And shall not Israel's sons exulting come,
Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home;
On David's throne shall David's offspring reign,
And the dry bones be warm with life again.
Hark! white-rob'd crowds their deep Hosannas raise,
And the hoarse flood repeats the sound of praise;
Ten thousand harps attune the mystic song,
Ten thousand thousand saints the strain prolong ;-
"Worthy the Lamb! omnipotent to save,
Who died, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!"
By WILLIAM MASON, not published in his Works.
(From Bingley's Tour in North Wales.)
ROM southern Cambria's richly varied clime,
Where grace and graadeur share an equal reign;
Where cliffs o'erhung with shade, and hills sublime
Of mountain lineage sweep into the main :
From bays where Commerce furls her wearied sails,
Proud to have dar'd the dangers of the deep,
And floats at anchor'd ease enclos'd by vales,
To Ocean's verge where stray the vent'rous sheep:
From brilliant scenes like these I turn my eye,
And lo! a solemn circle meets its view,
Wall'd to protect inhum'd mortality,
And shaded close with poplar and with yew.
Deep in that dell the humble fane appears,
Whence prayers, (if humble, best,) to heaven aspire ; No tower embattl'd, no proud spire it rears,
A moss-grown corslet decks its lowly choir.
And round that fane the sons of toil repose,
Who drove the plough-share, or the sail who spread,
With wives, with children, all in measur'd rows,
Two whitened stones well mark the feet and head.
Plants that with early perfume feed the breeze,
May best each dank and noxious vapour chase.
The flaunting tulip, the carnation gay,
Turnsole and piony, and all the train
That love to glitter in the noon-tide ray,
Ill suit the place where death and silence reign.
Not but perchance to deck some virgin's tomb,
Where violets sweet their two-fold purple spread,
Some rose of maiden blush may faintly bloom,
Or withering hang its emblematic head.
These to renew with more than annual care,
That wakeful love with pensive step will go ;`
The hand that lifts the dibble shakes with fear
Lest haply it disturb the friend below.
Vain fear! for never shall disturber come
Potent enough to wake such sleep profound,
Till the dread herald to the day of doom
Pours from his trump the world-dissolving sound.
Vain fear! yet who that boasts a heart to feel,
An eye to pity, would that fear reprove?
They only who are curst with breasts of steel,
Can mock the foibles of surviving love.
These foibles, far beyond cold reason's claim,
Have power the social charities to spread;
They feed, sweet tenderness, thy lambent flame,
Which, while it warms the heart, improves the head.
Take then, poor peasants, from the friend of Gray,
His humbler praise, for Gray or fail'd to see,
Or saw unnotic'd, what had wak'd a lay
Rich in the pathos of true poesy.
Yes, had he pac'd this church-way path along,
Or lean'd like me against this ivied wall,
How sadly sweet had flow'd his Dorian song,
Then sweetest when it flow'd at nature's call.
Like Tadmor's king, his comprehensive mind
Each plant's peculiar character could seize,
And hence his moralizing muse had join'd
To all these flowers a thousand similies.
18.
But he, alas! in distant village grave,
Has laid with dear maternal dust his own: E'en now the pang which parting friendship gave Thrills at my heart, and tells me he is gone.
Take then from me the pensive strain that flows
Congenial to this consecrated gloom,
Where all that meets my eye some symbol shows
Of grief, like mine, that lives beyond the tomb.
Shows me that you, though doom'd the live-long year
For scanty food the toiling arm to ply,
Can smite your breasts, and find an inmate there
To heave, when memory bids, the ready sigh
Still nurse that best of inmates, gentle swains!
Still act as heart-felt sympathy inspires;
The taste that birth from education gains
Serves but to chill affection's native fires.
22.
To you more knowledge than what shields from vice
Were but a gift to multiply your cares;
Of matter and of mind let reasoner's nice
Dispute, be patience yours, presumption theirs.
You know, (what more can earthly science know?)
That all must die! by revelation's ray
Illum'd, you trust the ashes plac'd below
These flowery tufts shall rise to endless day.
What if you deem, by hoar tradition led,
To you perchance devolv'd from druids old,
That parted souls at solemn seasons tread
The circles that their shrines of clay enfold:
What if you deem they some sad pleasure take
These poor memorials of your love to view,
And scent the perfume for the planter's sake,
That breaths from vulgar rosemary and rue.
Unfeeling wit may scorn, and pride may frown,
Yet fancy, empress of the realms of song,
Shall bless the decent mode, and reason own
It may be right,-for who can prove it wrong?
3 N 4
In the Manner of the Splendid Shilling.
BY THE REV. THOMAS MAURICE.
THRICE happy he, whose hours the cheering smiles
Where ease invites, or pleasure's syren voice.
Him the stern tyrant, with his iron scourge,
Annoys not, nor the dire oppressive weight
Of galling chain; but, when the blushing morn
Purples the east, with eager transport wild,
O'er hill, o'er valley, on his panting steed,
He bounds exulting, as in full career
With horns, and hounds, and thund'ring shouts, he drives
The flying stag; or when the dusky shades
Of eve, advancing, veil the darken'd sky,
To neighb'ring tavern, blithesome, he resorts
With boon companion, where they drown their cares
In sprightly bumpers, and the mantling bowl.
Far otherwise, within these darksome walls,
Whose gates, with rows of triple steel secur'd,
And many a bolt, prohibit all egress,
I spend my joyless days; ere dawn appears,
Rous'd from my peaceful slumbers by the sound
Of awe-inspiring bell, whose ev'ry stroke
Chills my heart-blood, all trembling I descend
From dreary attic, round whose ancient roof,
Gaping with hideous chinks, the whistling blast
Perpetual raves, and fierce descending rains
Discharge their fury.-Dire lethargic dews
Oppress my drowsy sense, scarce yet awake
From rapture's airy dreams, where, fir'd with all
That Virgil sang, or fabling Homer feign'd,
My fancy realiz'd poetic tales.
And rang'd Elysian valleys :-now I quaff,
From crystal goblets bright with gems and gold,
Rich nectar, drink of gods--now sore oppress'd
With goading famine, on ambrosial fruits
Banquet with thund'ring Jove:-ah transient feast!
For like, O Tantalus, thy feign'd repast,
The airy viands mock my waking grasp!
Meanwhile benumbing cold invades my joints,
As, with slow, fault'ring footsteps, I resort
To where, of antique mould, a lofty dome
Rears its tremendous front; here all at once,
From thousand diff'rent tongues, a mighty hum
Assaults my ears; loud as the distant roar
Of tumbling torrents; or as in some mart
Of public note, for traffic far renown'd,
Where Jew with Grecian, Turk with African,
Assembled, in one general peal unite,
Of dreadful jargon.-Straight on wooden bench
I take my seat, and con, with studious care,
Th' appointed tasks; o'er many a puzzling page
Poring intent, and sage Athenian bard,
With dialect, and mood, and tense, perplex'd,
And conjugations varied without end.
When lo! with haughty stride (in size like him
Who erst extended on the burning lake
Lay floating many a rood) his sullen brow
With low'ring frowns and fearful glooms o'ercast,
Enters the pedagogue ;-terrific sight!
An ample nine-fold peruke, spread immense,
Luxuriant waving down his shoulders, plays;
His hand a bunch of limber twig sustains,
Call'd by the vulgar Birch; Tartarean root,
Whose rankling points, in blackest poison dipp'd,
Inflict a mortal pain; and, where they 'light,
A ghastly furrow leave. Scar'd at the sight,
The bustling multitude, with anxious hearts,
Their stations seek.-A solemn pause ensues;
As when of old, the monarch of the floods,
'Midst raging hurricanes, and battling waves,
Shaking the dreadful trident, rear'd aloft
His awful brow,-sudden the furious winds
Were hush'd in peace, the billows cease their rage;-
Or when (if mighty themes like these allow
A humble metaphor) the sportive race
Of nibbling heroes, bent on wanton play,
Beneath the shelter of some well-stor'd barn,
In many an airy circle wheel around;
Some eye perchance, in private nook conceal'd,
Beholds Grimalkin; instant they disperse,
In headlong flight, each to his secret cell,
If haply he may 'scape impending fate.
Thus ceas'd the general clamor, all remain In silent terror wrapt, and thought profound."
Meanwhile, the pedagogue, throughout the dome, His fiery eyeballs, like two blazing stars, Portentous rolls, on some unthinking wretch
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