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from the beautiful creation of our God, and all See yonder hallowed fane! the pious work the profound felicity of tender friendship and
Of names once famed, now dubious or forgot, devoted affection? Are the heavens to depart There lie interred the more illustrious dead.
And buried 'midst the wreck of things which were ; with their million stars, and the ocean with its The wind is up: hark! how it howls! methinks multitude of waters? Is there no tracery of Till now I never heard a sound so dreary: skill in the Maker's handiwork, and is it too
Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul bird
Rooked in the spire screams loud, the gloomy aisles material and low-born to grace the abode of the
Black plastered, and hung round with shreds of scutch. blessed ? The labours of the Eternal are worthy And tattered coats of arms, send back the sound, Leons of his power and wisdom, and shall they sink
Laden with heavier airs, from low vaults, into “utter nothing and dire annihilation ?
The mansions of the dead! Roused from their slumbers,
In grim array the grisly spectres rise, If He himself found delight in their charms, Grin horrible, and obstinately sullen, shall we be too lofty and too spiritual to stoop Pass and repass, hushed as the foot of night! and reap a kindred joy? If the Lord Jehovah Again the screech owl shrieks, ungracious sound
I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood run chill. pronounced them very good, shall we not like
Quite round the pile, a row of reverend elms, wise, whilst eyeing their manifold graces, Coeval near with that, all ragged show, breathe out the same expression of praise? If Long lashed by the rude winds : some rift half down the bright sons of the morning burst forth into
Their branchless trunks, others so thin a top
That scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree. hymnings, divine as their own existence, at the Strange things, the neighbours say, have happened here; pristine loveliness of our earth, shall we, who Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs; are lower in the scale of intellectual, and perhaps Dead men have come again and walked about;
And the great bell has tolled, unrung, untouched ! moral, greatness, be too high and too holy to
Such tales their cheer, at wake or gossiping, send up our lively songs and low warblings of When it draws near the witching time of night. admiration ?
Now let these features of that land to which Nor is the following description of a schoolwe are all tending be frequently and fully boy returning home at evening less striking :dwelt upon in the pulpit; and instead of that
Oft in the lone churchyard at night I've seen, vagueness, and dimness, and mystery which so
By glimpse of moonshine, checquering through the trees, generally characterize our descriptions of heaven The schoolboy, with his satchel in his hand, let such outlines as these be filled up, and we Whistling aloud to keep his courage up, shall see death stripped of much of its bitter
And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones
(With nettles skirted and with moss o'ergrown) and poisonous nightshade. Shall we drink the That tell in homely phrase who lies below. juice of the hemlock when we may have the Sudden he starts ! and hears, or thinks he hears, golden nectar :-shall we love the foggy No
The sound of something purring at his heels.
Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind, vember morning better than the refulgent dawn
Till, out of breath, he overtakes his fellows, of May ?-cling we to the glimmering starlight Who gather round, and wander at the tale rather than to the resplendent sunlight?-choose Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly, we the turbid waters of a pool into which the
That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand
O'er some new-opened grave, and (strange to tell) dashing rain beats down, stirring up its mud
Evanishes at crowing of the cock. and filth, rather than the waters of life, which are already streaked with the brightness of the The love of the supernatural is as ingredient coming glory?
in every mind; we all give much of our regard We know well that Christ will be all in all; to the mysterious and marvellous ; and when that in his presence is the highest heaven. the lighť breaks in, dispelling the darkness, But surely none can blame us, if when we are there is a feeling of sorrow and regret. There told that a flower cannot bloom, nor a star is something in the nature of every man which twinkle in that world, we shrink back again to delights in the wonderful; and perhaps there our own earth. Let us know that we are is nothing, from infancy to old age, which hastening to a region where friendship and yields us greater enjoyment than sitting at faithful love are eternal, and where the soft evening around some blazing hearth, telling of sighing of the evening gale is not unheard, and apparitions and appearances of unseen realities. our thoughts will be elevated and our mind We feel dread while such tales linger on the exalted; it would engross our attention, and lips : every sound startles, every fancied noise imagination would be ever winging itself far terrifies, every gust of wind affrights, every upwards into those scenes of unsullied purity; sudden flare of the fire, and every flicker of the our heart would fix its deepest and tenderest candle, and every shadow cast upon the wall affections there; and what refreshment in intimidates; still we cannot forego their deep weariness, what joy in grief, what happiness in and thrilling charms; we listen with intense sorrow would be ours! And this present exist interest—there is a fascination which we cannot ence would be lighted up with the radiance of overcome, and a sorcery which we cannot withheaven, and this present being gladdened with stand. the brilliancy of the eternal throne, and the “The portrait of the rich man, abandoned to grave would be despoiled of its gigantic power. the enjoyment of his possessions, and suddenly
Blair has treated the subject at times much surprised by the approach of death, is conceived in the bold outline and masculine thought of with a fearful solemnity, not unlike that which Shakspeare. A single word, as the sweet- characterized some of our earlier divines. It worded Willmott has well observed, often might, indeed, have been imitated by Blair throws a blaze of genius over a line. There from the Eumenides of Æschylus, the magniis great solemnity and sublimity in many of ficent comparison of human life to a torrent, in his passages. As a whole, however, it is not one of the sermons of Bossuet, or from a passage inasterly; it rather shines in fragments. What, in the Alexander of Lee, with whose tragedies indeed, can be finer than this :
he seems to have been familiar:"
In that dread moment, how the frantic soul
In a strange city, the city of the beautifulRaves round the walls of her clay tenement
once see Oxford, and you love it for ever! Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help, But shrieks in vain! How wistfully she looks
-our poet strolls out to look on cloister, chapel, On all she's leaving, now no longer hers !
and ivied wall: novelty may for a time dispel A little longer, yet a little longer,
his thoughts of home; Magdalen's tower there Oh! might she stay to wash away her stains, And fit her for her passage. Mournful sight,
rising beside the bridge and limpid streamHer very eyes weep blood; and every groan
some centuries back, and from its top came the She heaves is big with horror. But the foe,
low, solemn voice of prayer, as the fresh May Like a staunch murderer, steady to his purpose, dawned. He rambles in the Merton gardens, Pursues her close through every lane of life,
and ever and anon catches a glimpse of the Nor misses once the track, but presses on; Till, forced at last to the tremendous verge,
ancient pile; how his eye kindles whilst gazing At once she sinks to everlasting ruin!
on the magnificence of Christ Church, the granIn fine relief to this is the exquisite descrip- opening from the Botanic gate !—and St. John's,
deur of All Soul's oratory, and the enchanting tion of a Christian's death-bed:
and Alban's, and Oriel, and Wadham would Sure the last end
claim his praise; and what rich-toned memories Of the good man is peace! How calm his exit!
of Bernard Gilpin, and Hooker, and ChillingNight dews fall not more gently to the ground, Nor weary, worn-out winds expire so soft.
worth, and Evelyn, and Sir Walter Raleigh, Behold him in the eve g-tide of life,
and a whole phalanx of bright spirits ! A life well spent, whose early care it was
He wanders, one sweet April day, along the His riper years should not upbraid his green:
banks of Isis; the leaves, with their sunny By unperceived degrees he wears away; Yet, like the sun, seems larger at his setting.
green, are just sprinkling the tree-tops with High in his faith and hopes, look how he reaches
beauty; the air is calm and gentle, and there After the prize in view! and, like a bird
is a dainty loneliness on his spirit; he sends That's hampered, struggles hard to get away: While the glad gates of sight are wide expanded
forward his thoughts to that hallowed hour To let new glories in, the first fair fruits
when, in the full outpouring of his love, he will Of the fast-coming harvest! Then, oh, then,
stand at God's altar; and then come dreams Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears, of the secluded village and its white cottages Shrunk to a thing of nought. Oh, how he longs To have his passport signed and be dismissed ! adorned with vine and scarlet fuschia-dreams 'Tis done, and now he's happy; the glad soul of its old ancestral hall, and its hoary avenue Has not a wish uncrowned E'en the lag flesh
of elms, and its dark plantation, stretching over Rests, too, in hope of meeting once again Its better half, never to sunder more.
many a hill-dreams of its low but beautiful Two such sketches are enough to stamp im, inward peace, and quietude, and blessedness
parsonage, with its rose-clustered walls, and its mortality on any man : the rushing torrent and dreams of its simple church, rearing its ancient impetuous waterfall are characteristic of the tower against the summer twilight. one; the gentle stream and limpid brook, of
And thus strolling onwards, he pleased himthe other.
self, and oftentimes did he feel these blessed What tenderness is here :
scenes in harmony with the fair sweetness Invidious grave! how dost thou rend in sunder of the surrounding existence. Dreaming, he Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one
passed by the pink-lipped daisy, and forgot A tie more stubborn far than Nature's band.
the cowslip; there was the scent of fresh, Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul, Sweetner of life, and solder of society,
green grass, and the meadows looked gay with I owe thee much; thou hast deserved from me
the golden butter-cup; but his eye was far Far, far yond what I can ever pay,
away, even in the vision of future blessedness : Oft have I proved the labours of thy love, And the warm efforts of the gentle heart.
he saw not creation's beauty-heard not creaAnxious to please. Oh! when my friend and I, tion's melody. In some thick wood have wandered heedless on,
Some eighteen months ere he is to breast the Hid froin the vulgar eye, and sat us down
world's storm, two gentle spirits enter his room : Upon the sloping cowslip.covered bank, Where the pure, limpid stream has slid along
he himself felt weak and sickly; they had In grateful errors through the underwood,
come to give hallowed comfort; all three lookSweet murmuring, methought the shrill-tongued thursh ing forward to the church-their purest joy to Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird
minister therein. Mellowed his pipe, and softened every note; The eglantine smelled sweeter, and the rose
It will be quite sweet to be thus among our Assumed a dye more deep; whilst every flower
people, continues one-there will be the quiet Vied with its fellow-plant in luxury
home, with many a flower budding in its latOf dress. Oh, then the longest summer's day
ticed window, and its chaste and holy peace. Seemed too, too much in haste; still, the full heart Had not imparted half-'twas happiness
I should love such a place--just a few pretty Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed,
cottages and two or three fine old Elizabethan Not to return, how painful the remembrance !
mansions, and then the little church standing on a grassy knoll; this would be very sweet, and one might spend therein his days; we
could read Chaucer, and Herrick, and many a W. L. BOWLES.
lover of nature's beauty, and the years would A PENSIVE youth has just entered Trinity ; ) glide so smoothly, and all so calmly, it would the college-book bears his signature and the make up for the dreariness of our college-life. date 17. He seems to think of home and Soon, we shall have taken our degree, and then home's blessedness; there is strangeness here; for the hallowed enjoyment of labouring in the fine associations truly crowd around, but still vine-yard of Christ ; prune the grapes-train he feels lonely. No wonder : we all feel soli- the grapes to look upwards on the sun-pluck tary when first leaving that nest of sweetnesses. the grapes; it will be very delightful.
So Bowles and his companions thought. “Let up the snow. white paper, and looking on the none wonder at an Idyllic reign or Arcadian precious letters of his beloved, writes sonnet world in a little village and humble parsonage. after sonnet. A tulip-tree, whose flower-branches shall over- In a few months, and he will print. Some shadow the whole garden, may grow in the college debts press heavily: this may clear smallest bed, and the life-giving air of joy can them. His spirit is stirred with high hopes ; be breathed from a window as well as in the to be read by others, to nerve the soul, to wide wood under the broad heaven.” No doubt throw beauty over the landscape, a dim penthe poet recollected through many a year the sive beauty, like the “rainbow over the cloudy sweet silvery tones of the one, and the more morning of life,” born in the storm, nestled in pensive and less dreamy speech of the other. the tempest—and yet a rainbow still, spanning It would be a delicious memory.
the wide hemisphere, and casting loveliness on Tears on that pale cheek-tears, tears. It is church, and cot, and meadow, and tree, and the trial-hour. He would press his hand on the reflecting its exquisite colours in the little wild fleeting time and stay its flight: but no, it flower. speeds away, bearing on its wing his own be- His hopes wax and wane: he will publish, loved. Weep, weep; what else can he do? and then he will not; changes ever checquer Weep, weep, night and day: weep for ever! the mild sunlight of his bosom: there is music,
He enters his solitary chamber one evening and then discord; sometimes he catches the and as the last golden rays throw their fading delicious tones of melody, and he is strengthbrightness on his window, he gazes pensively ened; at others, nought save the harsh breathout on tree and flower and cloud, and fancies ing of untuned notes. Oh, who knows what that death has not really come. He tries to the poet suffers ere his cherished thoughts meet imagine she he loved is near him, and putting the world's gaze! his hand behind, as if for her soft, gentle pres- They at last are printed; the youth's eye sure, he waits in the fond hope that it may still glistens with light when he beholds his firstbe grasped; and the twilight becomes more born. He had wept; but there is now the joysolemn, and his feeling more saddened, and his glance. thoughts more melancholy; and, in a wail of Perchance you have seen, O reader, the fine grief, he wakes to find himself alone-alone. hospital of Christ, standing not far distant from
That pensive youth stands on yon hill which the martyr-spot, noted in Queen Mary's days. overlooks the ancient Dover: the castle rises Among its learners these poems have found a on a bank to his left; the sea is rolling all be- spirit who will cherish them, fore. In the distance, the cliffs of Calais are Such sweet pensive hymns; have you seen beaming in the glare of the setting sun : a white them? So tender and yet so manly; quite sail here and there on the surging waters ; all delicious, amid our cold and cheerless study. else quiet and hushed. There is the “ blessed Light, heaven, beaming again upon us; and zephyr-calm of the evening;” the twinkling music, hallowed music too. We can bear it star will soon be “reflected in the dew of the now-bear it all: but it will soon come, even violet.” One would think this the hour of the free vacation-then fields, then brooks, then weeping; the delicious vesper hour, when we skies, then voice of creation, and voice of God! may recal the “blue spot in the cloud-heaven Home, too, that blessed nook wherein blossoms of life,” when comes the “one pale little re- all things lovely and holy. I will write these membrance, like the earliest and frailiest of plaintive strains; you shall hear them: me snow-drops, from the fresh soil of childhood." they have soothed, and I can toil again; yes, This youth looked on the serene eventide, and even go to the unintellectual task, having learnt thought of her he loved, and wept deeply: how hard it is to check the full outburst of the “Even in tears," says Hegel, “ lies consolation." soul. To-morrow, and a copy shall be yours. And we would deem tears the holiest acknow- Thus Coleridge, his large eye flashing with ledgment of the still hour, “the swan-song of enthusiasm. The blue-coat boys deemed him the day:" tears, tears-liquid tears, seem in strange, and pitied him, and told their parents sweetest harmony with the hallowed time. when they returned home how he loved the “The softened earthly can unite itself with the gentle heaven-dipped violet, and loved to heavenly, and this again with a softened hu- dream, whole days together, beneath the clear manity. Thus Schelling.
blue sky; and how he ever talked of butterThe throbbing burst is over; there is the cups and daisies and everlasting beauty. placid grief. His heart pours out its plaintive Bowles little thought that one wild spirit warblings; there is relief: he recals every was thus cleaving to him, and listening so sweet event, every fond endearment, every still intensely to his sweet, silvery strain. Joy in thy hour of blessedness; he lingers over the path strain, it will yet soothe many into gentleness ! once so sunlit; it had seemed to lead onwards A beautiful home in Wiltshire: two venerable to the beautiful and true; it may lead there forms stand leaning over the garden-gate: there
“ The nyctanthes sorrowful spreads its is the scent of the rose and hawthorn : a tear fragrance after dusk.” Gazing out of his col- trickles down the cheek of that old man. Forty lege-window-for he had now returned to the years ago, and the other, pacing the streets of holy city-on the profound calm of evening, he Bristol, was thinking over the sweetness of a feels as one all lonely, and far off from peace; youth's poetry, and was determining to hymn and yet there is an undefined sweetness within, the song himself. Many strange events during -a divine, melancholy sweetness. “The Indian that long interval. Europe heaves to her cenbees hum themselves asleep at eve in the blue tre:-heaves, and again is still. Carnage, and blossoms of the nilica or sephalica.” He takes plague, and heroism, and the war-music!
there seems nought save these. How eloquently Fresh flowers shall fringe the wild brink of the stream,
As with the songs of joyance and of hope bright the stars! Wept they when gazing on
The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and on the slope the dread earth? But voices: listen, voices.
The poplars sparkle in the transient beam; Schiller and Schelling breathe placid stillness, The shrubs and laurels which I loved to tend, while they speak the god-like; Richter, and
Thinking their May-tide fragrance might delight Herder, and Wieland, so soft, and tender, and
With many a peaceful charm, thee my best friend,
Shall put forth their green-shoots and cheer the sight: liquid in their romantic dreams; Goethe, lofty But I shall mark their hues with sick’ning eyes, and magnificent; and Fichte, higher, and And weep for her who in the cold grave lies. wilder, and more daring yet. Voices, voices It seems the last dying cadence of the Vauon the dark battle-field of the old world!
cluse strain, so exquisitely pensive are its tones. Convulsion, discord, ruin, sweep over the How full of expression is the following, on huge continent. When will it cease? Chaos, beholding once again the clear silvery Itchin :chaos !-humanity broken and overthrown, and
Itchin, when I behold thy banks again, lying in chains. Ah, the moon gleamed down
Thy crumbling margin, and thy silver breast, on the shattered divine !-thrones no longer On which the self-same tints still seem to rest, diamond-blazed : thrones, thrones dashed in Why feels my heart the shivering sense of pain ? blood. Dark days, dark eves, dark heavens ;
Is it—that many a summer's day has passed
Since, in life's morn, I carolled on thy side? no glimmer of the blessed light. Men weep
Is it, that oft, since then, my heart has sighed, and mourn, and deem the free forgotten. But As Youth and Hope's delusive dreams flew fast? voices, voices : listen, voices! they sing of the
Is it, that those, who circled on thy shore, beautiful and true and restored humanity. It
Companions of my youth, now meet no more?
Whate'er the cause, upon thy banks I bend shall grow up into the Holy; and the vast Sorrowing, yet feel such solace at my heart desolate plain shall smile with gentle loveli- As at the meeting of some long-lost friend, ness; and there shall be everlasting sweetness,
From whom in happier hours we wept to part. and everlasting peace.
Still on that vision which is flown I dwell!
On images I loved, alas, how well! bright-beaming, blessed joy! and the peasant
Now past, and but remembered like sweet sounds shall kneel and pray for the monarch, and the Of yesterday! Yet in my breast I keep monarch shall protect the peasant. Joy once Such recollections, painful though they seem, more--joy, joy, and happiness! And now
And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream
I wake, and find them not: then I could weep Southey looks -for it is he-on the quiet To think that Time so soon each sweet devours, parsonage, and the face of that first-loved
To think so soon life's first endearments fail, friend, and bids a sorrowful farewell.
And we are still misled by Hope's smooth tale! But to the poems. They display much ele
Who, like a flatterer, when the happiest hours
Are past, and most we wish her cheering lay, gance and beauty; they breathe the “soul of
Will fly, as faithless and as fleet as they ! melancholy gentleness;" his Christian resigna
Such strains bear on their bosom the melantion throws a calm and mellowed softness over choly whisperings of the cold and quiet tomb; every line, “soft, as the last drops round they produce within us thoughts too deep for heaven's airy bow.” They move strangely the utterance. The same pensive beauty marks the feelings; they touch deeply the heart; they other poems of our author; and it is this, we shape the spirit to their own image, mould it think, that gives them their peculiar value. to their own form; they cast their dim shadows
How sweetly has he described the season when over the mind : there is a quiet loneliness,
first he heard the sound of ocean's rolling Their sad, sweet melody stills every tumul- water, and when first he saw it sparkling betuous passion, tranquillizes every throbbing neath the sunbeams :desire. How exquisite is this :
I was a child when first I heard the sound How blest with thee the path could I have trod
Of the great sea !-'twas night, and journeying far, Of quiet life, above cold want's hard fate,
We were belated on our road, 'mid scenes And little wishing more--nor of the great
New and unknown-a mother and her child, Envious, or their proud name ! but it pleased God
Now first in this wide world a wanderer. To take thee to his mercy : thou didst go
My father came, the pastor of the church In youth and beauty, go to thy death-bed;
That crowns the high hill crest above the sea; E'en whilst on dreams of bliss we fondly fed,
When, as the wheels went slow, and the still wind Of years to come of comfort ! Be it so;
Seemed listening, a low murmuring met the ear, Ere this I have felt sorrow; and even now
Not of the winds-my mother softly said, Though sometimes the unbidden thought must start “ Listen ! it is the sea," With breathless awe And half unman the miserable heart
I heard the sound, and closer pressed her hand. The cold dew I shall wipe from my sad brow,
That night I restless passed" the sea !” And say, since hopes of bliss on earth are vain,
Filled all my thoughts; and when slow morning came, Best friend, farewell, till we do meet again.
And the first sun-beam streaked the window-pane,
I rose unnoticed, and with stealthy paceThe spirit is deeply moved whilst perusing
Straggling along the village-green-explored such lines as these: their influence is gentle, Alone my fearful but adventurous way; yet powerful. We feel a pensive sadness; it When having turned the hedge-row, I beheld clings to our sunniest hours and our sunniest
For the first time thy glorious element,
Old ocean, glittering to the beams of morn, joys; “it comes over the mind like a slow and
Stretching far off, and westward without bound, solemn strain of music.” The bright, clear sky Amid thy sole dominion rocking loud ! and the empurpled flowers of summer become Shivering I stood and tearful! and even now
When gathering years have marked my look-even now, tinged with a sombre melancholy. Again, how
I feel the deep impression of that hour, purely sweet is this :
As but of yesterday. How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill
This is natural, and therefore beautiful. The My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide First came, and on each coomb's romantic side
manner of telling this simple incident is such Was heard the distant cuckoo's hollow bill?
that we become deeply interested in the mother
and her child; we wish to know more of them; and the rose glance in the sunshine on the we feel them to be part of the family of man; other. We think of the fair beauty of that we almost behold the night, with its winds clime; already its odours pass pleasantly by sweeping ever and anon, and its belated tra- us—there is the clematis, and the blue violet, vellers. A low murmuring is heard--the parent and the eglantine; they are sweet on earthsoftly whispers-“ Listen! it is the sea”--the they are sweeter there. Flowers, they tell of youthful poet clings closer, and presses more everlasting spring. We strolled through a vilwarmly her hand. Equally touching is the lage the other day; it was the month of Febfollowing:
ruary, but the pure cerulean sky and the balmy Though my hours
winds were not of winter; in a window of a -For I have drooped beneath life's early showers
pretty cottage stood many a modest flower; to Pass lonely oft, and oft my heart is sad,
look at them was as if heaven had been reYet I can leave the world, and feel most glad To meet thee, Evening, here; here my own hand vealed; they were encircled with a thousand Has decked with trees and shrubs the slopes around, associations; they awakened the sleeping senAnd whilst the leaves by dying airs are fanned,
sibilities of the heart; they called up delicious Sweet to my spirit comes the farewell sound, That seems to say "Forget the transient tear
dreams: there was the yellow star-shaped Thy pale youth shed, -repose and peace are here" primrose, and it told of verdant glades, and Nor is this less beautiful :
long, wild lanes, and venerable churches on
mossy banks, and all the enchanting loveliness Fair moon! thou at the chilly day's decline Of sharp December, through my cottage pane
of summer. They reminded us of those we Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane;
loved, and our bosom was softened into peace, In thought, to scenes serene and still as thine, tranquil as the calm of Paradise; and thus, as Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey
the shadows of evening steal onwards, do we Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way; And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light,
look forward to an everlasting daybreak and Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall an everlasting morning; and that dawn shall Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall, kindle ere long on our spirit, and the scent of Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night, a million flowers, and the singing of myriad Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze, Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze
birds, and the divine hymns of immortal intelI think-around me in this twilight room
ligences, and the welcome of kinsmen, and the I but remark mortality's sad gloom;
smile of tenderness, and the unsullied bliss Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere !
shall burst forth on our changed and renovated
condition ! It is pleasant thus to sit by one's solitary This hope has soothed us in such hours; we fireside on a winter's evening, and as night's feel our inextinguishable existence; the seeds shadows deepen, to feel somewhat of our poet's of decay are impregnated with the waters of melancholy. There is a loneliness about moon, life; the full roll of eventide has sung to us and star, and skya stillness-a pensive love of the better land; we cling to the knowledge liness. The soft, silvery beams throw their -We cleave to the revelation; there is light, tranquil light on the windows; the fire blazes, as of heaven, in the sunny truth. Overcome sinks, falls — brightens again; our shadows ap- with sorrow, and laden with grief, yet loving pear and disappear on the wall. Not a breath to dwell upon it, our spirit takes comfort from stirs without; every leaf and every flower, and the thought that the tear falls not, and the even the long, deep grass move not. We watch broken sigh escapes not, in the brighter world the rising and the sinking flame: in a half- beyond. The twilight becomes an opener of meditative mood, we think of former years, and unseen sweets-the revealer of invisible joys; then form churches and mansions in the red it, indeed, tells us of the dim and shadowy; cinders, and feel, with Beaumont and Fletcher, but it also chants a hymn to the unsullied “Nothing so dainty sweet as lonely melancholy: purity of that fair clime which stretches far
Yea, there is a twilight of the soul, when the onwards from the confines of the grave. The hopes of youth have passed away; when the realities of the Eternal are brought before us ; friends who smiled on our infancy have gone they shine out as stars shine out in darkness ; down to the grave; when the companions of they breathe a delicious perfume, as the honeylater years have departed from us, as the ship suckle breathes its richest odours when the is loosened from the shore; when our kinsmen evening dews descend; we hold communion have given up the ghost; and when we stand with them; there is a deep, thrilling converse almost the solitary being of a generation : but -an ethereal power exercises dominion ; with it is a twilight preluding the fresh and refulgent the subjugation we become exalted; unearthly morning. We may be bereft of all former de- tidings greet us-unearthly scenes arise: then lights that our spirit may rise with a lighter are there throbbings of inexpressible blissbound into the radiance of heaven. The ever- throbbings of everlasting hope. lasting sun breaks on the horizon; it swells Our poet's verses on a sun-dial are in his upwards in glory and majesty ; its resplendent best manner; they recal to our remembrance beam scatters the former dimness; the gloomy a scene of youth: the fretted heavens were shadows are dispelled; every cloud is rolled golden with fleecy clouds; the sun stood in backwards; every darkness is dissipated; our the zenith; the breeze was laden with all countenance is illumed with the sublime verity sweetest and richest scents. It was an April that man can never die : through the blood of day; we were out wandering, with no other Jesus he lives. We look across the stream aim or object than to gather the wild and which separates this world from the next: the beautiful flowers, and to hear the songs of the willow and the weeping ash bend low with birds, and perchance to look upwards on the their foliage on this side the waters; the myrtle blue ether, and think of this our nether para