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God accuses us not of loving wife or child, "For we are his offspring"? and in an earlier but of not loving Him. How could he so age, what means another bard, in addressing the accuse us, since the love to Him but increases same divinity, exclaiming, "For thou hearest and deepens our love to them. One would a man everywhere in pain”? and in later times, think, if we could love these objects too much, what means the altar raised beneath the beauthat when we become lovers of Jehovah, our tiful Attic sky, and in the refined city itself, to regard would be lessened. But is this the case the Unknown God, if they do not tell us that Ah, Christian, we can tell you that those hours man is ever seeking, ever striving, in what way in which we have been the most spiritually- he may be reconciled to Jehovah; in what way minded, and when the very being seemed to float he may regain his lost favour; in what way in a profound ocean of unruffled, and infinite, obtain back the ancient covenant of peace and and delicious love, and when the Eternal seemed blessedness? above, and beneath, and around us, and when Hast thou never beheld, O reader, the beauearth, sea, and sky seemed to be lighted up with tiful work of thy fingers destroyed, and hast a soft golden glory, and when the air teemed thou not gathered up the fragments, and alwith angelic hymns, and the clouds breathed though it was broken into a thousand pieces, out divine harmonies, and when the body itself and its once beautiful form for ever lost, and seemed etherealized, and in sweetest accordance that which was so exquisite a gem, and so often with the highest aspirations of the soul, even gazed upon with delight, and so frequently then have we beheld a chaster beauty and admired, has become shivered and splintered a fairer loveliness in the relationships of earth. into shapeless atoms, yet hast thou not gathered And in like manner, when we have been far up every part with a care and a gentleness never off from God, when we have erred and strayed known before, and with feelings of love and like lost sheep, and when iniquity has prevailed yearnings of tender regard hast thou not placed against us as a tide, have we beheld less enchant- it in thy cabinet of all precious things ? Because ing grace in the hallowed ties of our nature. it had forgotten its former grace, was it thereHow is this? If it be wrong to love with an fore without one sweet association, one pleasant infinite affection, then why, when holiest and memory ?-rather, did it not win thy pity, and purest, do we love the most?

find its way to thy swelling heart? An idol is that which prevents our entire And so Ğod: he created us in his own bright love to the Eternal; but we know that the image; we were his glory, his delight; he relationships of earth expand and deepen that caused the balmy breath to breathe upon us, affection. Wherefore, then, the wrong ?-.

and outstretched a serene, cerulean canopy whence the sin ? “ Covetousness is idolatry." above; but we soon broke ourselves into a Why? Because, where it reigns, the love of million chaotic substances, and where once God cannot. But is it so with the tenderness reigned perfect beauty and unsullied love, of our hearts ? Oh, when we have been the nought was seen but disorder and impurity; most in communion with the Everlasting, then and where once arose the high hymn of praise, have we felt a more bursting, throbbing, un- issued the clashing of hoarse rebellion and the utterable fondness for wife and child and kins- defiance of an enemy. Ah, would not God men. Spirit! wilt thou shackle, wilt thou stoop and gather up the shattered being? had repress thy gushing attachments? Cherish, he no pity on that which he himself adorned cherish, them!

with so much grace and so much loveliness ? Pollok, too, has fallen into the error so com- Think you there was no yearning of the heart mon amongst us, that God saw nothing in over us-nothing in us to draw his attention human nature, when fallen, to move his love ; and regard? Yes, there was ; and in this very that we then became so corrupt and so pol- fact, that we were the creation of his own luted, that in us there was nothing which hands. True, we were despoiled, yet were bound and united us to the Creator. We were there relentings, and strivings, and utterings, sinful; we were a chaos of blasphemy, rebellion, and sighings after our pristine nature-we still impurity; we were as the broken cistern, and longed for our primeval condition: and God as the overthrown pillar. All this we acknow did gather up the broken fragments, and with ledge: we do well in so doing. But in this them made he a new man, fairer, and loftier, dim, black confusion, there were ever and anon and brighter than him who erst walked in streaks of a coming dawn, a breathing of life. Eden's garden amid its untainted sweets. giving winds : amidst all this deep spiritual Again, look on earth. Hast thou never seen, degeneracy, there was ever and anon some hast thou never heard of a love which has thought arising to the Creator ; some inquiry stood unquenched and undimmed amid the how could man be just with God: amidst this severest rebuffs and the cruellest desertion? clashing of interests, there was ever and anon Hast thou never seen it in one who, after some true and mighty principle struggling into giving her all of happiness and her all of being being, some rays of the Divine. There were into the hands of the man who promised to moments when man was sick of guilt, and cherish for ever, has been left desolate and pined for purity; when he knelt himself down alone; and who thus, left to pine in her cold upon some sea-rock, and as the sun came burst- and cheerless dwelling, has still loved on; and ing forth in all his magnificence upon the wide amid all his brutal and unfeeling conduct, hast ocean, prayed for something higher and some- thou not beheld her clinging with a fonder and thing holier; when he wept over sin ; when he a tenderer affection? We see, we hear it daily. mourned his iniquity. If this were not the It is true, that he whom she loves is ungenerous case, what means the poet of antiquity in his and unkind; but she loves him for what once fine majestic hymn to the Supreme, exclaiming, he was. The days that are past, and in wh

were seen his smile and thrilling tenderness, and in which was heard the liquid language of his lips, often return; nay, they are ever with her : and for what he was then—for his gentleness, his affection, his kindness, does she love him now—will she cleave to him for ever!

And if this sublime affection is found, and found often, in the creature, shall it not be found in the Creator? Can he not love us for what once we were ? May he not gaze on those peaceful hours, and that unruffled quietude, and that undisturbed repose,

which some thousands of years back awoke the happiness of the first pair? Is the hymn of Eden forgotten ? Is the promise of everlasting love and everlasting truth, though broken, unremembered ? Is the purity and the bliss that once reigned there unrecorded ?

The human spirit, blasted as it is by the east wind, and burnt up by the scorching sun, and eaten into by the worm, still loves an object for its past beauty and its past truth; and shall not the Holy One, who is said to be love, regard us with affection for what once we were: Was there no tie between us-nothing in us which moved his heart? no breathings that touched, no relentings which melted ? no aspirations after good ? no cries after perfection no strivings to bring back the lost relationship? Oh, there was a light gleaming on our darkness like the darting forth of a sun-ray upon the billowy and surging ocean when heaving beneath a black, brooding storm! This was enough; the clouds could be rolled away, and the deep and perilous waters become gently rippling under the fair, clear heavens.

To return. A few quotations from the Course of Time, and we have done. The fol. lowing, on the abode of the wicked, is one of the most powerful and terrific in the volume. When our poet came to depict the dark scenery of the world woe, he seemed to lose all strength; he felt that he was treading on the same ground with Milton and Dante; he trembled lest he should be found wanting ; he tried to write, but could not; he swept the lyre, but no sound was emitted; he touched again, but still no strain,-all thoughts seemed too poor, all paintings too dull: his imagination failed – his faculties gave way. The hour was eventide-the time for solemn fancies ; these departed, none were within call. Inspiration left, hope fled, energy reeled, darkness came; the stars were quenched in blackness; and then did Pollok cast himself upon his knees, and prayed for the assistance of the Supreme. He retired to rest : in the slumbers of the night he dreamed; hell was disclosed; we have the vision:

There neither eye, nor ear, nor any sense
Of being most acute, finds object; there
For aught external still you search in vain.
Try touch, or sight, or smell; try what you will,
You strangely find nought but yourself alone.
But why should I in words attempt to tell
What that is like, which is and yet is not?
This past, my path descending, led me still
O'er unclaimed continents of desert gloom
Immense, where gravitation, shifting, turns
The other way; and to some dread, unknown,
Infernal centre downwards weighs: and now,
Far travelled from the edge of darkness, far
As from that glorious mount of God, to light's
Remotest limb, dire sights I saw, dire sounds
I heard; and suddenly, before my eye
A wall of fiery adamant sprung up:
Wall, mountainous, tremendous, flaming high
Above all flight of hope. I paused and looked;
And saw, where'er I looked upon that mound,
Sad figures traced in fire, not motionless,
But imitating life. One I remarked
Attentively; but how shall I describe
What nought resembles else my eye hath seen ?
Of worm or serpent kind it something looked,
But monstrous, with a thousand snaky heads,
Eyed each with double orbs of glaring wrath;
And with as many tails, that twisted out
In horrid revolution, tipped with stings;
And all its mouths, that wide and darkly gaped,
And breathed most poisonous breath, had each a sting,
Forked and long and venomous, and sharp ;
And in its writhings infinite, it grasped,
Malignantly, what seemed a heart, swollen, black,
And quivering with torture most intense;
And still the heart, with anguish throbbing high,
Made effort to escape, but could not; for,
Howe'er it turned--and oft it vainly turned
These complicated foldings held it fast.
And still the monstrous beast, with sting of head
Or tail transpierced it, bleeding evermore.
What this could image, much I searched to know;
And while I stood and gazed, and wondered long,
A voice, from whence I knew not, for no one
I saw, distinctly whispered in my ear
These words: “This is the worm that never dies."

Fast by the side of this unsightly thing
Another was portrayed, more hideous still;
Who sees it once, shall wish to see't no more :
For ever undescribed let it remain !
Only this much I may or can unfold:
Far out it thrust a dart, that might have made
The knees of terror quake, and on it hung,
Within the triple barbs, a being, pierced
Through soul and body both. Of heavenly make
Original the being seemed, but fallen,
And worn and wasted with enormous woe.
And still around the everlasting lance
It writhed convulsed, and uttered mimic groans:
And tried and wished, and ever tried and wished
To die : but could not die. Oh! horrid sight!
I trembling gazed, and listened, and heard this voice
Approach my ear: “ This is eternal death."

Nor these alone: upon that burning wall In horrible emblazonry, were limned All shapes, all forms, all modes of wretchedness, And agony, and grief, and desperate woe. And prominent in characters of fire, Where'er the eye could light, these words you read, “Who comes this way behold, and fear to sin!” Amazed I stood ; and thought such imagery Foretokened within a dangerous abode. But yet to see the worst, a wish arose: For Virtue, by the holy seal of God, Accredited and stamped, immortal all, And all invulnerable, fears no hurt. As easy as my wish, as rapidly, I through the horrid rampart pass'd, unscathed And unopposed; and, poised on steady wing, I hovering gazed. Eternal Justice ! Sons Of God! tell me, if you can tell, what then I saw-what then I heard ! Wide was the place, And deep as wide, and ruinous as deep. Beneath, I saw a lake of burning fire, With tempest tossed perpetually; and still The waves of fiery darkness 'gainst the rocks Of dark damnation broke, and music made Of melancholy sort; and overhead And all around, wind warred with wind, storm howled To storm, and lightning, forked-lightning crossed,

Equipped and bent for heaven, I left yon world, My native seat, which scarce your eye can reach, Rolling around her central sun, far out On utmost verge of light: but first to see What lay beyond the visible creation, Strong curiosity my flight impelled. Long was my way, and strange. I passed the bounds Which God doth set to light, and life, and love ; Where darkness meets with day-where order meets Disorder, dreadful, waste, and wild; and down The dark, eternal, uncreated night Ventured alone. Long, long on rapid wing I sailed through empty, nameless regions vast, Where utter Nothing dwells, unformed and void.

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And thunder answered thunder,-muttering sounds shadow forth all that is enchanting, and grace-
Of sullen wrath, and far as sight could pierce,
Or down descend in caves of hopeless depth,

ful, and even magnificent in nature, which Through all that dungeon of unfading fire,

bring before us the grandeur of the ever-rolling I saw most miserable beings walk,

universe, which present the sublime principles Burning continually, yet unconsumed ;

of Jehovah's kingly government, which sing of For ever wasting, yet enduring still ; Dying perpetually, yet never dead.

redemption's glory; but none in which we find Some wandered lonely in the desert flames,

such signs of gigantic imagination. We are, And some, in fell encounter, fiercely met,

indeed, melted to woman's tenderness by his With curses loud and blasphemous, that made

sketches of home's unsullied worth; we feel The cheek of darkness pale; and as they fought And cursed, and gnashed their teeth, and wished to die, acutely his notes of woe; Their hollow eyes did utter streams of woe.

blingly alive to their every sigh of sorrow; we And there were groans that ended not, and sighs are ravished with his song of Mount Zion, and That always sighed, and tears that ever wept,

the undisturbed serenity of that fair land: but And ever fell, but not in Mercy's sight. And Sorrow, and Repentance, and Despair

in this we feel an awful dread; it, as it were, Among them walked; and to their thirsty lips

brings us to the very brink of the pit, not Presented frequent cups of burning gall.

edged with moss, and amaranths, and wild And as I listened, I heard these beings curse

violets, but with the loathsome nettle and Almighty God, and curse the Lamb, and curse The earth, the resurrection morn; and seek,

poisonous hemlock; and we almost hear its And ever vainly seek, for utter death!

wailings and weepings—everlasting weepings, And to their everlasting anguish still,

everlasting wailings. The thunders from above responding spoke These words, which, through the caverns of perdition

Not that we agree with Pollok in the truth Forlornly echoing, fell on every ear:

of his description do we thus admire the sketch ; “ Ye knew your duty, but ye did it not.”

we rather believe the agony to be mental, and And back again recoiled a deeper groan:

not physical. Were we to describe that abode, A deeper groan! oh, what a groan was that! I waited not, but swift on speediest wing,

we would cast around it every manifestation of With unaccustomed thoughts conversing, back

God's love, and God's tenderness, and God's Retraced my venturous path from dark to light.

care; we would give the gentle dew, and the

myriad flowers, and the luxuriant trees, and Horrible description this, and yet it was the the soft, purling streams, and the quiet solione that gained our childish heart; we have tudes, and the million stars, and the resplendent loved him ever since that hour. We well re

sun, and the heaving, swelling, rolling ocean, member it: we were sitting in a holy home and and islands, beautiful and bright, and cool even: beneath a blessed roof when the dark picture tides, and fresh-scented dawns, and music on visioned itself in characters of woe; we had every breeze, and birds empurpled and silvered never heard such deep, wild notes before. Our with gorgeous plumage, and cattle on a thouaffections were once and for ever fixed; he sand hills,” and the lowing of the kine, and the became dearer than a brother; our enthusiasm melodies of copses, and roads winding along was immense ; we read, and read, and never

green, grassy valleys, and up the sides of tower tired. In the loveliest scenes of creation we

ing mountains; and there should be the bee would talk of Pollok ; in the sweetest even- and butterfly, and all the sights and sounds of tides, when buttercups and daisies flowered the creation ; and their cities should be built of the meadows with beauty, we conversed about our sapphire stone, the emerald, and the amethyst, poet; he was ever new, ever enchanting; he and their palaces “ bastioned with pyramids of filled the whole horizon of our thoughts-he glowing gold ;” and all should be magnificent influenced every faculty as a mighty spell ; with excessive light. But we would gratify even at this moment, 'we_feel the subduing every unholy passion—every impure lust; no witchery of that season. But the passage is, restraint should be there. We would give perhaps, the most powerful in the volume, and them up to do their own wills and their own its intrinsic merits, without any associations, desires; there should be war, and minstrelsy, are great: bard never sketched a darker scene, and dancing; and lasciviousness should play not even he who wrote the immortal line- her part; and cruelty should sit enthroned, and “Abandon every hope, all ye that enter!” all good should depart, and all hallowed feeling

Pollok's description places him in a strong be for ever banished. They should feel con. light. There may be others, wearing the robe scious that they were without God, aliens from of beauty, and scented with rose and hawthorn; his blessed family; and they should work every there may be others, whose sweet and silver evil work; and some would love, and some intonations may please us better, and whose would loathe: charity there would be nonemusic is more in accordance with the loves, tenderness there would be none-peace there and memories, and hopes of our nature; but would be none: there should be strife, and disthere is none which exhibits so strikingly the cord, and everlasting misery, and eternal tormassy, sinewy, and mighty soul of the author; ture!

there are others, doubtless, over which we But we turn to a fairer scene-a scene of linger with dewy eye, and whose soft cadences early love :and delicious warblings remind us of all that

It was an eve of autumn's holiest mood; is lovely, and pure, and hallowed on earth;

The corn-fields, bathed in Cynthia's silver light, whose descriptions are full of creation's fairest

Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand, flowers, and most resplendent gems, and deep- And all the winds slept soundly. Nature seemed, est quietudes, and holiest calms, and most

In silent contemplation, to adore

Its Maker. Now and then, the aged leaf unruffled peace, and blessed domestic joys ; Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground; but there is none which displays our poet And, as it fell, bade man think on his end. in loftier greatness ;—there are others which On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high,

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With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly Thought And yet there are some who deem it manly Conversing with itself. Vesper looked forth

to scoff at these divine feelings. Shall the From out her western hermitage, and smiled; And up the east, unclouded, rode the moon,

holiest ties be trifled with ? If the spirit loves, With all her stars, gazing on earth intense,

there is increase of happiness; there is sweeter As if she saw some wonder walking there.

sunlight; there is softer felicity; there is more Such was the night, so lovely, still, serene, When, by a hermit thorn that on the hill

melting bliss ; there is the exaltation of every Had seen a hundred flowery ages pass,

faculty; there is the enthronement of every A damsel kneeled, to offer up her prayer

beautiful reality. Love is too sublime to be Her prayer nightly offered, nightly heard.

made the subject of our sport: make ourselves This ancient thorn had been the meeting place Of love, before his country's voice had called

merry with it :-shame on manhood! It is a The ardent youth to fields of honour, far

solemn and a sacred thing: the mind which Beyond the wave; and hither now repaired,

trifles with the theme is lowered in our estimaNightly, the maid, by God's all-seeing eye Seen only, while she sought this boon alone

tion; it is the sign of a thoughtless heart. Her lover's safety and bis quick return.

That which is the nearest approach to the In holy humble attitude she kneeled,

Divinity, that which ennobles the intellectAnd to her bosom, fair as moonbeam, pressed

that which expands and elevates the whole One band, the other lifted up to heaven. Her eye, upturned, bright as the star of morn,

moral being - that which dignifies the soul As violet meek, excessive ardour streamed,

that which renders creation more exquisitely Wafting away her earnest heart to God.

beautiful, and gives a deeper tinge to its waters, Her voice, scarce uttered, soft as zephyr sighs

and a deeper blue to its skies, and more mag. On morning lily's cheek, though soft and low, Yet heard in heaven, heard at the mercy-seat.

nificent tints to its rising and its setting suns, A tear-drop wandered on her lovely face;

and envelopes every form and shape of nature It was a tear of faith and holy fear,

in a more spirit-like loveliness, and makes every Pure as the drops that hang at dawning time, On yonder willows, by the stream of life.

flower and every tree breathe out a more melli. On her the moon looked steadfastly; the stars,

fluous hymn-that which renders home worthy That circle nightly round the eternal throne,

of heaven—that from which the Eternal draws Glanced down, well pleased; and everlasting love to describe his own feelings and his own emoGave gracious audience to her prayer sincere.

tions towards the children of this estranged O had her lover seen her thus alone, Thus holy, wrestling thus, and all for him!

orb--shall it excite our merriment? Nor did he not; for ofttimes Providence,

We rejoice when the spirit of man loves ; With unexpected joy, the fervent prayer

for it is then bracing itself with vigour, and Of faith surprised. Returned from long delay With glory crowned of righteous actions won,

clothing itself with power ; it

the commenceThe sacred thorn, to memory dear, first sought

ment of a diviner existence. We speak not of The youth, and found it at the happy hour,

sickly sentimentalism; that we know not. Ah, Just when the damsel kneeled herself to pray.

it commands our reverence when, in the deep Wrapped in devotion, pleading with her Ġod, She saw him not, heard not his foot approach.

solitude of our bosom, we muse over its characAll holy images seemed too impure

ter and hallowed bearings : its influence is To emblem her he saw. A seraph kneeled,

genial as a sunbeam, and yet gigantic as the Beseeching for his ward, before the throne, [thought! Seemed fittest, pleased him best. Sweet was the

vast swellings of eternity. It may be, and But sweeter still the kind remembrance came,

doubtless is, the fashion among a certain class That she was flesh and blood, formed for himself, to trifle with its blessedness. Let it be so; it The plighted partner of his future life.

has taught us a holier lesson. We may be And as they met, embraced, and sat, embowered In woody chambers of the starry night,

alone in our view; and yet we are not alone: Spirits of love about them ministered,

the celestial hierarchy is with us, the Deity And God, approving, blessed the holy joy!

himself is with us, all heaven-the beautiful

and glorious heaven-is with us. “God is Poets have been accused of painting life love.' Trifle, then, with love? It was love fairer than it is: their colours, it is thought, which made the universe, and cast therein her have been too bright and beautiful. And on million stars; it was love which created man: no other subject have they been questioned so ah! it was love that when that being had erred much as upon their delineation of the affections. and strayed far out into the wild, wintry desert We cannot say that we have any sympathy of sin, brought him back again to the fold and with such complaints; we doubt very much family of God. The Omnipotent sits on the if the tints have been too glowing: to our throne of love ; his sovereignty is a rule of love; minds, the rays of heaven have not fallen too his presence is the perfection of love. Love strongly : their sketches are not flower-scented beams in every flower, and glitters in every and sunlit enough; they do not reach the re- dewdrop. The vast canopy of day whispers of ality. The throbbing emotion, the bursting love-its clouds, its showers, its rainbows all soul, the keen sensibility, the rich silence, the breathe out love. Even the storm, which beats tender glance, the rapturous countenance, the so loudly against our windows, and the hurribeaming expression, the soft, dream-like pres- cane which lashes the ocean into fury, tell of sure, the hallowed embrace, the deep thrilling love. Love is everywhere; it pervades all existlanguage, the undisturbed and profound peace, ence; it is the highest, holiest, divinest essence. the gathering together of all regard around one But take another note of woe ; it is the poet's object, the gentle clinging, the sweet depend. humour, not ours :-ence, the sheltering under the wing of love, the vast stretchings into infinitude, the union For she we lost was lovely, and we loved

Our sighs were numerous, and profuse our tears, of spirit-oh, what pencil can shadow these in Her much. Fresh in her memory, as fresh all their fulness and unutterable blessedness ? As yesterday, is yet the day she died: The heart is higher, and loftier, and holier

It was an April day; and blithely all than the intellect.

The youth of nature leaped beneath the sun,
And promised glorious manhood; and our hearts

Were glad, and round them danced the lightsome blood,
In healthy merriment, when tidings came

CHRISTOPHER SMART.
A child was born; and tidings came again,
That she who gave it birth was sick to death :
So swift trode sorrow on the heels of joy!

Genius, it would seem, from past and preWe gathered round her bed, and bent our knees

sent experience, is subject to manifold changes: In fervent supplication to the Throne Of mercy, and perfumed our prayers with sighs

to-day prosperous, to-morrow in adversity, apSincere, and penitential tears, and looks

pears to be the portion of great intellectual Of self-abasement; but we sought to stay

power.

While moral worth triumphs over An angel on the earth, a spirit ripe

every sullen circumstance, and bends it to its Por heaven; and Mercy, in her love, refused: Most merciful, as oft, when seeming least !

own advantage, intellectual is the sport and prey Most gracious, when she seemed the most to frown! of every passing breath; it has not in itself The room I well remember and the bed

the might to quell each storm, and to disperse On which she lay, and all the faces, too, That crowded dark and mournfully around.

each tempest-cloud ; nor can it endure for any Her father there and mother, bending stood;

length of time the bright radiant sunshine of And down their aged cheeks fell many drops

favour, without suffering for it in the loss of Of bitterness. Her husband, too, was there,

strength and power. And brothers, and they wept; her sisters, too, Did weep, and sorrow comfortless; and I,

Moral greatness renders exalted the man, Too, wept, though not to weeping given; and all

and gives him that whereby he is able to bend Within the house was dolorous and sad.

all things to his will ; intellectual raises, but This I remember well; but better still

gives no such talisman. Moral greatness en1 do remember, and will ne'er forget, The dying eye! That eye alone was bright,

nobles the creature, assimilates him to the And brighter grew as nearer death approached:

Supreme, places him in a region where the As I have seen the gentle little flower

sky is never clouded, and the heavens never Look fairest in the silver beam which fell

dark ; intellectual, makes the spirit like some Reflected from the thunder-cloud that soon Came down, and o'er the desert scattered far

majestic vessel upon a tossing, surging ocean, And wide its loveliness. She made a sign

without ballast, and without pilot. To bring her babe: 'twas brought, and by her placed ; Great intellect requires greater moral prinShe looked upon its face, that neither smiled, Nor wept, nor knew who gazed upon't, and laid

ciple, and this has rarely been found in our Her hand upon its little breast, and sought

gigantic men ; subject to more than ordinary For it, with look that seemed to penetrate

temptations, they necessarily need more than The heavens, unutterable blessings, such As God to dying parents only granted,

ordinary piety. What wonder, then, that so For infants left behind them in the world.

many have been guilty of excesses which sully “God keep my child!” we heard her say, and heard their glorious names ? No more The Angel of the Covenant

Christopher Smart does not, in any degree, Was come, and faithful to his promise, stood

lessen the truth of these remarks ; his history Prepared to walk with her through death's dark vale. And now her eyes grew bright, and brighter still,

tends rather to confirm them: he was born Too bright for ours to look upon, suffused

at Shipbourne, in Kent, on the 11th of April, With many tears, and closed without a cloud.

1722; during his boyhood his father died, They set as sets the morning star, which goes Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides

but, through the kind assistance of some inObscured among the tempest of the sky,

fluential friends, he was entered at Pembroke But melts away into the light of heaven.

College, Cambridge: ah, how often do we We have, in our quotations, chosen passages

think of his perturbed and broken spirit when of a pensive cast, because they are more in ac

pacing its venerable courts. In his twentycordance with the spirit of our poet. There are

third year he obtained a fellowship, and soon but few hymns of joy in the volume. In this

afterwards became a candidate for the Seahe is the most perfect contrast to Cowper that

tonian prize, in which he was five times sucwe have. Cowper loves the beautiful of cre

cessful. ation : Pollok, its sullen grandeur ;-Cowper

The poems thus produced would not have delights to dwell on mercy: Pollok, on ven

bestowed immortality on Smart: though there geance ;-Cowper lingers over the green slopes are a few striking lines, yet, upon the whole, of the heavenly paradise : Pollok, over the they are anything but true poetry: dreary and dismal plains of woe ;-Cowper's

In 1753,

he resigned his fellowship, and marvoice is like the mellow tones of the lute: ried Miss Carnan. From that time his former Pollok's, like the broken sounds of the muffled imprudence became more striking; but what can drum;-Cowper speaks of the clear blue sky, and

we say when insanity was already in the brain ? singing of birds: Pollok, of the loweringthunder- His is a strange story of poverty, unhappiness, storm, darkening the whole hemisphere into and disease. We desire not to enter into details; gloom ;-Cowper reminds one of the tenderness over sorrow we would ever draw the veil. He, of Jesus, and the sunlight radiance of eternal indeed, seemed to have some saner moments, love: Pollok, of the stern mandates of Mount but are we quite sure that even in these there Sinai, and the awful claims of incensed justice;

was no lurking delirium -no concealed mad-Cowper is the silver chime of peace and

ness? plenty : Pollok, the solemn knell of the dying song to David. Part of it was indented, by

Smart's most remarkable production is his and the lost.

a key, upon the walls of his prison, where he was confined for debt. It has some tame passages, but as a whole, it is a great and sublime hymn; some few of its stanzas are inimitable; it has no parallel in the language. A grandeur and a splendour characterize this magnificent production. Smart mostly wrote upon his

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