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their eyes

Beautiful the earth, and beautiful the trees,

T. K. HERVEY. and beautiful the glassy lake; most beautiful and sweet. Beautiful the lily and the rose; This author has published but little poetry' and beautiful morn and eve, with their hymns but that little is marked by much grace and of peace and joy.

beauty-a melancholy grace-a melancholy But man is otherwise : deep sunk_in guilt beauty: he seems to hold the same views of is he, deep and deeper every hour. Pollution human life so common to young poets after their stains his soul; corruption defiles the inner first fond and brilliant and rainbow hopes are thought. His breath the breath of sin and dashed to the ground: he deems the past hate : sin unrepented of and hate, most highly sweeter than the present; he talks of the prized.

sunny joys of childhood, and the sad realities And the daughters of men are wanton, and of manhood. Friends that promised truth,

are flame.” No hallowed altar have forsaken him-become cool-sleep in the in the heart; no sinless desire there, unholy silent tomb. The eye that once gazed with all all and past forgiveness !

the tenderness of parental love is dimmed, and Beautiful the earth, and beautiful the heaven; the knee on which he sat, and the bosom on but deformed is man, deformed and cursed. which he leaned, are quiet in the grave. Cares Mercy gleams in every star of night, mercy, and anxieties cloud the present; disappointsilver-toned and blessed! But this avails not; ments and shattered anticipations give fear to wanton and guilty, the race seeks pleasure in the future. the evil-throned.

Seest thou, O reader, yonder beeon those sweetBlood-stained the earth ; blood on the morn scented and rose-tinctured flowers, golden with and blood on golden eve. No worship of the the morning sun? It is the emblem of childhood. Holiest; worship of the cursed !

We own that there is something peculiarly So rolls the universe in beauty and in qui- pleasing in retrospection, in recalling the face etude; rolls round the mighty centre of exist- of friend and kin, in turning over the letters ence; rolls in grandeur and delicious sweetness. which threw sunlight on many a day, in breathAnd so rolls on the race of man, blood-spotted, ing again the vital air of infancy and youth, in wanton, and godless !

witnessing those scenes where we so often gamAmid the shepherd-tended vales, one voice bolled, in remembering our infant prayers, our is heard hymning the praise of the Eternal. mother's fondness, our father's tenderness, our Sweet that voice arises ; sweet and sweeter little hymns, our playmates, our delicious hopes. still.

But our maturer judgment tells us that they Twinkle out the stars, and that voice ascends ; were not our happiest days. We had sorrow and again when they “sink_away into the and trouble then; we had as much as we could light of heaven” is it heard. Beautiful is that bear. Our romantic schemes may have failed ; amid the beautiful of creation.

our ardent expectations may have been disapThat voice is the voice of the world's second pointed; friends may have departed to "the land sire, praying to his God.

where all things are forgotten,” and men may Then the faithful one is missioned to the have treated us with unkindness and cruelty : pleasure-seekers and the wanton-worshippers. but even these have not been able to blight the But they spurn him and his message, and hallowed bliss of the present hour. return again to their unhallowed mirth. Ven- Childhood! when we lisped fondly a mother's geance is preparing; vengeance from the Lord ! name, and when we gazed earnestly into her

Beautiful is earth, and beautiful is heaven; fair and beautiful countenance childhood! beautiful the lapse of stream, and beautiful the when our young heart bubbled up to every new low green copse; but deformed is man, de- delight, and when it danced to the soft prattle formed, deformed! On the world a spot of of our own lips-childhood ! when we clung deep blood-guiltiness; a spot for waters of around the neck of those we loved, and told the great deep” alone to wash away.

them all our griefs and all our joys, and when The glorious waters ! waters beautiful and we knelt in simplicity and artiessness beside bright, the glancing, heaving, musical waters ! the hearth at morning and at evening, and ofeven these must roll on limitless, and baptize fered up our infant prayers -childhood ! when the earth of all her wanton race; nay not the heroic deed, and the noble action, and the baptize, but sweep them to their judgment. hardy achievement blushed our cheek with

So the waters roll, and man is not. Again rapture and high resolve, and when the summer the poet lowlier knelt and prayed :

brought the visits of kinsmen who gladdened Omniscient Spirit, seer of the past!

our home with their gentle faces-childhood! Rend, rend the veil; unblasted, let me look

when we gave all our heart to sympathise with Into the Holiest! on that dial's front,

the distressed, and cheerfully parted with our Whose hours are ages, bid the sun return,

little wealth to feed the sons of want, and That I may read their history aloud! Disperse the mist from ocean's monstrous face,

when our bosom gushed with affection at every And purge my sight, that I may see beyond ! kindness and every service-childhood! when So utterance, deep-burning, broke from the the thought was written on the brow, when we suppliant's lips and prevailed with God: and broke from all restraint, and wandered down the Judgment of the Flood was visioned in some wild lane to see how the violet and the characters of fire.

primrose grew, and when the singing of birds, Poet, this homage-hymn to thee; but the

and the hum of bees, and the waving grass holier one to God!

thrilled us with ecstasy-childhood! when we gazed on the beautiful rainbow and the beauti. ful heavens, and fancied them not far from

earth, and looking onwards through some open- But we turn back to childhood and our poet. ing wood, imagined that we should soon reach How exquisite is this :them; and when the silvery moon shone in at

Dry up thy tears, love!-I fain would be gay! our window pane, and appeared as some radiant Sing me the song of my early day! lamp to light creation with ; and when the Give me the music, so witchingly wild, million stars rolled over the immense expanse,

That solaced my sorrows when I was a child !

Years have gone by me, both lonely and long, breathing divinest music-childhood! when

Since my spirit was soothed by thy voice in that song! we dreamt of cloudless skies, and fadeless Years have gone hy!-and life's lowlands are past, flowers, and fondest friends, and hallowed

And I stand on the hill which I sighed for, at last:

But I turn from the summit that once was my star, retreats, and eternal truth, and everlasting love,

To the vale of my childhood, seen dimly and sar;and imperishable, inextinguishable bliss. Each blight on its beauty seems softened and gone, But childhood, with all its felicity, and dream- Like a land that we love, in the light of the morn!

There are the flowers that have withered away, ing loveliness, and charming sweets, was but a

And the hopes that have faded, like fairies at play; prelude to more delicious joy: Thought awoke, And the eyes that are dimmed, and the smiles that are gone, and dawned; truth beamed brightly in the And thou, too, art there !- but thou still art mine own; horizon; nature became clothed with deeper Fair as in childhood, and fond as in youth,

Thou, only thou, wert a spirit of truth! associations; the stars became more than stars,

Time hath been o'er thee, and darkened thine eye, and the flowers more than flowers ; they were And thoughts are within thee more holy and high; the language of the Divinity; their intonations, Sadder thy smile than in days that are o'er, how beautiful and majestic !-it was angelic

And lovelier all that was lovely before ;

That which thou wert is not that which thou art, music-silence and yet melody: no sounds

Thou too art altered in all-but in heart! issued from those twinkling points, and yet Lie on my bosom, and lead me along came sublimest strains. We gazed upon the

Over lost scenes, by the magic of song! elear heavens one evening; all was still, and Sighs are not sorrows-and joy has her tears !

What if I weep at the vision of years? yet there swelled forth such a mighty gush of Sad is my brow, as thy music is sad, song as enthralled the immortal within ; with But oh! it is long since my heart was so glad ! Jawn came the voice of peace; nature in all

All that is left me of life's promise is here,

Thou, my young idol, in sorrow more dear! its forms and changes--the wild sweep of au- But thy murmurs remind me of many away, turnal winds, the magnificent sunset, the And though I am glad, love! I cannot be gay! rushing of the storm-winter, with its leafless All have departed that offered like truth,

Save thou-only thou-and the song of my youth ! trees, and falling snow, and driving sleetspring, with its primrose starting up from some There is much that is touching in this : the mossy bank, and refreshing breezes, and bracing poet asks for the song of early days; he listens air, and cooling showers-summer, with its to its beautiful but now plaintive strain, the luxuriant foliage, and cloudless skies, and noon- pleasures and joys of the past are recalled, his tide heats, and balmy evenings, and revelry of bright rainbow dreams and golden visions and delights, were to us full of the softest and unclouded hopes now breathe a sadness; they most harmonious cadences : there were liquid have faded, save one, but she the sweetest and voices everywhere; they pervaded all existence. the dearest; on his brow sits a pensive calmThese broke in upon us, and imperishable af- ness, in her eye dwells a melancholy loveliness, fection and everlasting faith and indissoluble her fair form reclines on his, thoughts and union. We felt that we were in a world of memories and remembrances cross over the beauty; we knew that it was ours, its wealth, soul with dirge-like music. and treasures, and resources, and creations The sunny anticipations of youth still play were our own. They interpreted Jehovah's around our poet, but he is all alone. The parental care and parental regard. Thought gentle melodies of bee and bird, and the rich became linked with each sparkling orb, and tints of the butterfly, and the exquisite charms with each petal of the modest flower.

of earth are disregarded; they fascinate him Well might we be happy; and we were not; they but yield a deeper sense of loneliness. happy! We knelt in this vast temple, and I am all alone!-and the visions that play prayed to become like the meek and lowly Round life's young days, have passed away; Jesus; we prayed for holiness : peace ever

And the songs are hushed that gladness sings,

And the hopes that I cherished have made them wings; hovers over the bended knee and bended heart;

And the light of my heart is dimmed and gone, it hovered over us.

As I sit in my sorrow-and all alone! Nature then was beautiful; it is more beau

And the forms which I fondly loved are flown,

And friends have departed-one by one; tiful now: the brook, as it purled through some

And memory sits, whole lonely hours, leafy wood, was sweet then; it is sweeter now. And weaves her wreath of hope's faded flowers, Associations of the past, and hallowed memories, And weeps o'er the chaplet, when no one is near and deep thoughts cling around every object. To gaze on her grief, or to chide her tear!

And the hour of my childhood is distant far, The sun, as it sunk so gorgeously behind the And I walk in a land where strangers are ; hills, was magnificent then; it is more magni- And the looks that I meet, and the sounds that I hear, ficent now: the ocean, with its billowy waves,

Are not light to my spirit, nor song to my ear;

And sunshine is round me - which I cannot see, was sublime then; it is sublimer now. With

And eyes which beam kindness-but not for me! the growth of moral and intellectual being, And the song goes round, and the glowing smile, the visible creation has become invested with But I am desolate all the while ! a fairer loveliness and a deeper glory. The

And faces are bright and bosoms glad, universe, with its myriad stars, and rolling, And I seem like a blight in a region of bloom,

And nothing, I think, but my heart is sad! surging waters, and fine out-stretched land- While I dwell in my own little circle of gloom! scapes, and lofty mountains, has become a I wander about like a shadow of pain, symbol of something higher, and mightier, and

With a worm in my breast, and a spell on my brain;

And I list, with a start, to the gushing of gladness, more ethereal,

Oh! how it grates on a bosom all sadness!

So, I turn from a world where I never was known,

agony and bitterness, was sealed, and without To sit in my sorrow - and all alone.

meaning. But now the duties of life call, and There are few who have not felt the loneli- they must learn that which they never learnt ness so beautifully described in these verses :

before :there are times when such sadness comes to all,

My early love, and must we part? but to the sensitive spirit most. How often do

Yes! other wishes win thee now; we wander in the gloom of our own hearts ! New hopes are springing in thy heart,

New feelings brightening o'er thy brow! Around, and countenances may be lighted up

And childhood's light and childhood's home with smiles, and the lips of beauty may warble Are all forgot at glory's call. the song of joy, and the eye of affection may Yet, cast one thought in years to come beam with love, and the hand of generous

On her who loved thee o'er them all.

When pleasure's bowl is filled for thee, daring may be ready to aid ; and yet we fancy And thou hast raised the cup to sip, that of all this exhaustless tenderness and care

I would not that one dream of me there is none for us.

Should chase the chalice from thy lip:

But should there mingle in the draught Our poet betakes himself to the grave of his

One dream of days that long are o'er, sister, and there meditates and weeps : he Then-only then-the pledge be quaff's thinks of the past, and wishes that he was once To her who ne'er shall taste it more ! more a child upon his mother's knee; but he

When love and friendship's holy joys

Within their magic circle bind thee, feels that such desires are futile; he sighs to

And happy hearts and smiling eyes, find them so. The moon, the clear silver moon, As all must wear who are around thee! looks calmly down on the tomb, and on the

Remember that an eye as bright

Is dimmedma heart as true is broken, solitary one: the stillness is in unison with his

And turn thee from thy land of light, pensive thoughts; the serene night is in ac

To waste on these some little token. cordance with his melancholy emotions; he

But do not weep!- I could not bear seems removed far off from the turmoil and To stain thy cheek with sorrow's trace,

I would not draw one single tear anxiety of existence :

For worlds, down that beloved face.

As soon would I, if power were given,
The feeling is a nameless one
With which i sit upon thy stone,

Pluck out the bow from yonder sky,
And read the tale I dare not breathe,

And free the prisoned floods of heaven,

As call one tear-drop to thine eye,
Of blighted hope that sleeps beneath,

Yet oh, my love! I know not why
A simple tablet bears above
Brief record of a father's love,

It is a woman's thought !-but while

Thou offerest to my memory,
And hints, in language yet more brief,

The tribute should not be-a smile!
The story of a father's grief :-

For, though I would not see thee weep,
Lost spirit!--thine was not a breast

The heart, methinks, should not be gay,
To struggle vainly after rest!

That would the fast of feeling keep
Thou wert not made to bear the strife,

For her who loves it, far away.
Nor labour through the storms of life;

No! give me but a single sigh,
Thy heart was in too warm a mould

Pure as we breathed in happier hours,
To mingle with the dull and cold,

When very sighs were winged with joy,
And every thought that wronged thy truth
Fell like a blight upon thy youth !

Like gales that have swept over flowers ;

That uttering of a fond regret,
Thou shouldst have been, for thy distress,

That strain my spirit long must pour:
Less pure-and oh, more passionless!

A thousand dreams may wait us yet:
For sorrow's wasting mildew gave

Our holiest and our first is o'er.
Its tenant to my sister's grave!
But all thy griefs, my girl, are o'er!

We feel the witching influence of the bard;
Thy fair blue eyes shall weep no more !

we own his sway: the shadows of evening fall 'Tis sweet to know thy fragile form

around us; the sun is setting in misty gloom ; Lies safe from every future storm !Oft, as I haunt the dreamy gloom

the rain beats against our window; the fire That gathers round thy peaceful tomb;

glimmers with its last red embers; the twilight I love to see the lightning stream

sinks into night; the leaves are strewn upon Along thy stone with fitful gleam; To fancy in each flash are given

the ground; the trees are bare; the winds Thy spirit's visitings from heaven;

sweep ever and anon through their leafless And smile to hear the tempest rave

branches ; melancholy thoughts pass over the Above my sister's quiet grave!

soul; the past comes before us; the loveliness The Farewell is no less sweet; it is addres- of earth is clouded with dimness; our mind sed by a female to her lover upon his going dwells on the days long since flown; we sink into tħe world. There is something peculiarly into pensive reveries; our eye falls listlessly on interesting on such an occasion: it may be that the grate; every sound is hushed save when the two have grown up from childhood together, the autumnal gale howls. that they have reaped the same delights, tasted the same joys, witnessed the same scenes, borne the same sorrows, loved the same persons,

JAMES HURDIS. attended the same school, sat on the same form, PERHAPS there is no other country in which repeated the same tasks, conned the same page, villages present so many charming and quiet regarded with affection the same flowers, looked beauties as England; it is a land of pastoral on the same sunshine, rambled along the same hamlets, no less than of magnificent cities : meadows, strolled down the same wild lanes, their cottages, adorned with the clustering rose gazed on the same stars, worshipped in the same and honeysuckle, form, during the soft summer old grey church; and now, for the first time, time, many a scene of picturesque sweetness ; they are to part, to break away from each | the rainbow is not more beguiling to calm reother, to tear themselves from all that they love pose than these flower-enshrouded homes. best on earth. Until now they knew not, But beautiful as our villages undoubtedly thought not of separation; that word, in its are, we think that they may be greatly improved by infusing a more refined taste among silence of the king of terrors, and all around the people; and we shall consider a few points will be in accordance with their feelings and conducive to this, ere we proceed to speak on desires, and there will be anticipations winging that subject which has led to these remarks. themselves to the region of the blessed and the

The most suitable person to carry village- region of the happy. improvement into effect is the pastor; nor is Now we cannot conceive a better employment this in the least derogatory to those higher and than the beautifying such a place; it is intiloftier objects to which his life is consecrate. mately connected with all that man holds dear, It is true, indeed, that he is primarily placed and it is interwoven with his highest aspiraover his flock for spiritual ends; but is therefore tions after a purer and a better world. the temporal and intellectual advancement to There are one or two customs, however, of be forgotten or neglected ?

our forefathers, which we should love to see He will begin at home; his own house will revived: they may be simple, but this very be a pattern of neatness and beauty. The in- simplicity is their charm; they seem the breathfluence will be great; one little knows where | ing of a rural population, and the expression to put limits to such a potent and subtle power: of a rustic people; they seem heart-services, there are no dwellings which claim so much warm with the spirit's gratitude. of our interest and love; they adorn the land- The decorating the graves with flowers, and scape; all the associations which hover around the strewing of their fair blossoms in the path are pure and holy; the chapel-bell gives a of the bride, we pass by, not because they are strange, unutterable sweetness to an evening without grace, but because our limits will not scene, and the loveliness of a secluded parson- allow us to add much more to this part of our age is not without its witchery.

paper; but there is another, and we conceive a The garden will also be continually looked fairer custom, which, if carried out, might be after; it will be no unworthy occupation for useful in building up the soul in her intercourse the pastor to tend it with his own hands—it with the Creator; and that is, the offering of will teach him much : the earth, seed-time, and the hawthorn, and violet, and daisy as the first harvest are significant of revealed truth; it will fruits of the year. The rite is truly a hallowed give a freshness and a vigour to his frame, a one; it is an act of acknowledgment-a token healthy and cheerful tone to his mind. There of our connexion with the Eternal; it is the is in the cultivation of a garden that wherein the homage of a grateful bosom-the hymn of a taste for the beautiful may be displayed: flowers, thankful heart; it speaks of the welcome and and shrubs, and the blossoms of an orchard are joy of a people--the goodness and care of a everywhere a lovely sight; but lovelier no- God; and how lovely a temple thus decked where than when connected with a parsonage : with beauty, and thus perfumed with sweethe will therefore avail himself of all these fa- ness, and worshippers thus rendering their anvourable feelings.

them for a Father's untiring love and a Father's The church will claim a large share of his unwearying blessing !-what a freshness would regard. How many have been left to decay by the sanctuary breathe !-what purity!—what the negligence of their ministers !--and while peace! he repairs and adorns the building, he will not The adorning our churches with evergreens forget its burial-ground. The church-yard is at Christmas is too well conformed with, to hallowed by the most solemn memories; it need any comments here; and surely these possesses a charm peculiarly its own; it will things are not too insignificant to be woven into be his constant care ; the slopes will be kept the heaven-spun woof of our religion: they neatly cropped by a few sheep; their calm, will tend to refine the mind, they will soothe quiet beauty, and the music of their tinkling and soften the heart, and prepare it for the bell, and their gentle looks, will throw a grace reception of those solemn truths which are over the spot; other animals, on no account, symbolized by these customs; and if the love should be turned in ; they are repugnant to our of Jesus is known and felt, there will be a richer sweetest associations; a few yews and limes might and deeper beauty in the flowers, and the earth, be judiciously planted; they harmonize with and sky. the holy enclosure; flowers will enrich with The children of the villagers are under the their perfumes and enliven with their summer immediate care of the pastor; and we deem the loveliness; let these be reared, and open their custom of Legh Richmond, of taking them at blossoms to the luxuriant day, and shed their times into the church-yard, and there giving thousand scents on the balmy breeze.

his scriptural instruction, as beautiful as it was Who does not love these quiet spots ? how soul-elevating. The place is well calculated sweet to wander among the tombs; a pensive to yield the finest impressions; and how exquipeace steals over the soul. The venerable site such a scene!--the shepherd of Christ, surchurch, the sheep, the trees, the flowers, the rounded by his flock, and telling them of holiest new-shorn grass, the gravel-walks, the memo- things, is a lovely sight anywhere, but how rials of the dead, and above a clear blue sky- much lovelier when amid the placid stillness oh, how exquisite is it there to muse on man's of the past, and the scent of violets and roses, hopes and man's faith !—and the villagers may and the fretted heavens above! The man of often repair hither, and seek to recal those God, the little ones, the grassy, graves, the they once loved, and the whole array of the light green turf, the sun-cinctured flowers, the past may unfold itself before them, and then dark yews, the soft balmy air, the cooling breeze, may come the dying chamber and the dying the old ivied church, combine to form a scene bed, the last whisper of tenderness, the fading of tranquil sweetness which must steal and eye, the feebler grasp, the serene departure, the wind itself for ever around the heart.

And we believe that those hallowed and twilights, and golden sunsets; with the great, divine truths which throw their summer-radi- ponderous, gigantic eternity he has nothing to ance over our beautiful creation, and those do ; he is satisfied with the loveliness of this thrilling associations, and calm memories, would lower creation; he enters not into that vast, glow with a more than ever brightening love- immense, infinite expanse of being which stretliness here, amid the stillness and the hush of ches everywhere around us; he is not a “pronature; and what illustrations in every bush, phet poet,” but a “poetic artist;" he is no and tree, and cloud, and grave-in sunshine seeker into the divine; his attachment to nature and in shade—in the deep quietude of heaven's is a friendship, not a passion; its deep, magblue, and in the gentle breathing of its wind ! nificent, massive, inextinguishable, ever-rolling,

There is one other thing we would notice, ever-pealing music he heard not; he caught and that is, the formation of a small library for only the delicious melodies of woods, and each cottage; some ten or a dozen volumes streams, and birds ; we are pleased, but not would do : such would, we believe, be far more spell-bound; he would not have understood beneficial than were the whole gathered into Schiller's expression—“Keep true to the dream one large public mass; this may do very well of thy youth.' in towns and cities, but where there are few There is a degree of chaste beauty about houses, it is better for each to have an allotted this :share, from some funds which might, without

In yonder mansion, reared by rustic hands, very great difficulty, be raised ;-a book is And decked with no superfluous ornament, always read with a sweeter feeling of pleasure Where use was all the architect proposed, and profit when it is our own. Let the works

And all the master wished, which, scarce a mile

Fronı village tumult, to the morning sun be well chosen, and they would not fail, under Turns its warm aspect, yet with blossoms hung God's blessing, of producing favourable results, Of cherry and of peach, lives happy still

The reverend Alcanor. On a hill, and in spreading a more delightful loveliness over the fairest hamlet.

Half-way between the summit and a brook

Which idly wanders at its foot, it stands, The love for the beautiful and true is of high- And looks into a valley wood-besprent, er value than we imagine; it is nought save the That winds along below. Beyond the brook,

Where the high coppice intercepts it not, aspiration after man's purest image and the

Or social elms, or with his ample waist world's loveliest condition; and it is the loss

The venerable oak, up the steep side of this regard which renders humanity so low Of yon aspiring hill full opposite, and earth-born; and therefore any approach Luxuriant pasture spreads before his eye to this ever-blessed state, and any encourage

Eternal verdure; save that here and there

A spot of deeper green shows where the swain ment of this ever-divine principle, is the loftiest Expects a nobler harvest, or high poles exercise of the soul and the sublimest play of Mark the retreat of the scarce budded hop, the spirit.

Hereafter to be eminently fair,

And hide the naked staff that trained him up James Hurdis, a name now nearly passed

With golden flowers. On the hill-top behold into oblivion, though deserving a much better The village steeple, rising from the midst fate, was the friend and admirer of Cowper. Of many a rustic edifice; 'tis all In his poems there is enough to be found,

The pastor's care. though ill-conceived and carelessly executed, Nature boasts not a sweeter scene than a to give him a place among these papers ; in- quiet hamlet; there is a calmness and a quiedeed, many of his lines we should feel sorry to tude about it which subdue the throbbing desires see blotted from the book of remembrance; they and the angry passions of the soul; gaze on it grace and adorn the beautiful of home and at noon-day--the sun is in the zenith ; the creation. He has none of the everlasting energy heavens are expansive as immensity; a few of the higher bard; the divinity of poetry light clouds float in the summer radiance; every stirred not his bosom with its irresistless power, valley is lighted up; the cottages, the parsonas it stirred the breast of our own Milton; his age, the church, the long plantation, the different imagination revelled not in such imperial scenes clumps of trees, the silver waters, the mill, the -his heart glowed not with the eternal burning boy fishing at the brook, the bridge, the dusty of inextinguishable thought: but the gentle road winding up the hill, the silence—all inbreathing of the lyre was his; he touched the fluence the feelings; a repose, soft and dreamchords of heavenly softness; he was master like, overhangs the picture; the birds have of much delicious sweetness; the mild sighing retired to the shade, the leaves stir not, the of the evening zephyr and the ripple of the breeze has passed away; there is a profound brook he loved, rather than the bellowings of serenity: the midnight storm, and the boiling, and surg- Hurdis felt, with all the thrilling emotions ing, and lashing of the ocean.

of a poet, the tinklings of the beautiful villageIn his most popular production, the Village bells; and who can listen without thinking of Curate, he has with much beauty described the the future and the past ?--thoughts of the other life of a country clergyman, and although it is world cross us ; they come with the deep rush wanting in the vigour and enthusiasm which of glorious sounds; the eternal essence of poetry constitute the great poet, still there is much to deepens within us; the music of immortality recommend it to our notice.

rolls on the ear; but soon it mingles with the About his poetry there is more of beauty pensive melody of bygone hours; then come than grandeur-more of gentle music than the the sunny, rapturous hours of childhood ; heaglorious outbreak of all divinest harmonies. ven's bright radiance is on them; once again His sketches are of green fields, and wild we act the scenes of life. flowers, and April showers, and nuttings, and Years roll on: we have become a member clear rills, and grassy dells, and soft, sweet of the university; we move among a new order

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