Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.
O then renounce that impious self-esteem,
That aims to trace the secrets of the skies ;
For thou art but of dust; be humble, and be wise.
FROM THE PLEASURES OF HOPE.
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh,
It is a dread and awful thing to die!
Mysterious worlds untravelled by the sun!
Where time's far wandering tide has never run;
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.
"Tis heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud!
While nature hears, with terror-mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
And like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod
The roaring waves, and called upon his God,
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss.
Daughter of faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
Melt and dispel, ye spectre doubts that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul !
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o'er-the pangs of nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill.-
When the sun is laid in his purple shroud
Bathed by the dews of the sea,
And the moon's pale light through her fleecy cloud,
Shines dimly over me;
In an hour so still the whispering sigh
Of winds breathed o'er the wave,
And to list to the sea bird's funeral cry,
Over the warrior's grave!
Are dearer to me, than the flaunting ray
The glorious sun shoots down
From his sapphire throne in the blaze of day,
Girt with the diamond crown.
O'er mountain and vale, o'er yon misty deep,
O'er man—the lord of all,
This balmiest hour hath poured her sleep,
And spread her drowsy pall.
Rise aspirations high,
Flung on the rocks, o'er the ceaseless roll,
Of dark immensity.
A blighted heart-and a sleepless eye,
May now step forth unseen,
And wake from their slumber its visions of joy,
On memory's pageant scene.
Each pinnacle crag seems a lordly tower,
Turret, and donjon fence,
And each hawthorn glade hath its roseate bowers
Though wisdom reprove it, let fancy's power
Still chain me to her throne;
Still dear to this heart be the evening hour,
And moonlight-all my own.
St Leon having ruined himself and family by gambling, seeks refuge for his wife and children in foreign countries, frequently enduring the most appalling calamities and distressing privations.
GODWIN'S HISTORY OF HIS TRAVELS.
TIME, Twilight.-SCENE, The interior of a Cottage.
The dreadful thunder storm at length is past;
May God forgive the doubtfulness that swept
In sinful murmurings through my troubled breast;
-I doubt not the benevolence of heaven!
(Looks out at a lattice.)
The gloomy clouds disperse along the sky,
And all is stillness in the open air;
I see again the mountain's lofty brow
Rising sublime above the forest-shades,
Distant from which, along the shore extends
The level ocean's yet unbroken blue.
When will the moon arise? Its silver smiles
Will soften down the terrors of the scene,
And safer light St Leon to his home.
(She goes to a lamp.)
How very pale this flickering lamp now burns;
Its yellow rays scarce reach the dusky floor,
Blending its mist and gloominess around;
It is indeed a melancholy sight!
An emblem, as 'tis said, of human hope
Suspended in our sepulchre of care.
Yet will I not repine-urged on by fate,
'Tis ours to wander thus from place to place,
Ruined-despised: the father hath undone
The offsprings of our love-the tempter's art
Ensnared him to lay waste in madd'ning zeal,
Their fortunes i' the world; so our wretched lives
We pine away in penance for the past-
Helpless and sad; and oft in silent night,
When tears bedew the pillow of my grief,
The voice of duty whispers in mine ear,
—I, as a mother, should be calm and firm ;
Meanwhile my children, with dejected mien,
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