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Yet lovelier, in my view,
| And wand'ring thro' the depths of mental The streamlet Auwing, silently serene;
night, Traced by the brighter hue,
Sought dark predictions 'mid the worlds of And livelier growth it gives ;--itself unseen! light:
When carious Alchymy, with puzzled brow, It flows through flowery meads, Attempted things that Science laughs at now, Gladdening the herds which on its margin
Losing the useful purpose she consults, browse ;
In vain chimeras and unknown results: Its quiet beauty feeds
In those grey times there lived a reverend The alders that o'ershade it with their sage, boughs,
Whose wisdom shed its lustre on the age.
A monk he was, immured in cloister'd walls, Gently it murmurs by
Where now the ivy'd ruin crumbling falls. The Village Church-yard ;-its low, plaintive
'Twas a profound seclusion that he chose ; tone,
The noisy world disturb'd not that repose : A dirge-like melody
The flow of murmuring waters, day by day, For worth, and beauty modest as its own. And whistling winds, that forced their tardy
way More gaily now it sweeps
Thro' reverend trees, of ages' growth, that By the small School-house, in the sunshine, made, bright:
Around the holy pile a deep monastic shade; And o'er the pebbles leaps,
The chapted psalm, or solitary prayer,-Like happy bearts by holiday made light.
Such were the sounds that broke the silence
there. May not its coarse express, In characters which they who ran may read, Twas here when his rites sacerdotal were The charm of gentleness,
O'er, Were but its still small voice allow'd to in the depth of his cell with its stone-covered plead?
Resigning to thought his chimerical brain, What are the trophies gain'd
He formed the contrivance we now shall By power alone, with all its noise and strife, explain : To that meek wreath unstain's,
But whether by magic or alchymy's powers Won by the charities that gladden life?
We know not, indeed 'tis no business of vars:
Perhaps it was only by patience and care, Niagara's streams might fail,
At last that he brought his invention to bear. And human bappiness be undisturb'd: In youth 'twas projected; but years stule But Egypt would turn pale,
away, Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty And ere 'twas complete he was wrinkled curb'd!
and grey; But success is secure unless energy fails ; And at length he produced The Philosopher's
THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES. What were they ?-you ask: you shall
presently see; MISS J. TAYLOR.
These scales were not made to weigh sagar In days of yore, as Gothic fable tells,
and tea; When learning dimly gleam'd from grated | O no;-for such properties wondrons bad cells,
they, When wild Astrology's distorted eye That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they Shunn'd the fair field of true pbilosophy, I could weigh ;
Together with articles small or immense, A sword, with gilt trappings, rose up in the
A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear And nonght so ethereal but there it would Weighed less than a widow's ancrystallized stay;
tear. And nought so reluctant but in it must go; A lord and a lady went op at full sail, All which some examples more clearly will When a bee chanced to light on the opposhow.
Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one The first thing he tried was the head of
Ten counsellors' wigs, full of powder and Which retain'd all the wit that had ever
curl, been there;
All heaped in one balance, and swinging As a weight, he threw in a torn scrap of a
from thence, leaf,
Weigh'd less than some atoms of candour Containing the prayer of the penitent thief;
and sense ;When the skull rose aloft with so sodden a
A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt, spell,
Than one good potato just washed from the As to bound like a ball, on the roof of the cell.
Yet, not mountains of silver and gold would Next time he put in Alexander the Great,
suffice, With a garment that Dorcas had made
One pearl to outweigh, 'twas the “ pearl for a weight;
of great price." And thu' clad in armour from sandals to crown,
At last the whole world was bowl'd in at The hero rose up, and the garment went
the grate; down.
With the soul of a beggar tu serve for a A long row of alms bouses, amply endow'd
weight; By a well-esteem'd pharisee, busy and proud,
When the former sprang up with so strong Now loaded one scale, while the other was
That it made a vast rent and escaped at the prest By those mites the poor widow dropp'd into
roof; the chest;
Whence, balanced in air, it ascended on Up flew the endowment, not weighing an
And sail'd up aloft-a balloon in the sky: And down, down, the farthing's worth came
While the scale with the soul in, so mightily with a bonnce.
That it jerk'd the pbilosopher out of his cell.
Dear reader, if e'er self-deception pre
vails, cayed; When he found, with surprise that the
We pray you to try The Philosopher's scales: whole of his brother
But if they are lost in the ruins around, Weigh'd less, by some pounds, than this bit
Perhaps a good substitute thus may be of the other.
Let judgment and conscience in circles be By further experiments, (no matter how) | cut, He found that ten chariots weigh'd less tban To which strings of thought may be careone plough.
fully put :
Let these be made even, with caution ex- | Exhales amid this grosser airtreme,
Thus lightest hearts are bowed by care, And impartiality use for a beam :
And genius yields to fate. Then bring those good actions which pride
over-rates, And tear up your motives to serve for the
THE CLOCK AND THE DIAL.
DE LA MOTTE.
It happen'd on a cloudy morn,
A self-conceited clock, in scorn
A dial thus bespoke ;
Vy learned friend, if in thy power,
I am upon the stroke.
That point I cannot now decide,
The sun is in the share; How swift! for now I see her sail
My information drawn from him, High mounted on the viewless gale,
I wait till his enlightening beam
Shall be again display'd.
Wait for him then, return'd the clock, She cheats my dazzled eye.
I am not that dependent block
His counsel to implore ;
Ding, ding, ding, ding, just four.
While thus the boaster was cleriding
And magisterially deciding,
A sun-beam clear and strong, No curling mist at close of light,
Shew'd on the line, three quarters more; No meteor on the breast of night,
And that the clock in striking four,
Had told his story wrong.
On this the dial calmly said,
(More prompt t advise than to upbraid,)
Friend, go, be regulated ; Yet thee, e'en thee, the destined hour,
Thou answer'st without hesitation, Shall summon from thy airy tour,
But he who trusts thy calcnlation Rapid in prone descent;
Will frequently be cheated. Methinks I see thee downward borne, With flaccid sides that droop forlorn, Observe my practice, shan pretence, The breath ethereal spent.
Not confidence, but evidence,
An answer meet supplies; Thus daring fancy's plome sablime Blush not to say, “I cannot tell,”* Thus love's bright wings are clipp'd by time, / Not speaking much, but speaking well, Thus hope, ber soul elate,
I Denotes the truly wise.
So forth she sallied blithe and gay,
Passed on their meeting:
Abroail, and on a gala-day,
TIME was, each lady thought no harm
So on they walked together,
Bright was the weather ;
She leant on Fashion's arm.
And now away for West End fair,
Are all in requisition.
In neat attire the Graces
Behind the counters take their places,
And humbly do petition
To dress the booths with flowers and sweets, With nursing of her children three,
As fine ay any May-day, So might you be
Where Charity with Fashion meets,
A little squalling throng ;-
DUTY AND PLEASURE. “I cannot always go about
MIS. PIOZZI. To hospitals and prisons trudging,
DUTY and Pleasure, long at strife, Or fay from morn to night
Crossed in the common walks of life ;-Teaching to spell and write
“ Pray don't disturb me, get you gone" A barefoot rout
Cries Duty, with a serious tone : Swept from the streets by poor Lancaster, Then with a smile ; "keep off, any dear, My sub-master.
Nor force me thus to be severe."
" That Howard 'ran me out of breath,
Will be my death :
So said, she dofled her robes of brown
Like French Begnine,
Knew her own face.
"Dear Sir," cries Pleasure, “ you're so
“ My morning's task is not half done," Cries Duty with an inward groan;
“ False colours on each object spread, Bebold the wild confusion there !
Thy carpet now is all disorder !"
Quoth Dick, “ my work is yet in bits, Waste no more time in vain regrets :
But still in every part it fits; O Duty! one more effort given
Besides, you reason like a lout ; May reach, perhaps, the gates of heaven,
Why, man, that carpet's inside out." Where, only, each with each delighted,
Says John, “ thou say'st the thing I mean, Pleasure and Duty live united !”
And now I hope to cure thy spleen;
Is but a carpet inside ont.
“ As when we view these shreds and ends, MRS. MORE.
We know not what the whole intends ; As at their work two weaver's sat, So, when on earth things look but odd, Beguiling time with friendly chat,
They're working still some scheme of God. They touched upon the price of meat; So high, a weaver scarce conld eat. “ No plan, no pattern, can we trace;
All wants proportion, truth, and grace: " What with my brats, and sickly wife," The mutley mixture we deride, Quoth Dick, “ I'm almost tired of life; Nor see the beauteous upper side. So hard we work, so poor we fare, 'Tis more than mortal man can bear. “ But when we reach the world of light,
And view these works of God aright; “ How glorions is the rich man's state! Then shall we see the whole design, His house so fine, his wealth so great! And own the Workman is Divine. Heav'n is unjust, you must agree: Why all to him, and none to me?
“What now seem random strokes, will there
All order and design appear ; “In spite of wbat the Scripture teaches, Then shall we praise, what here we spurned, In spite of all the Pulpit preaches, For there the carpet will be turned.” This world,-indeed I've thought so long, Is ruled, methinks, extremely wrong.
“ Thou’rt right,” “ quoth Dick, “no more
I'll grumble, " Where'er I look, howe'er / range,
That this world is so strange a jomble; 'Tis all confused, and hard, and strange;
My impious doubts are put to flight, The good are troubled and uppressid,
For my own carpet sets me right.” And all the wicked are the bless'd.”
Quoth John, “ Our ignorance is the cause,
BISHOP. 'Tis all that man can see below.
WHILE wits through fiction's regions tam " See'st thou that carpet, not half done,
ble; Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun? | While bards for fame or profit scramble;