestic main.ADORATION. A. secret world of wonders in thyself,— Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice Bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soh 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 ! best 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., The thunder rolls: be hushed 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 valleys, 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, charn. The listening shades,and teach the night his praise Ye, chief, for whom the whole creation smile3. ’OETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. At once the head, the heart, the tongue of a!l. 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 bass, And, as each mingling flame increases each, In one united ardour reach 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, may 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 barbarous climes. Rivers unknown to song, where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles, ’tis naught to me Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full, And where he vital breathes there must be joy When e’en 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 goWhere 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 ON SEEING WINDSOR CASTLE. BY T. VVARTON. From beauteous Windsor’s high and storied halls, Where Edward’s chiefs start from the glowing walls, To my low cot, from ivory beds of state, Pleased I return, unenvious of the great. So the bee ranges o’er the varied scenes Of corn, of heaths, of fallows, and of greens, Pervades the thicket, soars above the hill, Or murmurs to the meadow’s murmuring rill; Now haunts old hollow’d oaks, deserted cells. Now seeks the low vale-lily’s silver bells ; Sips the warm fragrance of the greenhouse bowers And tastes the myrtle and the citron flowers ; At length returning to the wonted comb, Prefers to afl his httle straw-built home.F THE SENTIMENTS BI JO WRING. When the moon pct)v over the mountain’s height And the latest stai has left the sky, And the dews disperse at the gla ice of light, And the earth puts on her robes of joy, And the flowers look out, and the woods are gaj With birds and breezes, O! ’tis meet l’o join the universal lay, And nature’s chorus to repeat; To lead the aspiring soul to Him, Whose is the darkness, whose the day— Who kindled first the sunny beam ; Poured forth the wandering milky way; Filled all heaven’s lamps with ether, spread The canopy above—whose hand The valleys and the mountains weighed— Fathomed the ocean—reared the land, And crowded all with life and bliss: See life and bliss around us glowing Wherever space or being is, The cup of joy is full and flowing. Yes! nature is a splendid show, Where an attentive mind may hea* Music in all the winds that blow— And see a silent worshipperADORATION. in eveiy flower, on every tree. In every vale, on every hill— Perceive a choir of melody In waving grass or whispering rill: And catch a soft but solemn sound Of worship from the smallest flv, The cricket chirping on the ground, The trembling leaf that hangs on high. Proud, scornful man ! thy soaring wing Would hurry towards infinity; And yet the vilest, meanest thing Is too sublime, too deep for thee ; In all thy vain imagining Lost in the smallest speck we see. It must be so—for He, even He Who worlds created, formed the worm — He pours the dew. who filled the sea— Breathes from the flower, who rules the 3torm Him we may worship—not conceive; See not and hear not—but adore : Bow in the dust—obey—believe— Utter his name—and know no more. His throne is o’er the highest star That wanders heaven’s blue vaults along He drives, unseen, His glorious car A million viewless worlds among. A thousand—ay ! ten thousand suns Are darkness in His piercing eye !POETRY OF TRJ: SENTIMENT: Thy life runs on—and while it runs. Vainly to know him dost thou try : That is a bliss for realms on high, When thou shalt breathe diviner air, And drink of heaven’s felicity; For knowledge knows no boundary there O ! if joy be here thy doom Give it anchorage above; If thy path be dark with gloom Steal a ray from heavenly love Source of joy !—my friend !—my father! In thy presence let me be,— Here the flower of virtue gather, Blooming for eternity. ABEL’S SACRIFICIAL ADDRESS. BY BRYON. On, God! Who made us, and who breathed the breath of life Within our nostrils, who hath blessed us, And spared, despite our father’s sin, to make His children all lost, as they might have been, Had not thy justice been so tempered with The mercy which is thy delight, as to Accord a pardon like a paradise,' Compared with our great crimes:—Sole Lord of light !ADORATION. Of good, and glory, and eternity; Without whom all were evil, and with whom Nothing can err. except to some good end Of thine omnipotent benevolence — Inscrutable, but still to be fulfilled— Accept from out thy humble first of shepherd’ First of the first-born flocks—an offering, In itself nothing—as what offering can be Aught unto thee ?—but yet accept it for The thanksgiving of Him who spreads it in The face of thy heaven, bowing his own Even to the dust, of which he is, in honour Of Thee, and of Thy name, for evermore ! HYMN OF THE DAUGHTERS OF JERUSALEM Ring of Kings ! and Lord of Lords ! Thus we more our sad steps timing To our cymbals’ faintest chiming, Where thy house its rest accords. Chased and wounded birds are wo; Through the dark air fled to thee ; To the shadow of thy wing, Lord of Lords! and King of King*!114 POETRY OF 1HE SENTIMENTS. Behold, oh Lord! the Heathen tread The branches of thy fruitful vine, That its luxurious branches spread O’er all the hills of Palestine. And now the wild boar comes to wastt Even us, the greenest boughs and last, That drinking of thy choicest dew, On Zion’s hill in beauty grew. No! by the marvels of thine hand, Thou still wilt save thy chosen land! By all thine ancient mercies shown By ail our father’s foes o’erthrown ; By the Egyptian car-borne host, Scattered on the Read Sea coast; By that wide and bloodless slaughter Underneath the drowning water. Like us in utter helplessness, In their last and worst distress— On the sand and sea-weed lying, Israel poured her doleful sighing , While before the deep sea flowed, And behind fierce Egypt rode— To their fathers’ God they prayed, To the Lord of Hosts for aid. On the margin of the flood With lifted rod the Prophet stood ; And the summoned east wind blew, And aside it sternly threw The gathered waves, that took their stand Like crystal rocks, on either handADORATION. Or walls of sea-green marble piled Round some inegular city wild. Then the light of morning lay On the wonder-paved way, Where the treasures of the deep In their caves of coral sleep. The profound abysses, where Was never sound from upper air, Rang with Israel’s chanted words. King of Kings 1 and Lord of Lords! Then with bow and banner glancing On exulting Egypt came, With her chosen horsemen prancing. And her cars on wheels of flame, In a rich and boastful ring All around her furious king. But the Lord from out his cloud, The Lord looked down upon the prouc And the host drove heavily Down the deep bosom of the sea. With a quick and sudden swell Prone the liquid ramparts fell; Over horse, and over car, Over every man of war, Over Pharaoh’s crown of gold, The loud thundering billows rolled. As the level waters spread Down they sunk, they sunk like end Down without a cry or groan. And the morning sun that shoneU6 POETRY . F 1 3E SENTIMENTS. On myriads of bright-armed men. Its meridian radiance then Cast on a wide sea, heaving, as of yore, Agains. a silent, solitary shore. Then did Israel’s maidens sing, Then did Israel’s timbrels ring, To him, the King of Kings ! that in the sea, The Lord of Lords ! had triumphed gloriously And our timbrels’ flashing chords, King of Kings ! and Lord of Lords ! Shall they not attuned be Once again to victory ? Lo ! a glorious triumph now ; Lo ! against thy people come A mightier Pharaoh!, wilt not thou Craze the chariot wheels of Rome ? Will not like the Red Sea wave Thy stern anger overthrow? And from worse than bondage save, From sadder than Egyptian wo, Those whose silver cymbals glance, Those who lead the suppliant dance, Thy race, the only race that sings “ Lord of Lords ! and King of Kings!” in this wide wo-ld tho fondest and the beat Are the inoat tred, most troubled, and distress'd. GrabbHYMN OF NATURE BY PEABODY. Gtr». «a v.*e earth’s extended plain ! The fork green fields contented lie; The mountains rise like holy lowers, Where man might commune with the sky s The tall cliff challenges the storm That lowers upon the vale below, Where shaded fountains send their streams, With joyous music in their flow. God of the dark and heavy deep The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their foreign bands ; Then the white sails are dashed like foam, Or hung, trembling, o’er the seas, Till, calmed by tnee, the sinking gale Serenely breathes, Depart in peace. God of the forest’s solemn shade ! The grandeur of the lonely tree, That wrestles singly with the gale, Lifts up admiring eyes to thee ; But more majestic far they stand, When, side by side, their ranks they form To weave on high their plumes of green, And fight their battles with the storm POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS W'tfSg M'.; God oi the light and viewless air! When summer breezes sweetly flow. Or, gathering in their angry might, The fierce and wintry tempests blow ; All—from the evening’s plaintive sigh. That hardly lifts the drooping flowei. To the wild whirlwind’s midnight cry — Breathe forth the language of thy power God of the fair and open sky ! How gloriously above us springs The tented dome of heavenly blue, Suspended on the rainbow’s rings ! Each brilliant star that sparkles through, Each gilded cloud, that wanders free In evening’s purple radiance, gives The beauty of its praise to thee. God of the rolling orbs above ! Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day’s unvarying blaze, Or evening’s golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven. Were kindled at thy burning throne. God of the world! the hour must come And nature’s self to dust return :Her crumbling altars must decay ; Her incense fires shall cease to burn ; But still her grand and lovely scenes Have made man’s w^-mest piaises flow For hearts grow holier s they trace The beauty of the world below. OH. THOU! BEFORE WHOSE RADIANT SHRINE. BY MRS. HEMANS. On, Thou ! before whose radiant shrine Entranced, adoring seraphs bend ; Eternal source of light divine ! Wilt Thou thy hallowed ear incline And mortal prayer attend ? Yes, Father! yes, benignant Power! Around Thee beams fair mercy’s purest ru\ No awful terrors round Thee lower, Save when, in judgment’s dreaded hour, Thou bidst creation tremble and obey ! Then, robed in darkness and in clouds, That solemn veil thy glory shrouds; Chaos and night thy dark pavilion form ; 7’hy spirit on the whirlwind rides, Impels the unresisting tides. Glares in the lightning, rushes in the stormPOETRY OF THE SENTIMENT*. But Thou wilt meet the suppliant eye, And Thou wilt mark the lowly sigh; And Thou the holy tear wilt see Which penitence devo'°s to Thee; That sigh thy breezes '/aft to heaven, That holy tear is gratelul incense given Low, humble, sad, to Thee I bend; Oh ! listen from thy blest abode ! And though celestial hymns ascend, Oh! deign a mortal’s prayer attend, My Father and my God ! Teach me if hope, if joy, be mine, To bless Thy bounteous hand divine; And still, with trembling homage, raise The gratelul paean of exalted praise ! When deep affliction wounds the soul. Still let me own thy mild control; Teach me, submissive and resigned, To calm the tempest of the mind ; To lift the meek, adoring eye, Suppress the tear and hush the sigh, Gaze on one bright, unclouded star, And hail “ the day-spring” from afar,— Bid angel faith dispel surrounding gloom, And sour, on cherub wing, beyond the tomhadoration. THE PRAYER OF NATURE RY MRS. HEMANS. Father of Light! great God of Heav< n1 Hearest thou the accents of despair ? Can guilt like man’s be e’er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer? Father of light, on thee I call! Thou seest my soul is dark within; Thou who canst mark the sparrow’s fall, Avert from me the death of sin. No shrine I seek to sects unknown; Oh point to me the path of truth ! Thy dread omnipotence I own; Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth. Let bigots rear a gloomy fane, Let superstition hail the pile, Let priests, to spread their sable reign, With tales of mystic rites beguile. Shall man coniine his Maker’s sway To Gothic domes of mouldering stone ? Thy temple is the face of day ; Earth, ocean, heaven, thy boundless throne Shall man condemn his race to hell Unless they bend in pompous form ; Tell us that all, for one who fell, Must perish in the mingling storm ?[22 IOETRY OP THE SENTIMENTS Shall each pretend to reach the skies, Yet doom his brother to expire, Whose soul a different hope supplies. Or doctrines less seyere inspire ? Shall these, by creeds they can’t expoar i Prepare a fancied bhss or wo ? Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground, Their great Creator’s purpose know \ Shall those, who live for self alone, Whose years float on in daily crime- • Shall they by Faith for guilt atone. And live beyond the boenas of time ? Father! no prophet’s laws I seek — Thy laws in Nature’s works appear :• I own myself corrupt and weak, Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear! Thou, who canst guide the wandering star Through trackless realms of ether’s spac* Who calmst the elemental war, Whose hand from pole to pole 1 trace ; Thou, who in wisdom placed me here, Who, when thou wilt, can take me hen« Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere, Extend to me the wide defence. To thee, my God, to thee I call, Whatever weal or wo betide, By thy command I rise or fall, In thy protection I confide. If, when this dust to dust restored, My soul shall float on airy wing.ADORATION. Mow sliall thy glorious name adored Inspire her feeble voice to sing ! But, if this fleeting spirit share With clay the grave’s eternal bed, While life yet throbs I raise my prayer, Though doomed no more to quit the dt? To thee I breathe my humble strain. Grateful ror all thy mercies past. And hope, my God, to thee again This erring life may fly at last VORNIftti HYMl*. B7 CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAH. Let there be light!” The Eternal spoke And from the abyss where darkness rode The earliest dawn of nature broke, And light around creation flow’d. 'The glad earth smiled to see the day, The first-born day, come blushing in ; I he young day smiled to shed its ray Upon a world untouch’d by sin. ;i Let there be light!” O’er heaven and earth The God who first the day-beam pour’d, Utter’d again his fiat forth, And shed die gospel’s light abroad.114 FC/WTRr OF THE SKNTJME3T?S. And, like the dawn, its cheering rays On rich and poor were meant to fall; inspiring their Redeemer’s praise, In lowly cot and lordly hall. Then come, when in the orient first Flushes the signal-light for prayer ; Come with the earliest beams that burst From God’s bright throne of glory then Come kneel to him who through the nigb' Hath watch’d above thy sleeping soul To Him whose mercies, like his light. Are shed abroad from note'to nok(Content MV MINDE TO ME A KINODOME IS from Percy’s reliques. \1y minde to me a kingdome is; Such perfect joy therein I finde As farre exceeds all earthly blisse, That God or Nature hath assign Je: Though much I want, that most would have Yet still my mind forbids to crave. Content l live, this is my stay; I seek no more than may suffice, [ presse to beare no haughtie sway ; Look what I lack my mind supplies. Loe ! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. i see how plentie surfets oft, And hastie clymbers soonest fall: I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all: These get with toiie, and keep with feare Such cares my mind could never beare. ___________________________ (127)  y 128 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. No princely pomp, nor welthie store, No force to winne the victorie, No wylie wit to salve a sore, No shape to winne a lover’s eye ; To none of these I yeeld as thrall, For why my mind despiseth all. Some have too much, yet still they crave. I little have, yet seek no more: They are but poore, tho’ much they havs And I am rich with little store: They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another’s losse, I grudge not at another’s gaine; No worldly wave my mind can tosse, I brooke that is another's bane: I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend; I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. [ joy not in no earthly blisse; I weigh not Cresus’ welth a stray For care, I care not what it is; I feare not fortune’s fatall law: IVTy mind is such as may not move For beautie bright or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seeke for more30NTEMT l like the plain, l clime no hill; In greatest storms I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaino To get what must be lost againe. [ kisse not where I wish to kill; I feigne not love where most I hate 1 break no sleep to winne my will; I wayte not at the mightie’s gate; I scorn no poore, I feare no rich; [ feel no want, nor have too much. The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath; Extreames are counted worst of ail: The golden meane betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and fears no fall: This is my choyce, for why, I linde No welth is like a quiet minde. My welth is health, and perfect ease ; My conscience clere my chiefe defence I never seek by brybes to please. Nor by desert to give offence: Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I! Contentment gives a crown, Where fortune hath deny’d it. Ihomas Ford.’OETRY OF THE SBNTI.ItMTX. THE QUIET MIND. BY JOHN CLARE. Though low my lot, my wish is wor My hopes are few and staid; All I thought life would do, is done The last request is made: If I have foes, no foes ¥ fear; To fate I live resign’d: I have a friend I value here— And that’s a quiet mind. I wish not it was mine to wear Flushed honour’s sunny crown r I wish not I was fortune’s heir, She frowns, and let her frown: I have no taste for pomp and strife Which others love to find: I only wish the bliss of life— A pure and quiet mind. The trumpet’s taunt in battle field. The great man’s pedigree--What peace can all their honours yield, And what are they to me ? Though praise and pomp, to me the stt if* Rave like a mighty windCONTENT. What are they to the calm of life-A still and quiet mind ? 1 mourn not that my lot is low, I wish no higher state ; I sigh not that fate made me so, Nor tease her to be great: I am content, for well I see, What all at least shall find, That life’s worst lot the best shall 3«— And that’s a quiet mind. I see the great pass heedless by, And pride above me tower ; It costs me not a single sigh For either wealth or power: They are but men, and I’m a man Of quite as great a kind. Proud too, that life gives all she can A calm and quiet mind. T never mock’d at beauty’s shrine. To stain her lips with lies ; No knighthood’s fame, or luck was mine, To win love’s richest prize: And yet I found in russet weed, What all will wish to find. True love, and comfort’s prize indeed A glad and quiet mind. POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. And come what will of care or wo, As some must come to all, I’ll wish not that they were not so, Nor mourn that they befall: If tears for sorrows start at will, They’re comforts in their kind, And I am blest, if with me still— Remains a quiet mind. When friends depart, as part they must And love’s true joys decay, That leave 11s like the summer’s dust The whirlwind puffs awray ; While life’s allotted time I brave, Though left the last behind, A prop and friend I still shall have, If I’ve a quiet mind. O may I wnth myself agree, And never covet w’hat I see; Content me with an humble shade. .My passions tam’d, my wishes laid For w’hile our wishes wildly roll, We banish quiet from the soul; *Tis then the busy beat the air, And misers gather wealth and care.CONTENT. SUMMER IN THE HEART BY EPES SARGENT. The cold blast at the casement beats. The window-panes are white, The snow whirls through the empty street? It is a dreary night! Sit down, old friend ! the wine-cups wait; Fill to o’erflowing ! fill! Though winter howleth at the gate, In our hearts ’tis summer stilt! For we fuil many summer joys And greenwood sports have shared, When, free and ever-roving boys, The rocks, the streams we dared! And, as I look upon thy face— Back, back o’er years of ill, My heart flies to that happy place, Where it is summer still! Yes, though, like sere leaves on the ground Our early hopes are strown, And cherished flowers lie dead around. And singing birds are flown,— 1'he verdure is not faded quite, Not mute all tones that thrill ; For, seeing, hearing thee to-nighi, In my heart ’tis summer still!POETRY OF THE SEN riMENTN- Fill up! the olden times come back ' With light and life once more We scan the future’s sunny track, From youth’s enchanted shore ! The lost return. Through fields of t (WES We wander at our will; Gone is the winter’s angry gloom— In our heart *Ls summer still 1 AMBITION. BY RICHARD LOVELACE. Iiow uncertain is the state Of that greatness we adore ; When ambitiously we soar, And have ta’en the glorious height, ’Tis but ruin gilded o’er, To enslave us to our fate; Whose false delight is easier got than k*pt,-Content ne’er on its gaudy pillow slept. Then how fondly do we try, With such superstitious care, To build fabrics in the air; Or seek safety in that sky, Where no stars but meteors are That portend a ruin nigh : And having reach’d the object of our aim, We fVid it but a pyramid of flame.CONTENT CONTENTMENT. BY L. H. SIGOURNEY. Think'st thou the steed that restless roves O'er rocks and mountains, fields and grove* With wild, unbridled bound, Finds fresher pasture than the bee, On thymy bank or vernal tree, Intent to store her industry Within her waxen round f Think’st thou the fountain forced to turn Through marble vase or sculptured urn, Affords a sweeter draught Than that which, in its native sphere, Perennial, undisturb’d and clear, Flows, the lone traveller's thirst to cheer, And wake his grateful thought ? Think'st thou the man whose mansions hold The worldling’s pomp and miser’s gold, Obtains a richer prize Than he who, in his cot at rest, Finds heavenly peace, a willing guest. And bears the promise in his breast Of treasure in the sk;es 1I'OETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHE2I>’W LIFE. BY GILES AND PHINEaS FLETCHER. Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd’s life and state! When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns! His cottage low and safely humble gate Shut out proud Fortune, with her scorns amt fawns: No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep : Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; Himself as innocent as are his simple sheen. No Serian worms he knows, that with their threw. Draw out their silken lives: nor silken priue . His lambs’ warm fleece well fits his little need, Not in that proud Sidonian tincture dyed: No empty hopes no courtly fears him fright: Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite: But sweet content exiles both misery and spite Instead of music, and base flattering tongue«, Which wait to first salute my lord’s uprise * The cheerful lark wakes him with early sono“ And birds’ sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes i In country plays is all the strife he use* • Or sing, or dance unto the rural Muses; And but in music’s sports all difference reiuses His certain life, that ne* er can deceive hia. CONTENT. (s fall of thousand sweets, and ric/i contents The smooth-leaved beeches in the tield receive hitn With coolest shades, till noon-tide rage is spent: Hh life is neither toss’d in boist’rous seas Df troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease ; Pleased, and full blest he lives, when he his God please. His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, While by his side his faithful spouse hath place; His little son into his bosom creeps, The lively picture of his fathers face: Never his humble house nor state torment him ; Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, content him. THE RICHEST JEWELL. There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy No cheinic art can counterfeit; It makes men rich in greatest poverty, Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, The homely whistle to sweet music’s strain; Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent, That much in little—all in nought—Content.POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. HALBERT. BY SHERIDAN KNOTT LES. Sir, you do me wrong dien I claim content l boast no virtue VV ith that which you have left me ;—would not change My naked turret, in its mountain hold, Reached by the path along whose rugged steeps Discord and envy climb not, for the fields Rich Inverary in its scornful groves Embosoms; and to me the mouldering walls Of its small chapel wear the glory yet Of consecration which they took from prayers Of the first teachers, through a thousand storms Have drenched and shaken them. Forgive me, sir: I have a patrimony which disdains Envy of yours. Most miserable Is the desire mat's gloncus: blessed be those. How mean soe’er, that have their honest wills, Which seasons comfort. §Mm«y.CONTENT. RURAL CONTENT. BY THOMSON. Oh knew he but his happiness, of men The happiest he who far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life! V/hat though the dome be wanting, whose pri»ud gate, E.ach morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abused ? f ile intercourse ’ What though the glittering robe, Of every hue reflected light can give, Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold, The pride and gaze of fools, oppress him not ? What though, from utmost la*nd and sea purveyed For him each rarer tributary life Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps With luxury and death ? What though his bowl Flames not with costly juice, nor sunk in beds, Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state ? What though he knows not those fantastic joys That still amuse the wanton, still deceive— A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain— Their hallow moments undelighted all ? S.ure peace is his ; a solid life, estranged rOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. To disappointment and fallacious hope: Rich in content, in Nature’s bounty rich, In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the Sping When heaven descends in showers, or bends the bough When summer reddens.andwhen Autumn berime, Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies Concealed, and fattens with the richest gap; These are not wanting; nor the milky drove, Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ; Nor bleating mountains : nor the chide of streams, And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ; Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song, Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain cleat Here too dwells simple Truth ; plain Innocence ; Unsullied Beauty ; sound unbroken Youth, Patient of labour, with a little pleased ; Health ever blooming; unambitious 'Foil; Calm contemplation, and poetic Ease. He fairly looking into life’s account ; Saw frowns and favours were of like amount And viewing all—his perils, prospects, purse, He said, “ content —’tis well it is no worse.” Crate>*CONTENT. USES OF ADVERSITY lie that commends me to mine own content, Commends me to the thing I cannot get. SheaketprarPOETRY OP THE SENTIMENT«. REFLECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE OF RETIREMENT. BY COLERIDGE. Low was our pretty cot! our tallest rose Peeped at the chamber-window. We could heal Art silent noon, and eve, and early morn, Hie sea’s faint murmur. In the open air Our mrytles blossomed ; and across the porch Thick jasmins twined: the little landscape round Was green and woody, and refreshed the eye. It was a spot, which you might aptly call The Valley of Seclusion ! Once T saw (Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, Bristowa’s citizen : methought, it calmed His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings: for he paused, and looked With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around, Then eyed our cottage, and gazed round again, And sighed, and said, it was a blessed place. And we were blessed. Oft with patient ear Long listening to the viewless sky-lark’s note (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wing,) “ And such,” I said “ The inobtrusive song of happiness—CONTENT. 143 Unearth y minstrelsy ! then only heard When tne soul seeks to hear ; when all is hushed And the heart listens!” But the time, when fir9* From that low dell steep up the stony mount I climbed with perilous toil and reached the top, 0 what a gooflly scene! here the bleak mount. The hare bleak mountain speckled thin with sheep; Grey clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields And river, now with bushy rocks o’erbrowed, N*ovv winding bright and full, with naked banks; And seats, and lawns, the abbey, and the wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire: The channel there, the islands and white sails. Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless ocean— It seemed like Omnipresence ! God, methought, Had built him there a temple: the whole world Seemed imaged in its vast circumference. No wish profaned my overwhelmed heart. Blest hour! it was a luxury—to be ! Ah. quiet dell! dear cot! and mount sublime, 1 was constrained to quit you. Was it right. While my unnumbered orethren toiled and bled That T should dream away the entrusted hours On rose-leaf beds, pampYing the coward heart Willi feelings all too delicate for use ? Sweet is the tear that from some Howard’s eye Drops on the cheek of one he lifts from earth : And he, that works me good with unmoved facePOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My benefactor, not my brother man ! Yet even this, this cold beneficence Seizes my praise; when I reflect on those, The sluggard Pity’s vision-weaving tribe ! Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretcnea Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty sympafhiei ! I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight Of science, freedom, and the truth in Christ. Yet oft when after honourable toil Rests the tired mind, and waking loves to dream My spirit shall revisit thee, dear cot! Thy jasmin and thy window-peeping rose, And myrtles fearless of the mild sea air. And I shall sigh fond wishes—sweet abode ! Ah—had none greater! and that all had such ! The mind’s content Sweetens all sufTrings of th* afflicted sense, Those that are bred in labour think it sport, Above the soft delight which wanton appetite Begets for others, whom indulgent fortune Prefers in her degrees, though equal nature Made all alike. NMGIVE ME A COTTAGE ON SOME CAMBRIAN WILD. BY KIRKE WHITE. Give me a cottage on some Cambrian wild, Where, far from cities, I may spend my days And, by the beauties of the scene beguiled, May pity man’s pursuits, and shun his ways. While on the rock I mark the browsing goat, List to the mountain torrent’s distant noise, Or the hoarse bittern’s solitary note, I shall not want the world’s delusive joys; But with my little scrip, my book, my lyre, Shall think my lot complete, nor covet more. And when, with time, shall wane the vital fire, I’ll raise my pillar on the desert shore, And lay me down to rest where the wild wave Shall make sweet music o’er my lonely grave. Unfit for greatness, I her swares defy, And look on riches with untainted eye. To others let the glitt’ring baubles fail, Content shall plane us far above them all. Churchill W-f> '' ' Wfk'.z SwV.;: wMP0ETKY OF THE SENTIMENTS. A MINGLED SENTIMENT BY SCOTT. When, musing on companions gone, We doubly feel ourselves alone, Something, my friend, we yet may gain, There is a pleasure in this pain: It soothes the love of lonely rest, Deep in each gentler heart impressed. ’Tis silent amid worldly toils, And stifled soon by mental broils; But, in a bosom thus prepared, Its still small voice is often heard, Whispering a mingled sentiment, ’Twixt resignation and content. Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, By lone St. Mary’s silent lake ; Thou know’st it well,—nor fen, nor sedge jj Pollute the pure lake’s crystal edge; |j Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hills huge outline you may view; Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, Nor tree, nor bush, noi brake is there,Save where, of land, yon slender line Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. Yet even this nakedness has power, And aids the feeling of the hour: Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, Where living thing concealed might lie ; Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, Where swaim, or woodman lone, might dwell There’s nothing left to fancy’s guess, You see that all is loneliness; And silence aids—though these steep hills Send to the lake a thousand rills; In summer tide, so soft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear asleep; Your horse’s hoof-tread sounds too rude, So stilly is the solitude. Nought living meets the eye or ear But well I ween the dead are near; For though, in feudal strife, a foe Hath laid Our Lady’s chapel low, Yet still, beneath the/hallowed soil, The peasant rests him from his toil, And dying bids his bones be laid, Where erst his simple fathers prayed. If age had tamed the passions’ strife, And fate had cut my ties to life, Here, have I thought, ’twere sweet to dwell And rear again the chaplain’s cell, Like that same peaceful hermitage, Where Milton longed to spend his age.<48 rOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. ’Twere sweet to mark the setting day, On Bourliope’s lonely top decay ; And, as it faint and feeble died. On the broad lake, and mountain’s side. To say, “ Thus pleasures fade away ; Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, And leave us dark, forlorn, and grey Then gaze on Drvhope’s ruined tower, And think on Yarrow’s faded Flower: And when that mountain-sound I heard, Which bids us be for storm prepared, The distant rust ling of his wings, As up his force the Tempest brings, ’Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, To sit upon the Wizard’s grave ; That Wizard Priest’s, whose bones are thrust From company of holy dust; On which no sun-beam ever shines— (So superstition’s creed divines.) Thence view the lake, with sullen roar, Heave her broad billows to the shore; And mark the wild swans mount the gale Spread wide through niist their snowy sail And ever stoop again to lave Their bosoms on the surging wave: Then, when against the driving hail No longer might my plaid avail, Back to my lonely home retire, And light my lamp, and trim mv nre;CONTENT. There ponder o’er some mystic lay, Til' the wild tale had all its sway, And in the bittern’s distant shriek, I heard unearthly voices speak, And thought the Wizard Priest was come To claim again his ancient home. And bade my busy fancy range, To frame him fitting shape and strange, Till from the task my brow I cleared, And smile to think that I had feared. But chief, ’twere sweet to think such life (Though but escape from fortune’s strife,) Something most matchless, good, and wise. A great and grateful sacrifice ; And deem each hour, to musing given, A step upon the road to heaven. Contentment, parent of delight, So much a stranger to our sight, Say, goddess, in what happy place, Mortals behold thy blooming face, Thy gracious auspices impart, And for thy temple choose my heart. They whom thou deignest to inspire, Thy science learn, to bound desire; By happy alchymy of mind, They turn to pleasure all they find.BY HAVARD. What art thou, Happiness, so sought by all So greatly envied, yet so seldom found ? Of what strange nature is thy composition, When gold and grandeur sue to thee in vain ? The prince who leads embattled thousands fortk And with a nod commands the universe, Knows not the language to make thee obey, Though he with armies strews the hostile plain And hews out avenues of death, he still Loses his way to thee, because content Appears not on the road, to light them to thee Content and happiness are then the same; And they are seldom found, but in the bed Where unmolested innocence resides. Cellars and granaries in vain we fill With all the bounteous summer’s store, If the mind thirst and hunger still: The poor rich man’s emphatically poor. Slaves to the things we too much prize, We masters grow of all that we despise. CowleyCONTENT. RETIREMENT BY BEATTIE. When in the crimson cloud of even The lingering light decays, And Hesper on the front of heaven His glittering gem displays \ Deep in the silent vale, unseen, Beside a lulling stream, A pensive youth, of placid mien, Indulged this tender theme : “ Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled High o’er the glimmering dale ; Ye woods, along, whose windings wild Murmurs the solemn gale : Where Melancholy strays forlorn, And Wo retires to weep, What time the wan Moon’s yellow horn Gleams on the western deep: “To you, ye waste, whose artless charm Ne’er drew ambition’s eye, ’Scaped a tumultuous world’s alarms, To your retreats I fly. Deep in your most sequestered bower Let me at last recline, Where Solitude, mild, modest power, Leans on her ivied shrine.POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. “ How shall I woo thee, matchless fair! Thy heavenly srnile how win! Thy smile, that smooths the brow of Care And stills the storm within. O wilt thou to thy favourite grove Thine ardent votary bring, And bless his hours, and bid them move Serene, on silent wing ? “ Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind With dreams of former days, When in the lap of Peace reclined, He framed his infant lay ; When Fancy roved at large, nor Care Nor cold Distrust alarmed, Nor envy with malignant glare His simple youth hath harmed. *’Twas then, 0 Solitude! to thee His early vows were paid, From heart sincere, and warm and free, Devoted to the shade. Ah, why did Fate his steps decoy In stormy paths to roam, Remote from all congenial joy !— O take the wanderer home. Thy shades, thy silence now be mine Thy charms my only themeCONTENT. My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine Waves o’er the gloomy stream ; Whence the scared owl on pinions gray Breaks from the rustling boughs, And down the lone vale sails away To more profound repose. “ O, while to thee the woodland poui Its wildly warbling song, And balmy from the bank of flowers The zephyr breathes along; Let no rude sound invade from far, No vagrant foot be nigh, No ray from Grandeur’s gilded car Flash on the startled eye. “ But if some pilgrim through the glade Thy hallowed bowers explore, O guard from harm his hoary head, And listen to his lore ; For he of joys divine shall tell, That wean from earthly wo, And triumph o’er the mighty spell That chains his heart below. “ For me no more the path invites Ambition loves to tread: No more I climb those toilsome heigms By guileful Hope misled ;fOETKY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more To Mirth’s enlivening strain ; For present pleasure soon is o’er, And all ihe past is vain.” RURAL CONTENT. BY HAMMOND. Let others boast their heaps of shining gold, A.nd view their fields, with waving plentj crowned, Whom neighbouring foes in constant terror hold, And trumpets break their slumbers,never sound While calmly poor I trifle life away, Enjoy sweet leisure by my cheerful fire, No wanton hope my quiet shall betray, But cheaply blest, I’ll scorn each vain desire. With timely care I’ll sow my little field, And plant my orchard with its master’s hand Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield, Or range my sheaves along the sunny land. if late at dusk, while carelessly I roam, I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb, Under my arm I’ll bring the wanderer home, Ai.d not a little chide its thoughtless iam.CONTENT. What jOy to hoar the tempest how in vain, And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast Or lulled to slumber by the beating rain, Secure and happy, sink at last to rest. Or if the sun in flaming Leo ride, By shady rivers indolently stray, And with my Delia, walking side by sile, murmur as they glide awi Hear how they What joy to wind along the cool retreat, To stop and gaze on Delia as I go! I’o mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet, And teach my lovely scholar all I know ! Thus pleased at heart, and not with fancy’s dream In silent happiness I rest unknown ; Content with what I am, not what I seem, I live for Delia and myself alone. OF MYSELF. BY COWLEY. This only grant me, that my means may lii Too low for envy, for contempt too high. Some honour I would have, Not from great deeds, but good alone ; The unknown are better than ill known Rumour can ope the grave. V\POF.TRY 0? THE SENTIMENTS. Acquaintance I would have, but when t depend* Not on the number, but the choice, of friends. Books should, not business, entartain the light. And sleep as undisturbed as death, the night. My house a cottage more Than palace \ and should fitting be For all my use, no luxury. My garden painted o’er With Nature’s hand,not Art’s ; and pleasures yield Horace might envy in his Sabine field. Thus would I double my life’s fading space ; For he, that runs it well, twice runs his race. And in this true delight, These unbought sports, this happy state, I would not fear, nor wish, my fate; But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them; I have lived to-day. Cease then, nor order imperfection name : Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point; thi^ kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, heav’n bestows on thee. Submit—in this or any other sphere, Secure to be as bless’d as thou canst bear.INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE AT AINSLEY IIALL, IN WARWICKSHIRE. BY WARTON. Beneath this stony roof reclined, I soothe, to peace my pensive mind; And while, to shade my lo-wly cave, Embowering elms their umbrage wave ; And while the maple dish is mine. The beechen cup, unstained with wine; I scorn the gay licentious crowd, Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. Within my limits lone'and still The blackbird pipes in artle-s trill; Fast by my couch, congenial guest, The wren has wove her mossy nest; From busy scenes, and brighter skies. To lurk with innocence, she flies; Here hopes in safe repose to dwell, Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell. At morn I take my customed round, To mark how buds yon shrubby mound, And every opening primrose count, That trimly paints my blooming mount; Or o er the sculptures, quaint and rude, That grace my gloomy solitude,159 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. i teach in winding wreaths to stray Fantastic ivy’s gadding spray. At eve within yon studious nook. I ope my brass-embossed book Pourtrayed with many a holy deed Of martyrs, crowned with heavenly meed Then as my taper waxes dim, Chaunt, ere I sleep my measured hymn; And at the close, the gleams behold Of parting wings bedropt with gold. While such pure joys my bliss create, Who but would smile at guilty state t Who but would wish his holy lot In calm Oblivion’s humble grot ? Who but would cast his pomp away, To take my staff, and amice gray ; And to the world’s tumultuous stage Prefer the blameless hermitage ? THE FIRE-SIDE. BY COTTON. Dear Cloe. while the busy crowd, The vain and wealthy, and the proud In folly’s maze advance ; Though singularity and pride Be called our choice, we’ll step aside Nor join the giddy dance.CONTEXT. From the gay world we’ll oft retire To our own family and fire, Where love our hours employs ; No noisy neighbour enters here. No intermeddling stranger near, To spoil our heartfelt joys. if solid happiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies, And they are fools who roam; The world hath nothing to bestow, From our own selves our bliss must fiov? And that dear hut, our home. Of rest was Noah’s dove bereft, When with impatient wings she left That safe retreat, the ark ; Giving her vain excursions o’er, The disappointed bird once more Explored the sacred bark. Though fools spurn Hymen’s gentle power« We, who improve his golden hours, By sweet experience know That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradise below. Oar babes shall richest comfort bring, If tutored right, they’ll prove a spring Whence pleasures ever rise: -•■-y 1 i. «, POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS Our portion is not large indeed ; But then, how little do we need, For Nature’s calls are few ! In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice. And make that little do. We’ll therefore relish with content Whate’er kind Providence has sent Nor aim beyond our power ; For, if our stock be very small, *Tis prudence to enjoy it all, Nor lose the present hour We’ll form their minds with studious care To all that’s manly, good, and fair, And train them for the skies. While they our wisest hours engage, They’ll joy our youth, support our age And crown our hoary hairs ; Diey’ 11 grow in virtue every day, And thus our fondest loves repay, And recompense our cares. No borrowed joys ! they’re all our ovrr While to the world we live unknown Or by the world forgot: Monarchs! we envy not your state, We look with pity on the great, And bless our humble lot.CONTENT. To be resigned when ills betide, Patient when favours are denied, And pleased with favours given ; Dear Cloe, this is wisdom’s part, This is that incense of the heart, Whose fragrance smells to heaven. We’ll ask no long-protracted treat, Since winter-life is seldom sweet; But when our feast is o’er, Grateful from table we’ll arise, Nor grudge our son, with envious eves The relics of our store. Thus hand in hand through life we’ll go In the checkered paths of joy and wo With cautious steps we’ll tread ; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble or a fear, And mingle with the dead. While conscience, like a faithful friend Shall through the gloomy vale attend And cheer our dying breath ; Shall, when all other comforts ceaee Like a kind angel whisper peace, A nd smooth the bed of death mifmkPOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. A FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD. BY VTOTTEN. Farewell, ve gilded follies, pleasing troubles;— Farewell, ye honoured rags, ye glorious bubbles;— Face’s but a hollow echo; gold pure clay ; Honour the darling but of one short day. Beauty, the eye’s idol, bur a damasked skin ; State but a golden prison to live iri, And torture iree-born minds ! Embroidered trains, Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins ; And blood allied to greatness, is alone Inherited, not purchased nor our own, Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. I would be great, but that the sun doth still Level his rays against the rising hill: I would be high, but see the proudest oak Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke : I would he rich, but see men, too unkind. Dig in the bowels of the richest mine : [ would be wise, but that I often see The fox suspected, while the ass goes free: I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud •C0NTEN1. 163 I woivld be poor, but know the humble grass Still trampled on by each unworthy ass : Rich hated : wise suspected : scorned if poor: Great feared: fair tempted: high still envied more: I have wished all; but now, I wish for neither Great, high, rich, wise nor fair; poor I’ll be rather. Welcome pure thoughts, welcome ye silent grove9, These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves: Now the winged people of the sky shall sing My cheerful anthems to ihe gladsome spring: A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, in which I will adore sweet virtue’s face. Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace-cares, No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears: Then here I’ll sit, and sigh my hot love’s folly, And learn t’ affect a holy melancholy ; And if Contentment be a stranger then, I’ll ne’er look for it but in Heaven again l swear, ’tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content. Than to be perk’d up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. ShakexpearP O El il Y OF TH 2 SENTIMENTS. SONNET. BY DRUMMOND. Thrice happy he who by some shady grove, Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own. Though solitary, who is not alone, But doth converse with that eternal love: Oh, how more sweet is birds harmonious moane, Or the hoarse sobbings of the widowed dove, Than those smooth whisperings near a prince’s throne, Which good make doubtfully dothe evill approve! Oh, how more sweet is zephyre’s wholesome breath, And sighs embalmed, which new-born flowers unfold, Than that applause vain honour doth bequeath ! How sweet are streames to poyson drank in gold! The world is full of horrors, troubles, slights • Woods’ harinlesse shades have only trie delights. Much will always wanting be To him who much desires. Thrice happy he To whom the wise indulgency of heaven, With sparing hand, but just enough has given C owley.CONTENT. BACHELOR’S RETREA1 BY GilEEN. Cv n '■v.ntment, parent of delight, So much a stranger to our sight, Say, goddess, in what happy place Mortals behold thy blooming face; Thy gracious auspices impart, And for thy temple choose my heart. They whom thou deignest to inspire. Thy science learn to bound desire , By happy alchemy of mind They turn to pleasure all they find, They both disdain in outward mien The grave and solemn garb of spleen And meretricious arts of dress, To feign a joy, and hide distress; Unmoved when the rude tempest blow* Without an opiate they repose; And, covered by your shield, defy The whizzing shafts, that round them fh Nor meddling with the gods’ affairs, Concern themselves with distant cares, But place their bliss in mental rest, And feast upon the good possessed. Forced by soft violence of prayer, The blithsome goddess soothes my care$6 VOETSY OP THE SEN’TIMEVTS. i feel the deity inspire. And thus she models my desire. Two hundred pounds half yearly paid, Annuity securely made, A farm some twenty miles from town, Small, tight, salubrious, and my own ; Two maids, that never saw the town. A serving man, not quite a clown ; A bov to help to tread the mow, And drive, while t’other holds the plough A chief, of temper formed to please. Fit to converse, and keep the keys ; And better to preserve the peace, Commissioned by the name of niece» With understandings of a size To think their master very wise. May Heaven (it’s all I wish for) send One genial room to treat a friend, Were decent cupboard, little plate, Display benevolence, not state. And may my humble dwelling stand Upon some chosen spot of land : A pond before full to the brim, Where cows may cool, and geese may sw Belrnd, a green like velvet neat, Soft to the eye, and to the feet; Where odorous plants in evening fair Breathe all around embrosial air; From Eurus, foe to kitchen ground, Fenced by a slope with bushes crowned.  CONTENT. 1 Fit dwelling for the feathered throng, Who pay ‘heir quit-rents with a song, With opening views of hill and dale, Which sense and fancy too regale, Where the half-cirque, which vision bounds Like amphitheatre surrounds; And woods impervious to the breeze, Thick phalanx of embodied trees, From hills through plains in dusk array Extended far, repel the day. Here stillness, height, and solemn shad3 Invite, and contemplation aid : Here nymphs from hollow oaks relate The dark decrees and will of Fate, And dreams beneath the spreading beech Inspire, and docile fancy teach ; , While soft as breezy breath of wind Impulses rustle through the mind Here Dryads, scorning Phoebus’ ray, While Pan melodious pipes away, In measured motion frisk about, Till old Silenus puts them out. There see the clover, pea, and bean, Vie in variety of green ; Fresh pastures speckled o’er with sheep, Brown fields their fallow sabbaths keep, Plump Ceres golden tresses wear, And poppy top-knots deck her hair, And silver streams through meadows stray And Naiads on the margin play,POETRY OF THE SENTIMLNTS. Not kind, so much as to themselves, Cursed with such souls of base alloy, As can possess, but not enjoy; Debarred the pleasure to impart By avarice, sphincter of the heart, Who wealth, hard-earned by guilty carea Bequeath untouched to thankless heirs. May I, with look ungloomed by guile, And wearing Virtue’s livery-smile, Prone the distressed to relieve, And little trespasses forgive, With income not in fortune’s power And skill to make a busy hour, With trips to town life to amuse, To purchase books, and hear the news, To see old friends, brush off the clown, And quicken taste at coming down. Unhurt by sickness’ blasting rage, And slowly mellowing in age, When Fate extends its gathering gripe Fall off like fruit grown fully ripe, Unit a worn being without pain, I’erhaps to blossom soon again.m.'uA. Uow dainty sweet it were, reclined Be ichiii the vast out-spreading branches high Of some old wood, in careless sort to lie. Nor of rue busier scenes we left behind Aught envying. And,0 Anna! mild-eyed maid Beloved ! I were well content to play With thy free tresses all a summer’s day, Losing the time beneath the greenwood shade Or we might sit and tell some tender tale Of faithful vows repaid by cruel scorn, A tale of true love, or of friend forgot; And l would teach thee, lady, how to rail In gentle sort, on those who practise not Or love or pity, though of woman born As in those domes where Caesars once bore sway Defac’d by time, and tott’ring in decay, There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed; And wondering man could want a larger pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. ___ Goldf mu a CONTENT. SONNET. r-1 <- CHARLES LAMB. tiosl)ip THE FRIENDSHIP FLOWER BY M1LNES. ■Vhen first the Friend?.hip-i!awer is planted Within the garden of your soul, Little of care or thought are wanted To guard its beauty fresh and whole; But when the one empassion’d age Has full reveal’d the magic bloom. A wise and holy tutelage Alone can shun the open tomb It is not absence you should dread,— For absence is the very air In which, if sound at root, the head Shall wave most wonderful and fair; With sympathies of joy and sorrow Fed, as with morn and even dews, Ideal colouring it may borrow Richer than ever earthly hues. But oft the plant, whose leaves unsere Refresh the desert, hardly brooks10 TOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. The c >mmon-peopled atmosphere Of daily thoughts, and words, and look« It trembles at the brushing wings Of many a careless fashion-fly, And strange suspicions aim their stings To taint it as they wanton by. Rare is the heart to bear a flower, That must not wholly fall and fade, Where alien feelings, hour by hour, Spring up, beset, and overshade ; Better, a child of care and toil, To glorify some needy spot, Than in a glad redundant soil To pine neglected and forgot. Y et when, at last, by human slight, Or close of their permitted day, From the sweet world of life and light Such find creations lapse away,— Bury the relics that retain Sick odours of departed pride,— Hoard as ye will your memory’s gain, But let them perish where they died. Acquaintance I would have, but when t’ Jepencli Noi on the number, bu the choice of friends. Cow lev.FRIENDS rflP. ON FRIENDSHIP. RY COWPER. What virtue, or what mental grac« But men unqualified and base Will boast it their possession? Profusion apes the noble part Of liberality of heart, And dulness of discretion. If every polished gem we find, Illuminating heart or mind, Provoke to imitation ; No wonder friendship does the same That jewel of the purest flame, Or rather constellation. No knave but bcldly will pretend The requisites that form a friend, A real and a sound one; Nor any fool, he would deceive, Bu. nrnve a9 ready to be.ieve, A no dream that he had found on« Candid, and generous, and just, Boys care but little whom they trust. An error soon corrected.— TGETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. For who but learns in riper years, That man, when smoothest he appears Is most to be suspected ? But here again a danger Iie9, Lest, having misapplied our eyes And taken trash for treasure. We should unwarily conclude Friendship a false ideal good, A mere Utopian pleasure. An acquisition rather rare Is yet no subject of despair; Nor is it wise complaining, if either on forbidden ground, Or where it was not to be found, We sought without attaining. No friendship will abide the test, That stands on sordid interest, Or mean self love erected ; Nor such as may awhil# subsist Between the sot and sensualist, For vicious ends connected. Who seeks a friend should come dwpoin To exhibit in full bloom disclosed The graces and the beauties, That form the character he seek? For ’tis a union, that bespeaks Reciprocated dutiesFRIENDSHIP Mutual attention is implied. And equal truth on either sine. And constantly supported ; 'Tis senseless arrogance to arc Another of sinister views, Our own as much distorted. But will sincerity suffice ? It is indeed above all price, It must be made the basis But every virtue of the soul Must constitute the charming VI chining in their pim-n«. A fretful temper will divide The closest knot that may be tied, By ceaseless sharp corrosion ; A temper passionate and fierce May suddenly your joys disperse. At one immense explosion. In vain the talkative unite In hopes of permanent delight— The secret just committed, Forgetting its important weight, They drop through mere desire to prate, And by themselves outwitted. How bright soe’er the prospect seems All thoughts of friendship are but dreamsPOETRY OF THE SENTIMB TTS if envy chance to creep in ; An envious man, if you succeed, May prove a dangerous foe indeed But not a friend worth keeping. As envy pines at good possessed. So jealousy looks forth distressed On good, that seems approaching And, if success his steps attend, Discerns a rival in a friend, And hates him for encroaching. Hence authors of illustrious name, Unless belied by common fame, Are sadly prone to quarrel, To deem the wit a friend displays A tax upon their own just praise, And pluck each other's laurel. A man renowned for repartee Will seldom scruple to make iree With friendship’s finest feeling, Will thrust a dagger at your breaff And say he wounded you in jest By way of balm for healing. Whoever keeps an cjrfn ear For tattlers will be sure to hear The trumpet of contention :FRIENDSHIP. Aspersion is the babbler's trade To listen is to lend him aid, A.id rush into dissension. A friendship, that in frequent fits Of controversial rage emits The sparks of disputation, Like hand-in-hand insurance plates, Most unavoidably creates The thought of conflagration. Some fickle creatures boast a soul True as the needle to the pole, Their" humour yet so varies— They manifest their whole life through The needle’s deviations too, Their love is so precarious. The great and small but rarely meet On terms of amity complete ; Plebeians must surrender And yield so much to noble folk, It is combining fire with smoke, Obscurity with splendour. Some are so palcid and serene (As Irish bogs are always green) They sleep secure from waking And are indeed a bog, that bears Your unparticipated cares Unmoved and without quaking% POETRY 0» THE S %NT1MENT* Courtier and patriot cannot mix Their heterogeneous politics Without an effervescence, Like that of salts with lemon-juice, Which does not yet like that produce A friendly coalescence. Religion should extinguish strife, And make a calm of human life ; But friends that chance to differ On points which God has left at la-ge. How freely will they meet and charge No combatants are stiffer. To prove at last my main intent Needs no expense of argument, No cutting and contriving— Seeking a real friend we seem To adopt the chymist’s golden dream, With still less hope of thriving. As similarity of mind, Or something not to be defined, First fixes our attention ; Sometimes occasion brings to light Our friend’s defect long hid from sight, And even from suspicion. Then judge yourself, and prove your man As circumspectly as you can, And, having mado election,FRIENDSHIP Beware no neg.igesce of you.*s, Such as a friend but ill endures. Enfeeble his affection. That secrets are a sacred trust, That friends should be sincere a .d juat That constancy befits them, And observations on the case, That savour much of common-place, And all the world admits them. But ’tis not timber, lead, and stone, An architect requires alone, To finish a fine building— The palace were but half complete, If he would possibly forget The carving and the gilding. The man that hails you Tom or Jack, And pro/es by thumps upon your back How ne esteems your merit, Is such a friend, that one had need Be very much his friend indeed, To pardon or to bear it. Sometimes the tault is all our own, Some blemish in due time made know By trespass or omission ; So manners decent and polite, The same we practised at first sight. Must save it from declension.19 • POETRY OF THE SENTIMENT» Some, act upon this prudent plan, Say little, and hear all you can Safe policy, but hateful— So barren sands imbibe the shower, But render neither fruit nor flower,— Unpleasant and ungrateful. The man 1 trust, if shy to me, Shall find me as reserved as he ; No subterfuge or pleading Shall win my confidence again; I will by no means entertain A spy on my proceeding. These samples—for alas ! at last These are but samples, and a taste Of evils yet unmentioned— May prove the task a task indeed, In which ’tis much if we succeed, However well-intentioned. Pursue the search and you will find Good sense and knowledge of mankind To be at least expedient; And, after summing all the rest Religion ruling in the breast A principle ingredient. The noblest Friendship ever shown The Saviour’s history makes known, Though some have timed pnd turned itAnd, whether being crazed or blind. Or seeking with a biassed mind, Have not, it seems, discerned it. BY CHARLES SWAIN. O ! Friendship, if my soul iorego Thy dear delights while here below To mortify and grieve me, May I myself at last appear Unworthy, base, and insincere, Or may my friend deceive me ! THE KIND OLD FRIENDLY FEELINGS i he kind old friendly feelings !— We have their spirit yet, Though years and years have passed, old friend Since thou and I last met! And something of gray Time’s advame Seems in thy fading eye, Yet ’tis the same good honest glance I loved in times gone by— Ere the kind old friendly feelings Had ever brought one sigh ! The warm old friendly feelings \ Ah, who need yet be told200 POETRY OF THE SENTIMEN fS. Like tliose loved links of old ! Thy hand I joyed in youth to clasp, The touch of age may show Yet ’tis the same true hearty grasp 1 loved so long ago— Ere the last old friendly feelings Had taught one tear to flow ! The kind old friendly feelings! Oh, seem they e’er less dear, Because some recollections May meet us with a tear? Though hopes we shared—the early beams Ambition showed our way— Have fled, dear friend, like morning creams Before Truth’s searching ray— Still we’ve kept the kind old feelings That blessed odr youthful day ! THE BLESSINGS Ob FRIENDSHIP. BY YOUNG. Know’stthoj. Lorenzo! whatafriendcontains As bees mixed nectar draw from fragrant flowers So men from -friendship wisdom and delight; Twins tied by nature, if they part they die. Hast thou no friend to set thv mind abroach ? FRIENDSHIP. 20] Good'¿ei.se will stagnate: tho\ ghtssht.. up want air. And spoil, like bales unopened to the sun. Had thought been all, sweet speech, had been denied ; •Speech, thought’s canal! speech, thought’s criterion too! Thought in the mine may come forth gold or dross ; When coined in words we know its real worth, if sterling, store it for thy future use; ’T will buy the benefit! perhaps, renown. Thought, too, delivered is the more possessed : Teaching, we learn: and, giving, we retain The births of intellect; when dumb, forgot. -Speech ventilates our intellectual fire: Speech burnishes our mental magazine ; Brightens, for ornament; and whets, for use. What numbers, sheathed in erudition, lie, Plunged to the hilts in venerable tomes, And rusted in;.who might have borne an edge, And played a sprightly beam, if born to speech ; if born blessed heirs of half their mother’s t ongue ! 'Tis thought’s exchange ; which, like th’ alternate push Ot waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum, And defectates the student’s standing pool. In contemplation is his proud resource? 'Tis poor, as proud, by converse unsustained. Rude thought runs wild in contemplation’s field ■ Converse, the manege, breaks it to the bit Of due restraint; and emulation's snur102 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Gives graceful ene'rgy, by rivals awed. Tis converse qualifies for solitude ; As exercise, for salutary rest. By that untutored, contemplation raves; And nature’s fool by wisdom’s is outdone. Wisdom, though richer than Peruvian mines And sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive, What is she, but the means of happiness? That unobtained, than folly more a fool, A melancholy fool, without her bells. Friendship, the means of wisdom, richly givesFRIENDSHIP. Hearts melt: but meit like ice, soon harder froze. True love strikes root in reason ; passion’s foe: Virtue alone entenders us for life ; I wrong her much—entenders us for ever. Of Friendship’s fairest fruits, the fruit most fair Is virtue kindling at a rival fire, And, emulously, rapid in her race. 0 the soft enmity ! endearing strife ! This carries friendship to her noontide point, And gives the rivet of eternity. PERFECT FRIENDSHIP. BY DRYPEN. I iiad a friend that loved me; l was his soul; he lived not but in me ; We were so close within each other’s breast, The rivets were not found that joined us first, That doth not reach us yet: we were so mixed, As meeting streams: both to ourselves were lost We were one mass,—we could not give or take, But from the same ; for he was l; I, he : Return, my better half, and give me all mysel! For thou art all! If I have any joy when thou art absent, i grudge it to myself; methirks I rob Thee of thy part.POETRY OF THi -SENTIM EJfTa PAST TIMES. IIV BARRY CORNWALL Old acquaintance, shall the nights You and I once talked together, Be forgot like common things— I .ike some dreary night that brings Naught, save foul weather? We were young, when you and T Talked of golden things together— Of love and rhyme, of books and men Ah ! our hearts were buoyant then As the wild-goose feather! Twenty years have fled, we know , Bringing care and changing weather But hath the heart no backward flights. That we again may see those nights, And laugh together ? Jove’s eagle, soaring to tne sun, Renews the past year’s mouldering feather. Ah, why not you and I, then, soar Prom age ‘o youth—and dream once more Long nights together ?FRIENDSHIP. AN EPISTLE TO CHARLES LAMB ON HIS EMANCIPATION FROM CLERKSHIP (WRITTEN OVEB A FLASK OF SHEPETS Dear Lainib, I drink to thee—to thee Married to sweet Liberty ! What! old friend, and art thou freed From the bondage of the pen ? Free from care and toil, indeed ? Free to wander among men When and howsoe’er thou wilt ? All thy drops of labor spilt On those huge and figured pages, Which will sleep unclasped for ages, Little knowing who did wield The quill that traversed their white ne d f Come—another mighty health ! Thou hast earn’d thy sum of wealth—-Countless ease—immortal leisure— Days and nights of boundless pleasur e, Checker’d by no dream of pain, »Such as hangs on clerk-like brain Like a nightmare, and doth press The happy soul from happiness. Oh ! happy thou—whose all of tim* iDay and eve, and morning prime)206 POETRY 01* THE SENTIMENTS is fill’d with talk on pleasant themes— Or visions quaint, which come in dream* Such as panther’d Bacchus rules, When his rod is on “the schools, ' Mixing wisdom with their wine— Or, perhaps, thy wit so fine Strayeth in some elder book Whereon our modern Solons look, With severe ungifted eyes, Wondering what thou seest to prize. Happy thou, whose skill can take Pleasure at each turn, and slake Thy thirst by every fountain’s brink, Where less wise men would pause to shrini Sometimes ’mid stately avenues With Cowley thou, or Marvel’s muse, Dost walk ; or Gray, by Eton towers ; Or Pope, in Hampton’s chestnut bowers ; Or Walton, by his loved Lea stream ; Or dost thou with our Milton dream Of Eden and the Apocalypse, And hear the words from his great lips • Speak—in what grove or hazel shade. For “ musing meditation made,” Dost wander ?—or on Penshurst lawn, Where Sidney’s fame had time to dawn And die, ere yet the hate of Men Could envy at his perfect pen ? Or, dost thou, in some London street 'With vo ces fill’d mid thronging feet!fRIENDS HIP. 2,FOETJk CF THE SENTIMENTS. Dr hear thee s&.y, as grew thy roused attention, 11 What • is this story all thine own invention ?” Then as advancing through this mortal span, Our intercourse with the mix’d world began, Thy fairer face and sprightlier courtesy (A truth that from my youthful vanity Lay not concealed) did for the sisters twain, Where’er we went, the greater favour gain ; While, but for thee, vex’d with its tossing tide, I from the busy world had shrunk aside; And now in later years, with better grace, Thou help’st me still to hold a welcome place With those whom nearer neigbourhood have rm.da The friendly cheerers of our evening shade. With thee my humours, whether grave or gay, Or gracious or untoward, have their way. Silent if dull, oh, precious privilege ! I sit by thee; or, if called from the page Of some huge, ponderous tome which, but thyself None e’er had taken from its dusty shelf, Thou read me curio-us passages to speed The winter night, 1 take but little heed, And thankless say, “ I cannot listen now,” 'Tis no offence ; albeit much do I owe To these, thy nightly offerings of affection, Drawn from thy ready talent for selection • For still it seemed in thee a natural gift, The letter’d grain from letter’d chaff to sift By daily use and circumstance endear'd Things are of value now that once appear’dFRIENDSHIP Of no account, and without notice past Which o’er dull life a simple cheering cast, To hear thy morning steps the staiis descending Thy voice with other sounds domestic blending; After each stated nightly absence met, To see thee by the morning table set, Pouring from smoky spout the amber stream Which sends from saucered cup its fragrant steam: To see thee cheerly on the threshold stand, On summer morn, with trowel in thy hand, For garden work prepared ; in winter’s gloom, From thy cool noon-day walk to see thee come, In furry garment lapp’d, with spattei’d feet, And by the fire resume thy wonted seat; Ay, even o’er things like these, soothed age ha« throw'ii A sober charm they did not always own. As winter hoar-frost makes minutest spray Of bush or hedge weed sparkle to the day In magnitude and beauty, which bereaved Of such investment, eye had ne’er perceived. The change of good and evil to abide, As partners link’d, long have we side by side Our earthly journey held, and who can say How near the end of oui appointed way ? liy nature’s course not distant:—sad and reft YVill she remain,—the lonely pilgrim left. If thou art taken first, w'ho can to me Like sister, friend, anc home companion be f228 * JETF '* HT E SL ITIMZN!-> Or who, of wonted daily kindness shoru, Shall feel such loss, or mourn as I shall mourn * And if I should be fated first to leave This earthly house, though gentle friends ma* grieve, And he above them all, so truly proved A rierid and brother, long and justly loved, There is no living wight, of woman born, Who then shall mourn for me as thou wilt mouri> Thou ardent, liberal spirit! quickly feeling The touch of sympathy, and kindly dealing With sorrow and distress, for ever sharing The unhoarded mite, nor for to-morrow caring Accept, dear Agnes, on thy natal day, Ah unadorned but not a careless lay, Nor think this tribute to thy virtues paid From tardy love proceeds, though long delay’d Words of affection, hovvsoe’er express’d, The latest spoken still are deem’d the best: Few are the measured rhymes I now may write These a*e, perhaps, the last I shall indite. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, The best condition’d and unwearied spirit In doing courtesies; and one in whom The anc ent Roman honour more appears, Than any that draws breath in Italy. Skak spentFRIENDSHIP. RECOLLECTIONS OF FRIENDSHIPS. MARINO ’'ALIERÒ. BY BYRON. A A, these men were my friends; I loved ?hem.they Requited honourably my regards ; We served and fought; we smiled and wept in con* cert; We revel’d or yve sorrow’d side by side ; We made alliances of blood and marriage ; We grew in years and honours fairly,—till Their own desire, not my ambition, made Them choose me for their prince,and then farewell! Farewell all social memory i all thoughts In common! and sweet bonds which link old friendships, When the survivors of long years and actions, Which now belong to history, soothe the days Which yet remain by treasuring each other, And never meet, but each beholds the mirror Of half a century on his brother’s brow, And sees a hundred beings, now on earth Flit round them whispering of the days gone by, And seeming not all dead, us long as two Of the brave, joyous, reckless, glorious band, Which once were one and many, still retain A bieath to sigh for them, a tongue to speak 230 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Of deeds that else were silent, save on marble— Oime ! Oime !—and must I do this deed I 1 blame you not—you act in your vocation; They smote you, and oppress’d you, and despised you; So have they me: but you ne’er spake with them; You never broke their bread, nor shared their salt; You never had their wine-cup at your lips; You grew not up with them, nor laugh’d, nor wept, Nor held a revel in their company ; Ne’er smiled to see them smile, nor claim’d theii smile In social interchange with yours, nor trusted Nor wore them in your heart of hearts, as I have < These hairs of mine are gray, and so are theirs, The elders of the council: I remember When all our locks were like the raven’s wing, As we went forth to take our prey around The isles wrung from the false Mahometan; And can I see them dabbled o’er with blood i Each stab to them will seem my suicide. That friendship’s raised on sand, Which every sudden gust of discontent, Or flowing of our passions, can change As if i* ne’er had been. Massing FRIENDSHIP. I GO, SWEET FRIENDS! BF MRS HEMANS. I go sweet friends i yet think of me lien spring’s young voice awakes the flowers F or we have wander’d far and free In those bright hours, the violet’s hours. I go, but when you pause to hear, From distant hills, the sabbath-bell On summer-winds float silvery clear, Think on me then—I loved it well! Forget me not around your hearth, When cheerly smiles the ruddy blaze, For dear hath been its evening mirth To me, sweet friends, in other days. And oh ! when music’s voice is heard To melt in strains of parting woe, When hearts to love and grief are stirr’d. Think of me then!—I go, I go ! Thou art the man in whom my soul delights, In whom, next Heaven, I trust. Rime POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. [q all the counsel that we two have shared, Tne sister’s vows, the hours that we have spent When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us—O, and is all forgot ? All school-day’s friendship, childhood innocence We, llermia, Tike two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flowo., Roth on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key; As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds Had been incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet a union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart. Shakspeare. As we do turn our backs From our companion, thrown into his grave: So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away: leave their false vows with hin Like empty purses pick’d; and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn’d poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone. Shakspear e !'©rfltitnbe, A POET'S GRATITUDE. BY SOUTHEY Once more I see thee, Skiddaw ! once again Behold thee in thy majesty serene, Where, like the bulwark oi’ this favour’d plain Alone thou standest, monarch of the scene— Thou glorious mountain, on whose ample breast The sunbeams love to play, the vapours love u rest. Once more, 0 Derwent! to thy awful shores I come insatiate of the accustomed sight: And, listening as the eternal torrent roars, Drink in with eye and ear a fresh delight: For I have wander’d far by land and sea, In all my wanderings still remembering thee. Twelve years, (how large a part of man’s brief day!) Nor idly, nor ingluriously spent, Of evil and of good have held their way Siine first upon thy banks I pitch'd my tent. '235)236 POETRY OF IilE SENTIMENTS. Hither I came in manhood’s active prime, And here my head hath felt the touch of time. Heaven hath, with goodly increase, bless’d me here, Where, childless and oppress’d with grief, I came; With voice of fervent thankfulness sincere Let me the blessings which are mine proclaim: Here I possess,—what more should I require ? Books, children, leisure,—all my heart’s desire. ZAMOR. BY MRS. HEMANS. By the fame Of my brave sire, whose deeds the warrior tribe# Tell round the desert’s watch-fire, at the hour Of silence, and of coolness, and of stars, I will not leave thee! ’Twas in such an hour, The dreams of rest were on me, and I lay Shrouded in slumber’s mantle, as within The chambers of the dead. Who saved me then, When the pard, soundless as the midnight, stole Soft on the sleeper? Whose keen dart transfixed The monarch of the solitudes ? I woke And saw thy javelin crimson’d with his blood, Thou, my deliverer! and my heart e’en theu Call’d thee its brother.GRATITUDE. I THANK THEE, GOD! FOR WEAL AND WOE. BY ELIZA COOK. I thank thee, God! for all I’ve known Of kindly fortune, health and joy; And quite as gratefully I own The bitter drops of life’s alloy. Ch ! there was wisdom in the blow That wrung the sad and scalding tear, That laid my dearest idol low, And left my bosom lone and drear. [ think thee, God! for all of smart That thou hast sent, for not in vain Has been the heavy, aching heart, The sigh of grief, the throb of pain. What if my cheek had ever kept Its healthful colour, glad and bright ? What if my eyes had never wept Throughout a long and sleepless night f Then, then, perchance, my soul had no» Remember’d there were paths less fair And, selfish in my own blest lot. Ne'er strove 10 soothe another s careMy spirit prostrate and resign’d, The anguish of the bleeding wound Taught me to feel for all mankind. Even as from the wounded tree The goodly, precious balm will pour So in the rived heart there’ll be Mercy that never flow’d before. ’Tis well to learn that sunny hours May quickly change to mournful shade ’Tis well to prize life’s scatter’d flowers Yet be prepared to see them fade. I thank thee, God! for weal and woe And, whatsoe’er the trial be, 'Twill serve to wean me from below, And bring my spirit nigher thee. Does the kind root bleed out his livelihood As parent distributions to his branches, Proud that his pride is seen, when he’s unsee And must not gratitude descend again To comfort his old limbs, in fruitless winter Improvident ? MatningtTO SARA. COMI OSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETiE IRE. BY COLERIDGE. My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our cot, our cot o’ergrown With white-flower’d jasmine, and the broad-leaved myrtle, And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow-saddening round, and mark the star of eve Shine opposite ! How exquisite the scents Snatch’d from yon bean-field! and the world so hush’d! Hark ! the still murmur of the distant sea Tells us of silence ! And th* Eolian lute, How by the desultory breeze caress’d, Like some coy maid half-yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! and now its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound— Methinks, it should have been impossible world like this, Not to love all things in Where e’en the breezes of the simple air Possess the power and spirit of melody 1POETRY OF THE SENTIMENT And thus, my love! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst thro’ my hall closed eyelids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the nisin And tranquil muse upon tranquillity ; Full many a thought uncall’d and undetain’d. And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell or flutter on this subject lute ! And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweepa, Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the soul of each, and God of all ? But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O beloved woman ! nor such thoughts Dim and unhallowed dost thou not reject, And bidde&t me walk humbly with my God. Meek daughter in the family of Christ, Well hast thou saichand holily dispraised These shapings of the unregenerale mind, Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain philosophy’s aye-babbling spring. For never guiltless may I speak of Him, Th’ Incomprehensible! save when with awe I praise him, and with faith that inly feeh; Who with his saving mercies healed me, A sinful and most miserable man, Wrldered and dark, and gave me to possess, Peve and this cot, and thee, heart-honour’d maidGRATITUDE. A MOTHER’S GRATITUDE-RUSILLA. BV SOUTHEY. Good Father, I have heard From my old faithful servant and true friend, Thou did’st reprove the inconsiderate tongue, T hat in the anguish of its spirit pour’d A curse upon my poor unhappy child. O, Father Maccabee, this is a hard world, And hasty in its judgments! Time has been, Dared whisper in dispraise of Roderick’s name, Lest if the conscious air had caught the sound The vengeance of the honest multitude Should fall upon the traitorous head, or brand For life-long infamy the lying lips. Now if a voice be raised in his behalf, ’Tis noted for a wonder, and the man Who utters the strange speech shall be admired For such excess of Christian charity. Thy Christian charity hath not been lost;—• Father, I feel its virtue :—it hath been B aim to my heartwith words and grateful tears, All that is left me now for gratitude,— i thank thee, and beseech thee in thy prayers That thou wilt still remember Roderick’s namePOETRY CF THE SEN ITMENT8. BUILD UP A COLUMN TO BOLIVAR BY BARRY CORNWALL. Build up a column to Bolivar! Build it under a tropic star! Build it high as his mounting fame ! Crown its head with his noble name ! Let the letters tell, like a light afar, “ This is the column of Bolivar !” Soldier in war, in peace a man, Did he not all that a hero can ? Wasting his life for his country’s care, Laying it down with a patriot prayer, Shedding his blood like the summer rain Loving the land, though he loved in vain Man is a creature, good or ill. Little or great, at his own strong will; And he grew good, and wise, and great. Albeit he fought with a tyrant fate, And shower’d his golden gifts on men. Who paid him in basest wrongs again ’ Raise the column to Bolivar ! Finn in peace, and fierce in war ! Shout forth his noble, noble name ! Shout till his enemies die, in shame ! Shout, till Columbia’s woods awaken Like seas by a mighty tempest shaken —GRATITUDE, Till pity, and praise, and great disdam, Sound like an Indian hurricane ! Shout, as ye shout in conquering war, While ye build the column to Bolivar! A MONARCH’S GRATITUDE.—SA R DANAPALUS. BY BYRON'. Stay a moment, my good Sálamenos, My brother, my best subject, better prince Than I am kin»g. You should have been the monarch, And I—I know not what, and care not; but Think not I am insensible to all Thine honest wisdom, and thy rough, yet kind, Though oft reproving, sufferance of my follies. If I have spared these men against thy counsel, That is, their lives—it is not that I doubt The advice was sound ; but let them live: we will not Cavil about their lives—so let them mend them. Their banishment will leave me still sound sleep. Which their death had not lerft me.POETRY OF THE SENIIJV.ENTS. AN UNEXPECTED VISITER BY CHARLES LAMB Alone, obscure, without a friend A cheerless, solitary thing, Why seeks my Lloyd the stranger out What offering can the stranger bring Of social scenes, home-bred delights, That him in ought compensate may For Storvey’s pleasant winter nights, For loves and friendships far away ? In brief oblivion to forego Friends, such as thine, so justly dear, And be awhile with me content To stay, a kindly loiterer, here For this a gleam of random joy Hath flush’d my unaccustomed cheek ; And with an o’ercharged, bursting heart, I feel the thanks I cannot speak. Oh! sweet are all the Muses’ lays, And sweet the charm of matin bird ; ’Twas long since these estranged ears The sweeter voice of friend had heard. The voice hath spoke: the pleasant sounds In memory’s ear in after time Shall live, to sometimes rouse a tear,JKATITUDE. And sometimes prompt an honest rhyme For, when the transient charm is fled, And when the little week is o’er, To cheerless, friendless, solitude, When I return as heretofore, Long, long, within my aching heart The grateful sense shall cherish’d be ; I’ll think less meanly of myself, That Lloyd will sometimes think on me. CONRADE’S REFUSAL TO ASSASIN ATE SEYD. BY BYRON. Sui.nare—Gulnare—I never felt till now My abject fortune, wither’d fame so low: Seyd is my enemy : hath swept my band From earth with ruthless but with open hand, And therefore came I, in my bark of war, To smite the smiter with the scimitar; Such is my weapon—not the secret knife ; Who spares a woman’s seeks not slumber’s life. Thine saved I gladly, lady, not for this— Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss. Now fare thee well—more peace be with th? breast! Night wears apace—my last of earthly rest.F0ETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. GULNARE AND CONRADE. BY BYRON. She gazed i i wonder, “ Can he calmly sleep, While other eyes his fall or ravage weep! And mine m restlessness are wandering here— What sudden spell hath made this man so dear*. True—’tis to him my life, and more, T owe, And me and mine he spared from worse than woe ? 'Tis late to think—but soft—his slumber breaks— How heavily he sighs!—he starts—awakes !” He raised his head—and dazzled with the light, His eye seemed dubious if it saw aright; He moved hisjiand—the grating of his chain Too harshly told him that he lived again. “ What is that form ? if not a shape of air, Methinks my jailor’s face shows wondrous fair!’' “ Pirate! thou knovv’st me not—but I am one, Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done; Look on dp—and remember her, thy hand Snatch’d from the flames, and thy more fearful band. [ come through darkness—and I scarce know why— Yet not to hurt—I would not see thee die. “ Corsair! thy doom is named—but I have power To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour.GRATITUDE Thee 1 would spa:c—na\ more—would save thee now, But this—time—hope—nor even thy strength allow ; But all I can, I will: at least, delay The sentence that remits thee scarce a day. iWore now were rum—even thyself were loath The vain attempt should bring but doom on both.’ I find a pious gratitude disperse Within my soul; and every thought of him Ingenders a warm sigh within me, which. Like curls of holy incense, overtake Each other in my bosom, and enlarge VVith their embrace his sweet remembrance. Shirleu. What can 1 pay thee for this noble usage, But grateful praise ? so heav’n itself is paid ! 1 Roue. When gratitude o’erflows the swelling heart, And breathes in free and uncorrupted praise For benefits received : propitious heaven Takes such acknowledgment as fragrant incense And doubles all its blessings. Lillo.POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. AN OLD SERVANT’S GRATITUDE. BY SHAKSPEARE. I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, Which I did store to be my foster-nurse, When service should in my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thrown ; Take that: and he that doth the ravens feed Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. Be comfort to my age ! here is the gold ; All this I give you: Let me be your servant; Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors to my blood ; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I’ll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities— Master, go on, and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty,— From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived T, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek. But at fourscore, it is too late a week ; Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Than to die well, and not my master’s debtor.honour. HON 01 R ITS OWN REWARD Swell, swell the shrill trumpet, dear sounding Our sabres flash splendour around, >r freedom has summon’d her sons to the wr Nor Britain has shrunk from the sound. Let plunder’s vile thirst the invaders infomr Let slaves for their wages be bold, ¿hall valour the harvest of avarice claim ? Shall Britons be barter’d for gold ? Mo ! fiee be our aid, independent our might Proud honour our guerdon alone; Unhired be the hand that we raise in the fight 'Phe sword that we brandish our own. Still all that we love to our thoughts shall succeed. Their image each labour shall cheer, Per them we will conquer—for them we will bleed Ai d our pav be a smih or a tear! __ ________________________»231*252 FOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. And ch ! if returning triumphant we move, Or sink on the land that we save, Oh ! blest by his country, his kindred, his love How vast the reward of the brave! THE PRIDE OF HONOUR. BY THOMSON. Honour, my lord, is much too proud to eaten At every tender twig of nice distinctions. These for th’ unfeeling vulgar may do well: But those, whose souls are by the nicer rule Of virtuous delicacy nobly sway’d, Stand at another bar than that of laws. Honour hurt is wont to rage With pain no med’eine can assuage. Quoth he, that honour’s very squeamish That takes a basting for a blemish ; For what’s more honourable than scars, Or skin to tatters rent in wars? Some have been beaten till they know What wood a cudgel’s of, by th’ blow, Some kick’d, until they can feel whether A shoe be Spanish or neat’s leather. ButlerHONOUR UNAFFECTED BY SLANDER BV BYRON. Which nothing human can impugn—the sense Of virtue, looking not to what is called A. good name for reward, but to itself To me the scorner’s words were as the wind Unto the rock : but as there are—alas!— Spirits more sensitive, on which such things Light as the whirlwind on the waters, souls To whom dishonour’s shadow is a snostance More terrible than death, here and hereafter; Men whose vice is to start at vice’s scoffing, And who, though proof against all blandishments Of pleasure, and all pangs of pain, are feeble When the proud name on which they pinnacled Their hopes is breathed on, jealous as the eagle Of her high aerie ; let what we now Behold, and feel, and suffer, be a lesson To wretches how they tamper in their spleen With beings of a higher Older.POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. HIGHLAND HONOUR Besile its embers, red and clear, Bask’d, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; And up he sprung with sword in hand,— “Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand u A stranger.”—“ What dost thou require ~ “ Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life’s beset, my path is lost, The gale has chill’d my limbs with frost.”— ' Art thou a friend to Roderick ?” “No,” ’* Thou darest not call thyself a foe ?” ' I dare! to him and all the band He brings to aid his murderous hand.” — “ Bold words !—but though the best of game The privilege of chace may claim, Though space and law the stag we lend, Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, Who ever reck’d, where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapp’d or slain ? Thus treacherous scouts,—yet sure they he. Who say thou earnest a secret spy !”— “ They do, by Heaven!—Come, Roderick Dhu And of his clan the boldest'two, And let me but till morning rest, I write the falsehood on their crest ”—“ If by the blaze.I mark aright, Thou bear’st the belt and spur of knight. ’-‘ Then by these tokens ruay’st thou know Each proud oppressor’s mortal foe.” “ Enough, enough; sit down and share A soldier’s couch, a soldier’s fare.”— He gave him of his Highland cheer, The harden’d flesh of mountain deer; Dry fuel on the fire he laid, And bade the Saxon share his plaid. He tended him like welcome guest, Then thus his further speech address’d. to Roderick Dhu ” Stranger, I A clansman born, a kinsman true ; Each word against his honour spoke, Demands of me avengiqg stroke ; Yet more,—upon thy fate, ’tis said, A mighty augury is laid. It rests with me to wind my horn,— Thou art with numbers overborne : It rests with me, here, brand to brand Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand: But, not for clan, nor kindred’s cause Will I depart from honour’s laws, To assail a wearied man were shame, And stranger is a holy name; Guidance and rest, ana food and fire, In \ain he never must require. Then rest thee here till dawn of day Myself will guide thee, on the way, ïiisÆïÊÊ POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. O’er stock and stone, through watch and ward Till past Clan-Alpine’s outmost guard, As far as Coilantogle’s ford : From thence thy warrant is thy sword.” ~ “ I take thy courtesy, by Heaven, As freely as ’tis nobly given !” “ Well, rest thee; for the bittern’s cry Sings us the lake’s wild lullaby.”— With that he shook the gather’d heart And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; And the brave foemen, side by side, Lay peaceful down like brothers tried, And slept until the dawning beam Purpled the mountain and the stream. HONOUR COVETED. BY SHAKSPEARE. By Jove, lam not covetous of gold, Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear, Such outward things dwell not in my desire? But if it be a sin to covet honour, 1 am the most offending soul aliveHONOUR. WOUNDED HONOUR.—MARINt ) FALIERO. BY BYRON. Doge. 1 tell thee—must I tell thee—what thy father Would have required no words to comprehend? Hast thou no feeling save the external sense Of torture from the touch ? hast thou no soul— No pride—no passion—no deep sense of honour ? Bertuccio Faliero. ’Tis the first time that honour has been doubted, And were the last from any other skeptic. Doge. You know the full offence of this born villain, This creeping, coward, rank, acquitted felon, Who threw his sting into a poisonous libel, And on the honour of—Oh, God ! my wife, The nearest, dearest part of all men’s honour, Left, a base slur to pass from mouth to mouth Of loose mechanics,with all coarse, foul comments. And villanois iests, and blasphemies obscene ; While sneering nobles, in more polished guise, Whisper’d the tale, and smiled upon the lie Which made me lock like them—a ourteou# wittol, Patient—ay, proud, it may be, of dishon»*?58 POETR Y OF TH F. SF. NTI.M E.YTS. Ber. f. But still it was a lie—you knew it false And so did all men. Dose, Nephew, the high Roman Said “Caesar’s wife must not even be suspected.’’ And put her from h:.u Ber. F. True—but in those days-* Doge. What is it that a Roman would not suffer That a Venetian prince must bear ? Old Dandolo Refused the diadem of all the Caesars, And wore the ducal cap I trample on, Because tis now degraded. Ber. F. ’Tis even so. Doge. It is—it is :—I did not visit on The innocent creature thus most vilely slandered Because she took an old man for her lord. For that he had been tong her father’s friend And patron of her house, as if there were No love in woman’s heart bilt lust of youth A nd beardless faces;—I did not for this Visit the villain’s infamy on her, But craved my country’s justice on his head, The justice due unto the humblest being Who hath a wife whose faith is sweet to him, Who hath a home whose hearth is dear to him,['HE VISION OF LIBERTY BY HENRY WARS, JR. I’lit eve ling neavens were calm and bright; No dimness rested on the glittering light That sparkled from that wilderness of worlds or high; Those distant suns burn’d on in quiet ray; The placid planets held their modest way: And silence reign’d profound o’er earth, and sea and sky. O what an hour for Lolty thought! My spirit burn’d within ; I caught A holy inspiration from the hour. Around me man and nature slept; Alone my solemn watch I kept, Till morningdawn’d,and sleep resumed her power A vision pass’d upon my soul. I still was gazing up to heaven,POETKY OF THE oENTTMENTS. As in the early hours of even ; I still beheld the planets roll, And all those countless sons of light Flame from the broad blue arch, and guide the moonless night. When, lo, upon the pla n, Just where it skirts the swelling w main, A massive castle far and high, In towering grandeur broke upon my eye. t*roud in its strength and years, the ponderous pi Flung up its time-deiying towers; Its lofty gates seem’d scornfully to smile At vain assault of human powers, And threats and arms deride, its gorgeous carvings of heraldic pride In giant masses graced the walls above, And dungeons yawn’d below. Yet ivy there and moss their garlands wove Grave, silent chroniclers of time’s protracted flo 1 Bursting on my steadfast gaze. See, within, a sudden blaze ! So small at nrsi, the zephyr’s slightest swell, That scarcely stirs the pine-tree top, Nor makes the wither’d leaf to drop, The feeble fluttering of that flams would quell But soon it spread— Wavmg, rushing, fierce, and red— LIBERTY. 26.1 From wall to wall, from tower to tower, Raging with resistless power; Till every fervent pillar glow’d, And ever} stone seem’d burning coal, instinct with living heat, that flow’d Like streaming radiance from the kir.dled pole Beautiful, fearful, grand, Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand. > At length a crackling sound began ; From side to side, throughout the pile it ran And louder yet and louder grew, Till now in rattling thunder-peals it grew : Huge shiver’d fragments from the pillars broke Like flery sparkles from the anvil’s stroke. The shatter’d walls were rent and riven, \nd piecemeal driven, Like blazing comets through the troubled sky 'Tis done; what centuries had rear’d In quick explosion disappear’d. Nor even its ruins met my wondering eyi But in their place— Bright with more than human grace, Robed in more than mortal seeming, Radiant glory in her face, And eyes with heaven’s own ongnt ness new» ing— Rose a fair, majestic form, As the mild rainbow from the Form.!61 FOKTRI OF rue SENTIMENTS. J mark’d her smile, I knew her eye ; And when, with gesture of command. She waved aloft the cap-crown’d wand, My slumbers fled mid shouts of “ Liber.y!” Read ye the dream ? and know ye not How truly it unlock’d the world of fate ! '»Vent not the flame from this illustrious spot, And spreads it not, and burns in every state I And when their old and cumbrous walls. Fill’d with this spirit, glow intense, Vainly they rear’d their impotent defence The fabric falls! That fervent energy must spread, Till despotism’s towers be overthrown; And in their stead, Liberty stands alone ! Hasten the day, just Heaven ’ Accomplish thy design; And let the blessings thou hast freely given. Freely on all men shine ; Till equal rights be equally enjoy’d, And human power for human good employ’d | Till law, and not the sovereign, rule sustain And peace and virtue undisputed reign.TO LIBERTY. BV COLERIDGE. Ye clouds . that far above me float and pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may control Ye ocean-waves! that wheresoe’er ye roll, Yield homage only to eternal laws! Ye woods that listen to the night-bird’s singing, Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, Save when your own imperious branches, swinging Have made a solemn music of the wind ! Where, like a man beloved of God, Through glooms, which woodman never trod, How oft, pursuing fancies holy, My moonlight way o’er flowering weeds I wound Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound O, ye loud waves ! and O, ye forests high ! And O, ye clouds that far above me soar’d ! Thou rising sun ! thou blue rejoicing sky ! Yea, every thing that is, and will be free! Bear witness for me, wheresoe’er ye be. With what deep worship I have still adored The spirit of divinest Liberty.— O Liberty ! with profitless ena3avour Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; But thou rnr sweU’st the victor’s strain nor eve i266 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human po^ei Alike from all howe’er they praise thee, (Not prayer, nor boastful name delays thee Alike from priestcraft’s harpy minions, And factious blasphemy’s obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and playmate Vnd there I felt thee !—on that sea-elifTs verge, Whose pines scarce travelled by the breez* above, ilad made one murmur with the distant surge f es, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, Vnd shot my being through earth, sea, and air. Possessing all things with intensest love, O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there RSTRAINT NO WHERE ENDURABLE BV DRYDEN. On give me liberty ! ere even paradise my prison, should long to lesj the crystal vvi*Mj>. mt EFFECTS OF FREEDOM. BV COWPER. Freedom has a thousand charms to show. That slaves, howe’er contented, never know. The mind attains, beneath her happy reign. The growth that nature meant she should atta’n 1 he varied fields of science, ever new, Opening, and wider opening on her view. She ventures onward with a prosperous force, While no base fear impedes her in her course. Religion, richest favour of the skies, Stands most revealed before the freeman’s eyes; No shades of superstition blot the day, Liberty chases all that gloom away; The soul emancipated, unoppress’d, Free to prove all things, a id hold fast the best. Learns much ; and to a thousand listening minds Communicates with joy the good she finds : Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show Ilis manly forehead to the fiercest foe; Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, His spirits rising as his toils increase, Guards well what arts and industry have wot», And Freedom claims him for her first-born son. Slaves fight for what were better cast away— Yhe cham that binds them, and a tyrant's swav268 VOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. But they, that fight for freedom, undertake The noblest cause mankind can have at stake : — Religion, virtue, truth, whate’er we call A blessing—freedom is the pledge of all. O Liberty! the prisoner’s pleasing dream, The poet’s muse, his passion, and his theme; Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy’s nurse; Lost without thee the ennobling powers of ver3p Heroic song from thy free touch acquires its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires: Place me where Winter breathes his keenest a * And I will sing, if Liberty be there; Arid I will sing at Liberty’s dear feet, In Afric’s torrid zone, or India’s fiercest heat. Vet, freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind. Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying. The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; Thy tree hath lost its blossoms; md the rind, Chopp’d by the axe, looks rough and little worth But the sap lasts,—and still the seed we find Sown deep, even in the bosom of the north; So shall a bitter spring less bitter fruit bring forthBY JOEL BAKLOW, Sun of the moral world ! effulgent source Of man’s best wisdom and his steadiest force, Soul-searching Freedom ! here assume thy stand, And radiate hence to every distant land; Point out and prove how all the scenes of s. rife, The shock of states, the impassion’d broils o: life Spring from unequal sway ; and how they fiv Before the splendour of thy peaceful eye ; Unfold at last the genuine social plan, The mind’s full scope, the dignity of man, Bold nature, bursting through her long disguise And nations daring to be just and wise. Yes! righteous Freedom, heaven and earth and se* Yield or withhold their various gifts for thee Protected Industry beneath thy reign Leads all the virtues in her filial train ; Courageous Probity, with brow serene, And Temperance calm presents her placid mien ; Contentment, Moderation, Labour, Art, Mould the new man and humanize his heart: To public plenty private ease dilates. Domestic peace to harmony of states. Protected Industry, careering far. Detects the cause and cures the rage of war, And sweeps, with forceful arm, to their last graves Kings from the earth and pirates from the wave»POETRY OF THE SENI MENTS. fHE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. I plant me, where the red deer feed In the green desert—and am free. For here the fair savannas know No barriers in the bloomy grass; Wherever breeze of heaven may blow. Or beam of heaven may glance, I pa,«s> In pastures, measureless as air, The bison is my noble game; The bounding elk, whose antlers tear The branches, falls before my aim. Mine are the river fowl that scream From the long stripe of waving sedge ; The bear, that marks my weapon’s gleam Hides vainly in the forest’s edge ; la vain the sho-wolfstands at bay; The blinded catamount, that lies High in the b>ughs to watch his prc\, Even in tin act of springing, dies.LIBERTY. With what free growth the elm and plane Fling their huge arm3 across my way, Gray, old, and cumber’d with a train Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray ! Free stray the lucid streams, and find No taint in these fresh lawns and shades ; Free spring the flowers that scent the wind Where never scythe has swept the glades Alone the fire, when frost winds sere The heavy herbage of the ground, Gathers his annual harvest here, With roaring like the battle’s sound, And hurrying flames that sweep the plain, And smoke-streams gushing up the sky: I meet the flames with flames again, And at my door they cower and die. Here, from dim woods, the aged past Speaks solemnly ; and I behold The boundless future in the vast And lonely river, seaward roll’d. Who feeds its founts with rain and de\i ? Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass, And trains the bordering vines, whose blue Bright clusters tempt me as I pass ? Broad are these streams—my steed obeys Plunges, and bears me through the tide. Wide are these woods—I thread the maze Of giant stems, nor ask a guide/OKTRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. I hunt, till.day’s last glimmer dies O'er woody vale and grassy height; And kind the voice, and glad the eye* That welcome my return at night. SONNET. Like an enfranchised bird, that wildly springs. With a keen sparkle in his glancing eye, And a strong effort in his quivering wings, Up to the blue vault of the happy sky,— So my enamour’d heart, so long thine own, At length from Love’s imprisonment set free. Goes forth into the open world alone, Glad and exulting in its liberty: But like that helpless bird (confined so long, His weary wings have lost all power to soar), Who soon forgets to trill his joyous song, And, feebly fluttering, sinks to earth once more,— So from its former bonds released in vain, My heart stil1 feels the weight of that remember’d chain.THE PEASANT BY WILLIAM HO WITT. The la id for me ! the land for me ! Where every living soul is free ! Where winter may come, where storms may rave Put the tyrant dare not bring his slave. t should hate to dwell in a summer land Where flowers spring up on every hand ; Where the breeze is glad, the heavens are fair, f ut the taint of blood is every where. I saw a peasant sit at his door, Whdn his weekly toil in the fields was o’er He sat on the bench his grandsires made, He sat in his father’s walnut shade. 'Twas the golden hour of an April morn; Lightly the lark sprang from the corn ; The blossoming trees shone purely white, Quiver’d the young leaves in the light. The sabbath bells, with a holy glee, v Were ringing o’er woodland, heath, and lea: 'Twas a seasoi whose living influence ran Through air, tl rough earth, and the heat' of manFOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. No feeble joy was that peasant’s lot, As his children gambol]’d before his cot, And archly mimick’d the toils and cares Which coming life shall make truly theirs. Bu their mother, with breakfast call, anon Came forth, and their merry masque was gone ,— 'Tvvas a beautiful sight, as, meekly still, They sat in their joy on the cottage sill. The sire look’d on them,—he look’d to the skies;— I saw how his heart spake in his eyes; Lightly he rose, and lightly he trod, To pour out his soul in the house of God. And is that the man, thou vaunting knave! Thou hast dared to compare with the weeping slave ? Away! find one slave in the world to cope With him, in his heart, his home and hope! fie is not on thy lands of sin and pain— Sear’d, scarr’d with the lash, cramp’d with thf chain: in thy burning clime where the heart is cold. And man, like the beast, is bought and sold ! fie is not in the East, in lis gorgeous halls, Where the servile crowd »efore him falls. LIBERTY 2* Fill the bow-string comes, in an lour ol wrath And he vanishes from ihe tyrant s path But, O, thou slanderer false and vile ! Dare but to cross that garden-stile; Dare but to touch that lowly thatch ;—* Dare but to force that peasant’s latch ; And thy craven soul shall wildly quake At the thunder-peal the deed shall wake For myriad tongues of fire shall sound, As if every stone cried from the ground. The indignant thrill like flame shall spread, Till the'isle itself rock ’neath thy tread : And a voice from people, peer, and throne. Ring in thine ears—“ Atone ! atone!” For Freedom here is common guest, In princely hall, and peasant’s nest; The palace is fill’d with her living light, And she watches the hamlet day and night- Then the land for me ! the land for me ' Where every living soul is free! Where winter may come, where storms may ra But the tyrant dare not bring his slave!POETIU OF THE SENTIMENTS. LIBERTY. BY GEORGE HILL. There is a spirit working in the world, Like to a silent subterranean fire ; Vet, ever and anon, some monarch hurl’d Aghast and pale, attests its fearful ire. The dungeon’d nations now once more respite The keen and stirring air of Liberty. The struggling giant wakes, and feels he’s free. By Delphi’s fountain-cave, that ancient choir Resume their song ; the Greek astonish’d hears, And the old altar of his worship rears. Sound on, fair sisters! sound your boldest lyre,— Peal your old harmonies as from the spheres. Unto strange gods too long we’ve bent the knee, 'The trembling mind, too long and patiently. LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM, BY MOORE. FRor' life without freedom, say, who would no fly ? For one day of freedom, oh ! who would not die ? Hark !—hark ! ’tis the trumpet! the call of the brave, The death-song of tyrants, th*. dirge of the sla.oLIBERI Y. Oar country lies b'eeding—haste, haste iO her aid; One arm that defends is wcrth hosts that invade. In death’s kindly bosom our last hope remains— The dead fear no tyrants, the grave ha-s no chains. On, on to the combat! the heroes that bleed For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed. And oh, even if Freedom from this world be driven. Despair not—at least we shall find her in heaven. LIBERTY PREFERRED BEFORE PATRIOTISM. BY COWPER. Thee I account still happy, and the chief Among the nations, seeing thou art free ; My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude, Replete with vapours, and disposes much All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine Thy unadulterate manners are less soft And plausible than social life requires, And thou hast need of discipline and art, To give thee what politer France receives From nature’s bounty—that humane address And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 'OETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. BY ELIZA COOK. Vet being free, I love thee: for the sake Of that one feature, can be well content, Disgraced as thou hast been, poof as thou art To seek no sublunary rest beside. But, once enslaved, farewell! I could endure Chains no where patiently ; and chains at home Where I am free by birthright, not at all. Then what were left of roughness in the grain Of British natures, wanting its excuse That it belongs to freemen, would disgust And shock me. I should then with doubled pain Peel all the rigour of thy fickle clime ; And, if T must bewail the blessing lost, Por which our Hampdens and our Sidneys ble<_ l would at least bewail it under skies Milder, among a people less austere : In scenes, which, having never known me free, Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. THE FREE The wild streams leap with headlong sweep In their curbless course o’er the mountain steep; All fresh and strong they foam along, Waking the rocks with their cataract song, My eye bears a glance like the beam on a lance.LIBERTY. 2' While I watch the waters dash and dance; I burn with glee, for I love to see The path of any thing that’s free. The sky-lark springs with dew on his wings, And up in the arch of heaven be sings Trill-la, trill-la—oh, sweeter far Than the notes that come through a golden bar The joyous bay of a hound at play, The caw of a rook on its homeward way, Oh! these shall be the music for me, For I love the voices of the free. ;ith his antlers high, The deer starts by Proudly tossing his head to the sky ; The barb runs the plain unbroke by the rein, With steaming nostrils and flying mane ; The clouds are stirr’d by the eaglet bird, As the flap of its swooping pinion is heard, Oh! these shall be the creatures for me, For my soul was formed to love the free. The mariner brave, in his bark on the wave, May laugh at the walls round a kingly slave; And the one whose lot is the desert spot Has no dread of an envious foe in his cot. The thrall and state at the palace gate Are what my spirit has learn’d to hats. Oh ! the hills shall be a home for me, Per I’d lelve a throne for the hut of the freer'OETRY OF THE SENTIMENIS. HIGHLAND LIBERTY DEFENDED BY SCOTT. Saxon, from yonder mountain high, I mark’d thee send delighted eye. Far to the south and east, where lay, Extended in succession gay, Deep waving fields and pastures green, With gentle slopes and groves between * These fertile plains, that soften’d vale, Were once the birthright of the Gael; The stranger came with iron hand, And from our fathers reft the land. Where dwell we now! See, rudely swell Crag over crag, and fell o’er fell. Ask we the savage hill we tread, For fatten’d steer or household bread; Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, And well the mountain might reply,— “ To you, as to your sires of yore, Belong the target and claymore ! I give you shelter in my breast, Your own good blades must win the rest,’*' Pent in this fortress of the North, Think* st thou we will not sally for til, To spoil the spoiler as we may, And from the robber rend the prey ! Ay, by niv soul! while on yon plairIJBER1Y. The Saxon rears one shock of grain; While, of ten thousand herds, there st ays But one along yon river’s maze.— The Gael, of plain and river heir, Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. ’Tis vain—my tongue cann.»t impart My almost drunkenness of heart, When first this liberated eye Survey’d earth, ocean, sun and sky, As if my spirit pierced them through, And all their inmost wonders knew ! One word alone can point to thee That more than feeling—I was free ! E’en for thy presence ceased to pine: The world—nay—heaven itself was mine! Byron There is a world where souls are free, Where tyrants taint not nature’s bliss If death that world’s bright opening be, O wh:> would live a slave in this \POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. LIBERTY. I mark’d her childhood on the breezy hill, Her bright locks floating to the morning sky Joyous she laugh’d as the wild winds sped b). The vision changed. As angel, calm and still She sat, God’s book before her, “ ’Tis his will.” She said, and rose, “ His armour I should try And forth she fared. Where’er she went her eye Kindled desire high duties to fulfil. The vision changed. ’Mid battle’s slaughter’d ranks She raised awhile the bleeding warrior’s head. The foeman struck again. “ I give thee thanks,” She cried ; “ Thy victim’s with 'he glorious dead The body’s wortr*»^«? if the soul be free.”— ‘ W ho art thou»non !’* —She answered, ‘ ‘ Lit erty Leave pomps to those who need 'em— Adorn but man with freedom. And proud he braves The gaudiest slaves, That crawl, where monarchs .’ead em. Moort.'.)DE TO MERC Y. STROPHE. BY COLLINS. O Th3U ! who sit test a smiling bride By Valour’s arm’d and awful side, t ¿entlest of sky-born forms, and best adored : Who oft, with songs, divine to hear, Wean’st from his fatal grasp the spear, r*nd hidest in wreaths of flowers his blood!«sa sword! Thou who, amidst the d6athful field, By god-like chiefs alone beheld, Oft with thy bosom bare art found, Pleading for him, the youth who sinks to ground: See, Mercy, see ! with pure and loaded hands, Before thy shrine my country’s Genius stands, And decks thy altar still though pierced with man) a wound! ANTISTROPHE. When he whom e’en our joys provoke The fiend of Nature join’d his yoke, 285)»OETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. And rush’d in wrath to make our isle his prey: Thy form, from out thy sweet abode, O’ertook him on his blasted road, And stopp’d his wheels, and look’d his rage awsy I see recoil his sable steeds, That bore him swift to savage deeds. Thy tender melting eyes they own ; O maid ! for all thy love to Britain shown, Where Justice bars her iron tower, To thee we build a roseate bower, Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share out monarch’s throne. HENRY VI. ON HIS LENITY BY SHAKSPEARE. My meed hath got me fame, I have not stopp’d my ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay’d their swelling grieis. My mercy dried their water-flowing tears: I have not been desirous of their wealth, Nor much oppress’d them with great subsidies, Nor forward to revenge, ’though they much erredPOETRY OF TIIE SENTIMENTS. KINGLY CLEMENCY EY BYRON. Please you to heai me, Satraps! And chiefly thou, my priest, because I doubt thee More than the soldier, and would doubt thee all Wert thou not half a warrior: let us part Fn peace—I’ll not say pardon—which must be Earn’d by the guilty: this I’ll not pronounce ye, Although upon this breath of mine depends Your own ; and, deadlier for ye, on my fear. But fear not—for that I am soft, and fearful— Ami so live or Were I the thing some think me Your heads would now be dripping the last drops Of their attainted gore from the high gates Of this our palace, into the dry dust, Their only portion of the coveted kingdom They would be crown’d to reign o’er—let that pass As I have said, I will not deem ye guilty, Nor doom ye guiltless. Albeit better men Than ye or I stand ready to arraign you : And should I leave your fate to sterner judges, And proofs of all kinds, I might sacrifice T wo men, who, whatsoe’er they now are, wcr* Once honest. Ye are free, sirs, Your swords and persons arc at liberty To use them as ye will—but fn m this hour ( have no call for either. MERC'S, TITUS' ADDRESS TO THE JEWS Men of Jerusalem ! whose hardy zeal And valiant patience in a cause less desperate Might force the foe to reverence and admire; To you thus speaks again the Queen of Earth, All-conqu’ring Rome! whose kingdom is where’ei The sunshine beams on living men ; beneath The shadow of whose throne the world reposes, And glories in being subjected to her, Even as ’tis subject to the immortal gods— To you, whose mad and mutinous revolt Hath harrow’d all your rich and pleasant land With fiery rapine; sunk your lofty cities To desolate heaps of monumental ashes; Yet with that patience, which becomes the mighty, The endurance of the lion, that disdains The foe whose conquest brings no glory with it. Rome doth command you to lay down your arms And bow the high front of your proud rebellion. Even to the common level of obedience That holds the rest of human kind. So doing, Ye cancel all the dark and guilty past: Silent Oblivion waits to wipe away The record of your madness and your crimes; And in the stead of bloody Vengeance, claiming Her penal due of torture, chains an« death, Comes reconciling Mercy.HUBERT AND ARTHUR. BY SHAKSPEARE. Hubert. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy which lies dead : Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. Arthur. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick: That I might sit all night, and watch with you: I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bosoru. Read here, young Arthur (Showing a paper) How now, foolish rheum ! Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! I must be brief, lest resolution drop Out at mine eye3, in tender womanish tears. Arth.—Only you do lackPGS.TRY OF Til 4 SENTIMENTS. Hub Peace: no more. Adieu: Your uncle must not know but you are dead: I’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, That Hubert, for the wealth oi all the world, Will not offend thee. CLEMENCY SUPERIOR TO REVENGE BY SHAKSPEARE. Prospero. Say, my spirit, How fares the king and his followers ? Ariel. Confined together In the same fashion as you gave in charge ; Just Q9 you left them, sir; all prisoners in the lime-grove which weather-fends your cell They cannot budge, till your release. The king His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted ; And the remainder mourning over them, Brimful of sorrow, and dismay ; but chiefly Him you term’d, sir, “ The good old lorn, Gonzalo His tears run down his beard, like winter drops Prom eaves of reeds your charm so strongl* works themMERCY. 291 That if you now beheld them, yjui affections Would become tender. Prosp. Dost thou think so, spirit ? Art. Mine would, sir, were I human. Prosp. And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions? and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art f Though with their high wrongs I am struck to tha quick, Yet, with my nobler reason,,’gainst my fury, Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further : Go, release them, Ariel; My charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore, And they shall be themselves. Spider! thou need’st not run in fear about To shun my curious eyes : I won’t humanely crush thy oowrels out— Lest thou should’st eat the flies; Nor will I roast thee with a damn’d delight Thy strange instinctive fortitude to see, For there is one who might One day -oast me. Sou tkeyPOETRY OP THE SENTIMENTS. A SOLDIER’S PARDON. Basil. I know thee well, I know thou fears# not death; On scaffold or in field, with dauntless breast, Tliou wilt engage him : and if thy proud soul, in sullen obstinacy scorns all grace, E’en be it so. But if with manly gratitude, Thou truly canst receive a brave man’s pardon, Thou hast it freely. Frederick. It must not be. I’ve been *thine enemy— I’ve been unjust to thee— Bas. I know thou hast; But thou art brave, and I forgive thee all. Fred. My lord ! my general! O, I cannot speak I cannot live and be the wretch lam? Bas. But thou canst live and be an honest man, From error turn’d,—canst live and be my friend. Raising Fred, from the ground. Forbear, forbear! see where our friends advancer They must not think thee suing for a pardon • 1 hat would disgrace us both.lv. -- - Patriotism PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM BY JOANNA BAILLJE Insensible to high heroic deeds, Is there a.spirit clothed in mortal weeds, Who at the patriot’s moving storv Devoted to his country’s good, Devoted to his country’s glory, Shedding for freemen’s rights his gene:ous blood* • Listeneth not with deep heaved, high, Quivering nerve, and glistening eye, Feeling within a spark of heavenly flame, That with the hero’s worth may humble kindred claim ? If such there be, still let him plod On the dull foggy paths of care, Nor raise his eyes from the dank sod To view creation fair: What boots to him the wondrous works of God '( Mis soul with brutal things hath ta’en its earthly2% POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Oh \ who so base as not to feel The pride of freedom once enjoy’d, Though hostile gold or hostile steel Have long that bliss destroy’d ? The meanest drudge will sometimes vaur.t Of independent aires who bore Names known to fame in days of yore, Spite of the smiling stranger’s taunt; But recent freedom lost—what heart Can bear the humbling thought—the quicii’uiiig mad’ning smart? TO ENGLAND. England, with all thy faults, I love thee still— My country ! and, while yet a nook is left, Where English minds and manners may be found Shall be constrain’d to love thee. Though thy dim« Be fickle, and thy year most part deformed With dripping rains, or wither’d by a frost, I would not exchange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France With all her vines : nor for Ausonia’s groves Of golden frtftage and her myrtle bower*PATRIOTISM HOFER. By H. T. TUCKE RM AN. 1 will not kneel to yield my life ? Behold me firmly stand, As oft I’ve stood in deadly strife . For my dear father-land; The cause for which I long have b ed. I cherish to the last,— God’s blessing be upon it shed When my vain life is past! On Nature’s ramparts I was born, And o’er them walk’d elate, My retinue the hues of dawn, The mists my robe of state; I will not shame my mountain bir h Slaves only crouch to die, Erect I’ll take my leave of earth, With clear and dauntless eye.- ► “ At the place of execution he said ‘ he stood before Him who created torn) ; and standing he would yield up his spirit to Him.’ A coin which had been issued during his administration, he delivered to the corporal, with the charge to bear witness, that in his last hour, he felt himself bcund *ir every lie of constancy to his poor father-land. Then he i ied * fin 9E0KTA1 OF THE SENTIMENTS• Thoughts of the eagle’s lofty home, Of stars that ever shine, ,T,he torrent’s crested arch of foam, The darkly waving pine, The dizzy crag, eternal snow, Echoes that wildly roll— With valor make my bosom glow, And wing my parting soul. This coin will make my country’s team Fresh cast in Freedom’s mould, . ’Tis dearer to my brave compeers Taan all your despot’s gold ; 0, let it bear the last farewell Of one free mountaineer, And bid the Tyrol peasants swell Their songs of martial cheer! I’ve met ye on a fairer field, A rd seen ye tamely bow, Think not with suppliant knee I’ll yield To craven vengeance now ; Cut short my few and toilsome days, Set loose a tyrant’s thraT, FI' lie with unaverted gaze, And conquer as I fall.PATRIOTISM. THE GREEN HILLS OF MY FATHER LAND. BY LAURA M. THURSTON. The green hills of my father-land In dreams still greet my view : see once more the wave-girt strand, The ocean-depth of blue : The sky, the glorious sky, outspread Above their calm repose: The river, o’er its rocky bed Still singing as it flows ; The stillness of the Sabbath hours, When men go up to pray; The sun-light resting on the flowers, The birds that sing among the bowers, Through all the summer-day. Land of my birth ! mine early love Once more thine airs I breathe! I see thy proud hills tower above, Thy green vales sleep beneath; Thy groves, thy rocks, thy murmuring till«, All rise before mine eyes, The dawn of morning on thy hills, Thy gorgeous sunset skies.POETRY i F TIIE SENTIMENTS. Thy forests, from whose deep recess A thousand streams have birth Gladdening the lonely wilderness, And filling the green silentness With melody and mirth. I wonder if my home would seem As lonely as of yore I wonder if the mountain stream Goes singing by the door! And if the flowers still bloom as fair, And if the woodbines climb, As when I used to train them there. In the dear olden time ! I wonder if the birds still sing Upon the garden tree, As sweetly as in that sweet spring Whose golden memories gently bring So many dreams to me ! I know that there hath been a change A change o’er hall and hearth! Faces and footsteps new and strange. About my place of birth ! The heavens above are still as bright As in the days gone by, But vanish’d is the beacon light That cheer’d my morning sky ? And hill, and vale, and wooded glen And rock and murmnring stream,PATRIOTISM. That wore such glorious beauty then, Would seem, should I return again, The record of a dream ! I mourn not for my childhood’s hours, Since, in the far-off west, 'Neath sunnier skies, in greener bower* My heart hath found its rest. I mourn r.ot for the hills and streams That chain’d my steps so long, Yet still I see them in my dreams, And hail them in my song; And often by the hearth-fire’s blaze, When winter eves shall come, We’ll sit and talk of other days, And sing the well-remember’d lays Of my green-mountain home. Give me the death of those Who for their country die ; And O be mine like their repose, When cold and low they lie ! Their loveliest mother earth Enshrines the fallen brave ; In her sweet lap who gave them birth They find their tranquil grave. MontgomeryDOUGLAS TO THE POPULACE OF STIRLING. Hear, gentle friends! ere yet, for me, Ye break the bands of fealty. My life, my honour, and my cause, I tender free to Scotland’s laws. Are these so weak as must require The aid of your misguided ire ? Or, if I suffer causeless wrong, Is then my selfish rage so strong, My sense of public weal so low, That, for mean vengeance on a foe, Those cords of love I should unbind Which knit my country and my kind? Oh no! believe, in yonder tower It will not soothe my captive hour, To know those spears our foes should dread For me in kindred gore are red; To know, in fruitless brawl begun, For me, that mother wails hei son ; For me that widow’s mate expires, For me, that orphans weep their sires. That patriots mourn insulted laws, And curse the Douglas for the cause. O let your patience ward such ill, And keep your right, to love me still.FATEIOTISJ». OUR COUNTRY BY \V. G. PABODIE. Our country !—’tis a glorious land ! With broad arms stretch’d from shore The proud Pacific chafes her strand, She hears the dark Atlantic roar; And, nurtured on her ample breast, How many a goodly prospect lies In Nature’s wildest grandeur drest, Enameli’d with her loveliest dyes. Rich prairies, deck’d with flowers of gold, Like sunlit oceans roll afar; Broad lakes her azure heavens behold, Reflecting clear each trembling star, And mighty rivers, mountain-born, Go sweeping onward dark and deep, Through forests where the bounding fawn Beneath their sheltering branches leap. And, cradled mid her clustering hills, Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide Where love the air with music fills; And calm content and peace abide;301 POETRY OF TIIL SENTIMENTS. For plenty here her fulness pours In rich profusion o’er the land, And sent to seize her generous stores, There prowls no tyrant’s hireling band. Great God! we thank thee for this homc-Tbis bounteous birthland of the free ; Where wanderers from afar may come, And breathe the air of liberty !— Still may her flowers untrampled spring, Her harvests wave, her cities rise ; And yet, till Time shall fold his wing, Remain Earth’s loveliest paradise! A YOU MG PATRIO'l BY SOUTHEY. ‘How then,” exclaim’d the boy, “shall l d.-s charge The burthen of this happiness,—how ease My overflowing soul!—Oh, gracious God, Shall I behold my mother’s face again,— My father’s hall,—my native hills and vales, And hear the voices of their streams again,— And free as I was born amid those scenes Beloved, maintain my country’s freedom there -Or failing in a sacred enterprise, Die as becomes a Spaniard!” '¿M. life'kTRIOTlSM. BY J. G. WHITTIER. tiiflj) ot the forest and the rock— Of dark, blue lake and mighty river— Of mountains rear’d aloft to mock The storm’s career, the lightning’s shock--My own green land for ever ! I «and of the beautiful and brave— The freeman’s home—the martyr’s grave— The nursery of giant men, Whose deeds have link’d with every glen, ,Und every hill, and every stream, The romance of some warrior-dream ! t )h ! never may a son of thine, Where’er his wandering steps incline, Forget the sky which bent above His childhood like a dream of love— The stream beneath the green hill flowing— The broad-arm’d trees above it growing-The clear breeze through the foliage blowing Or hear, unmoved, the taunt of scorn Breathed o’er the brave New England born-Or mark the stranger's jaguar band Disturb the ashes of thy dead— The buried glory of a land Whose soil with noble nlood is red,SOri POETRY OF THE SF.NTrMENT*. And sanctified in everv part,— Nor feel resentment, like a brand, Unsheath.ng from his fiery heart! Oh ! greener hills may catch the sun Beneath the glorious heaven of France; And streams rejoicing as they run, Like life beneath the day-beam’s glanc* May wander where the orange-bough With golden fruit is bending low : And there may bend a brighter sky O’er green and classic Italy— And pillar’d fane and ancient grave Bear record of another lime, And over shaft and architrave The green luxuriant ivy climb ; And far toward the rising sun The palm may shake its leaves on high, Where flowers are opening, one by ono. Like stars upon the twilight sky, And breezes soft as sighs of love Above the broad banana stray, And through the Brahmin’s sacred grove A thousand bright-hued pinions p’ay ! Yet unto thee, New England, still Tby wandering sons shall stretch their a And thy rude chart of rock and hill Seem dearer than the land of palms ; Thv massy oak and mountain pine More welcome than the banyan’s shade:PATRIO! ISM. And every free, blue stream of thine Seem richer than the golden bed Of oriental waves, which glow And sparkle with the wealth below! f HIS IS MY OWN, MY NATIVE LAND BY SCOTT. Breathes there a man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land f Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, As home his footsteps he hath turn’d, From wandering on a foreign strand ! If such there breathe, go, mark him well, For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Liv.ng shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung. O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child1'8 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. Land of brown heath and shaggy wood. Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires ! what mortal hand Can e’er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand ? Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is no.w, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were 1< And thus I love them better sti.«, Even in extr'emity of ill. By Yarrow’s stream still let me stray, Though none should guide my feeble way Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, Although it chill my wither’d cheek ; Still lay my head by Teviot Stone, Though there, forgotten and alone, The Bard may draw his parting groan. No common ' Dject to your sight displays, But what with pleasure heaven itself surveys, A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state. While Cato gives his little senate laws, What bosom beats not in his country’s cause 1 Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed I Pope.Superstition. ODE TO SUPERSTITION. BV ROGERS. Hence, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence Thy chain of adamant can bind . That little world, the human mind. And sink its noblest powers to impotence. Wake the lion’s loudest roar, Clot his shaggy mane with gore, With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine; Meek is his savage sullen soul to thine ! Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steel'd the breast, Whence through her April-shower, soft Pity smiled; Has closed the heart each godlike virtue bless'd, ■•To all the silent pleadings of his child. At thy command he plants the dagger deep, At thy command exults, though Nature bids him weep 1POETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS»* When, with a frown that froze the peopled ear*)-Thou dartedst thy huge head from high, Night waved her banners o’er the sky, And, brooding, gave her shapeless shadows b'rth Rocking on the billowy air, Ha! what withering phantoms glare As blows the blast with many a sudden swell, At each dead pause what shrill-toned voices yell, The sheeted spectre, rising from the tomb, Points to the murderer’s stab, and shudders by ; In every grove is felt a heavier gloom, That veils its genius from the vulgar eye : The spirit of the waters rides the storm, And, thro’ the mist, reveals the terrors of his form i. 3. O’er solid seas, where Winter reigns, And holds each mountain-wave in chains, The fur-clad savage, ere he guides his dec By glistering star-light through the snr Breathes softly in her wondering ear Each potent spell thou bad’st him km v. By thee inspired, on India’s sands, Full in the sun the Brahmin stands; And, while the panting tigress hies To quench her fever in the rtream, His spirit laughs in agonies, Smit by the scorching of the noontide h Mark who mounM the sarred J>yTe,SUPERSTITION. Blooming in her bridal vest: 8he hurl9 the torch ! she fans the tire ! To die is to be blest: She clasps her lord to part no more, And, sighing, sinks! but sinks to soar. O’ershadowing Scotia’s desert coast, The Sisters sail in dusky state, And, wrapt in clouds, in tempest tost, Weave the airy web of Fate; \V bile the lone shepherd, near the shipless main Sees o’er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral train. ii. 1. Thou spakest, and lo! a new creation glow’d. Each unknown mass of living stone Was clad in horrors not its own, And at its base the trembling nations bow’d Giant Error, darkly grand, Grasp’d the globe with iron hand. Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light Saw prostrate worlds adore his golden height. The statue, waking with immortal powers, Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the spheres; The indignant pyramid sublimely towers., And braves the efforts of a host of years. Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; And bright-eyed Painting stamps the image of thePOETRY OF THE SENTIMENTS. li. 2. Round the rude ark old Egypt’s sorcerers ruk A timbrel’d anthem swells the gale, And bids the God of Thunders hail ; With lowinj loud the captive God replies. Clouds of incense woo thy smile, Scaly monarch of the Nile ! But ah ! what myriads claim the bended knee ! Go, count the busy drops that swell the sea. Proud land ! what eye can trace thy mystic lore Lock’d up in characters as dark as night ? What eye those long, long labyrinths dare explore To which the parted soul oft wings her flight; Again to visit her cold cell of clay, Charm’d with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay ? n. 3. On yon hoar summit, mildly bright With purple ether’s liquid light, High o’er the world, the white-robed Magi gaar On dazzling bursts of heavenly fire ; Start at each blue, portentous blaze, Each flame that flits with adverse split. But say, what sounds my ear invade From Delphi’s venerable shade ? The temple rocks, the laurel waves! “ The God ! the God !” the Sibyl cries. Her figure swells ' she foams, she raves! Her figure swells to more than mortal sizeSUPERSTITION. Streams of rapture roll along, Silver notes ascend the skies: Wake, Echo, wake and catch the song, O, catch it, ere it dies! The Sibyl speaks, the dream is o’er; The holy harpings charm no more. In vain she checks the God’s control ; His madding spirit fills her frame, And moulds the features of her soul, Breathing a prophetic flame. 1 he cavern frowns ; its hundred mouths unc.oso * And, in the thunder’s voice, the fato of empire Iona, thy Druid-rites awake the dead ! Rites thy brown oaks would never dare Even whisper to the idle air; Rites that have chain’d old Ocean on his bed. Shiver’d by thy piercing glance, Pointless falls the hero’s lance. Thy magic bids the imperial eagle fly, And blasts the iaureate wreath of victory. Hark, the bard’s soul inspires the vocal string ! At every pause dread Silence hovers o’er: While murky Night sails round on raven-wing, Deepening the tempest’s howl, the torrent’s roar; Chased by tne morn from Snowdon’s awiui brow16 POETRY OF THE SENTIMENT* Wheie late she sate and scowl'd on the b.aci wave below. in. 2. Lo, steel-clad War his gorgeous standard real«« The red-cross squadrons madly rage. And move through infancy and age *, Then kiss the sacred dust and melt in tear?-. Veiling from the eye of day, Penance dreams her life away ; In cloister’d solitude she sits and sighs, While from each shrine still, small responses rise. Hear with what heart-felt beat the midnight Swings its long summons thro’ the hollow pile * The weak, wan votarist leaves her twilight cell. To walk with taper dim, the winding aisle; With choral chantings vainly to aspire Beyond this nether sphere, on Rapture’s wing of tire. Lord of each pang the nerves can lee., Hence with the rack and reeking wheel faith lifts the soul above this J’.tle ball1 While gleams of glory opev round, And circling choirs of angeis call, Uanst thou, with all thy tenors crown’a. Hope to obscure that la'.o-nt spark, Destined to shine wher suns are dark ? Thv triumphs caase 1 .hrojgh every landSUPERSTITION, '.lark.! Truth proclaims, thy triumphs cease Her heavenly form, with glowing hand, IS-nignly points to piety and peace. Flush’d with youth, her looks impart Each fine feeling as it flows; Her voice the echo of a hear* Fure as the mountain-snows • Celestial transports round her ptav And softly, sweetly die away. She smiles! and where is now the cioua That blacken’d o’er thy baleful reign Grim darkness furls his leaden shroud, Shrinking from her glance in vain. Her touch unlocks the day-spring from above, A nd lo! it visits man with beams of light and BERTHA’S BELIEF IN TH OF DARKNESS. By MRS. MACLEAN. The wind is rising, and a yeiiow haze. Like a volcano’s smoke, makes heaven less dark To be more fearful. I can now discern Our ancient avenue of cedar trees,— How black they look, and with wb»t hear* Surengt».POETRY OP THE SENTIM/NTS. The giant branches move!—the weary air Like a deep breath comes from them.—Ah h >« dark! It is the first cloud that has touch’d the moon; Her loveliness has conquer’d,—oh, not yet!— One huge cloud, and another. I could deem The evil powers did war on high to nigh*. And are there such that o’er humanity Hold influence.—the terrible, the wild, Inscrutable as fear,—the ministers To our unholy passions! These are they Who dazzle with unrighteous wealth, and mak*-. Our sleep temptation ; they who fill its dreams With passionate strife and guilt, until the mind Is grown familiar with the sight of blood. I do believe in then..—by those strange crimes Man s natural heart would shrink irom,—by the feaj That comes with midnight,—by that awful face. Which, though they say it was a fantasy, 1 know I saw,—I do believe in them •SUPERSTITION. BRIAN S PROPHECY BY SCOTT. Rcbrrick! it is a fearful stme, For man endow’d with mortal life, Wnose shroud of servient clay carh still Feel feverish pang and fainting chili, Whose eye can stare in stony trance, Whose hair can rouse like warrior’s lanes *Tis hard for such to view, unfurl’d, The curtain of the future world. Yef, witness every quaking limb, My sunken pulse, mine eye-balls d.m. My soul with harrowing anguish torn, This for my chieftain have I borne !— The shapes that sought my fearful coucr. A human tongue may ne’er avouch; No mortal man, save he, who, breu Between the living and the dead, Is gifted beyond nature’s law, Had e’er survived to say he saw. At length the fateful answer came. In characters of living flame ! Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll But borne and branded on mv soul; Which spills the foremost foemans jji That partv conquers in the strife.MIDNIGHT IMAGININGS BY JOANNA BAILLIK. It wears, methinks, upon the midnight houi It is a dark and fearful night: the moon Is wrapp’d in sable clouds: the chill blast souftd Like dismal lamentations. Ay, who knows What voices mix with the dark midnight winds! Nay, as I pass’d that yawning cavern’s mouth, A whispering sound, unearthly, reach’d my ear, And o’er my head a chilly coldness crept. Are there not wicked fiends and damned sprites, Whom yawning charnels, and th’ unfathon* depths Ot secret darkness, at this fearful hour, Do upwards send, to watch, unseen, around The murderer’s death-bed, at his fatal term, Ready to hail with dire and horrid welcome Theh future mate ?—I do believe there arcThis book is a preservation facsimile. It is made in compliance with copyright law and produced on acid-free archival 60# book weight paper which meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (permanence of paper) Preservation facsimile printing and binding by Acme Bookbinding Charlestown, Massachusetts 2011