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Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise—
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now farewell-Time unrevok'd has run
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;

And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself remov'd, thy pow'r to soothe me left.

VERSES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ.

I AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms,

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.

I

am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
O, had I the wings of a dove,

My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold, Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,

Or smil'd when a sabbath appear'd.

Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore

Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compar'd with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,

And mercy, encouraging thought !
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.

ERASMUS DARWIN was born at Elton, near Newark, Nottinghamshire, in 1732. He studied at St. John's College, Cambridge, and afterwards at Edinburgh, where he took his medical degree. In the year 1756 he settled as a physician at Lichfield; where, and afterwards at Derby, he pursued his professional career with considerable success. It was late in life when he sought to achieve fame in the service of the Muses; he had indeed cultivated a natural taste for poetry, and occasionally satisfied his circle of friends of his ability to compose agreeable verses; but he knew that a poetic reputation, though flattering, is by no means profitable; and until he felt his station as a physician perfectly secure, he did not venture to commit his compositions to the press. In 1781, he published the first part of his "Botanic Garden." In 1789 and 1792 the other two parts appeared. His only other production of any note is "The Temple of Nature." - This was printed after his death, and is but a weak echo of his greater poem. Darwin was twice married, and died in 1802.

The person and character of Dr. Darwin were both singular. On his first visit to Lichfield he is described as of a thick and clumsy form, with heavy and ungainly limbs; much seared with the small-pox; and stuttering exceedingly. Twenty years afterwards he is pictured with "hard features on a rough surface; older in appearance than in reality." His personal defects were in part redeemed by his wit and talents; yet both in awkwardness of person and unamiability of mind he resembled Dr. Johnson, whom he greatly disliked. Both were despots in habit, intolerant of opposition, and sarcastic to an extreme; but the great genius of the native of Lichfield was not the prerogative of him who resided there.

Dr. Darwin was an avowed sceptic;-a coarse mind, rude habits, and an ungenerous disposition were in him uncontrolled by religion; he was naturally uncourteous, boisterous, and tyrannical, and the coldness of his creed did not soften his temper or subdue his passions. "He dwelt so much and so exclusively on second causes, that he too generally seems to have forgotten there is a first." This defect in his philosophy is also the great defect of his poetry. He writes in a clear, sensible, and manly style, with a strong desire of communicating information in an attractive form, and some of his Episodes are both interesting and affecting, but he rarely warms into enthusiasm, excites the imagination, or touches the heart; he is indeed seldom more than merely satisfactory. His poem consists of two parts-the first contains the Economy of Vegetation, and the Second the Loves of the Plants; both are accompanied by learned, interesting, and useful explanatory notes. The plants are personified, and the descriptions are full of gorgeous beauty; their habits are given in a clear and lucid manner, so as to fix themselves upon the memory. The Goddess of Botany descends to earth to receive the welcome of Spring; and the four elements, represented by gnomes, water-nymphs, sylphs, and nymphs of fire, are in attendance to do her bidding. To each class she gives the allotted task-and the enumeration of their several duties forms the first four cantos of the poem. It will be at once perceived that this plan gives the author abundant opportunities for introducing descriptions of all objects in nature or in art: he has availed himself of them; and tells not only of the wonders of earth, sea, and sky, but of the uses to which science has applied them. Thus, when the Botanic Queen reminds her gnomes that they have seen subterranean fires producing clay-a compliment is conveyed to Mr. Wedgwood, who brought the manufacture of it to such perfection in England; and immortality is promised even to his "medallions." In the second part, the Loves of the Plants, the allegory is carried still farther-every flower and shrub is personified: the Sun-flower becomes a dervise, and leads his train to worship the sun; the Mimosa is a shrinking nymph; and the Miseltoe a spirit seeking her lovers among the clouds. This division of the work abounds in episodes relieving its more scientific details, and producing the effects of so many interesting stories in carrying the reader untired through the whole. Thus, the Orchis Morio, the parent root of which shrivels up and dies, as the young shoot flourishes, is transformed into a fond mother, nourishing her infant at the cost of her own life; -- and the fable is illustrated by the story of a wounded deer flying with her fawn to the woodlands, and by the history of a soldier's wife, who, watching with her babe the distant battle, is

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So stood Eliza on the wood-crown'd height,
O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight,
Sought with bold eye amid the bloody strife
Her dearer self, the partner of her life;
From hill to hill the rushing host pursued,
And view'd his banner, or believ'd she view'd.
Pleas'd with the distant roar, with quicker tread
Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led ;

And one fair girl amid the loud alarm

Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm;

While round her brows bright beams of honour dart,

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