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NIGHT. THE day is gone to rest-encroaching Night Breathes froin his gloomy caverns, drear and chill, His noisonne vapours—and the stars are bright, And Cynthia's crescent tips the giant bill; Who, at such hour, when Nature all is still, Would curb the license, of his active thought, Or on the downy conch bis limbs compose, Or barter his excursive mind for aught That in Golconda's mines resplendent glows, Or down the eddying tide of fashion's vortex flows. There is a majesty in Night, that awes The soul, and checks the wildness of desire: That round the heart a curtained stillness draws, And foods the bosom with poetic fire : Bids the excursive mind expand, aspire To things disdaining earth, allied to Heaven, . Bursting the precincts of coercive fate, By Fancy's soaring power's resistless driven. Raising aloft man's low, degrading state, From passion, slander, pride, revenge, and deadly hate. Even such a scene does now my soul possess, As upward turned to heaven my youthful eye: There, worlds on worlds the Power Supreme confess, Clustering with lights the unpillared canopy: Whilst gazing thus on Night's instructive sky, I search my bosom, commune, muse alone, Contrast with it my life's contracted span, What lingers yet. And how the past has flown ! Revere the Almighty's irreversive plan, And think how abject, poor, forlorn, and impotent is
man! Yet, as the spring, which now to life restores Myriads of beings, and dull Torpor warms, Through nature's veins a fuller current pours, And winter's icy fangs of power disarms, Whilst buds renascent put forth all their charms, Man's soul, pure essence! shall its coil disdain When o'er the clay Death shall bis mantle fling, And uncontrolled its fields of azure gain, Where higher cares superior pleasures bring, And joys supernal bloom in heaven's unfading spring.
Even in these thoughts, a place can Phylé find,
her heart. April 10th, 1819.
PASTOR. M. Yks.
ELEGIAC STANZAS, Supposed to be Written by a Person, on returning (after a
long absence) to his Native Place. DELIGHTFUL village! Scene of all the joys,
Which the glad moments of my childhood told; Where, far from care and busy cities' noise, ....
My youthful days in calm contentment roll'd; . Once more I view thy daisy-broidered plain,
Crowned by the woody tuft, and thorny brake; The verdant meadow path, and shady lane,
Where we our evening's walk were'wont to take. 'Twas here, beneath a parent's fostering eye,
The tear of pity learnt, unchecked, to flow, My infant breast, to heave compassion's sigh,
At the sad story of another's woe. At foot of yonder gently-swelling hill,
O’er whose delightful'side the lambkins bound, There Aows a melancholy bubbling rill,
That spreads a rich fertility around." There 'twas in infancy I loved to play,
As, shaded from the mid-day's sultry beam, In joyous sport I chased the hours away.
And launched my little shallop in the stream. Tbere too, when infant sports had ceased to please,
And childhood gave the palm to riper days, On the warm, mossy bank, reclined at ease,
I tuned to sylvan lyre my plaintive lays.
O blissful days! alas! for ever fled--
Lured by ambition's specious baits astray, I left one morn, at dawn, my humble bed,
And wandered from my native fields away. Enthusiastic ardour fired my brain,
With eager haste I sought the tented field ;--- . I longed to tread Bellona's bloody plain,
And, 'gainst her foes, my country's sword to wield. 'But ah! In vain I left my father's cot,
O'er distant fields and provinces to roam;
And oft I cast a mournful thought.vn home.
y a sigh my bursting bosom heaved. When couched upon the soldier's rugged bed,
To think that I ambition's tale believed.
Bid the tired soldier sheath his bloody brand :
And hastened to review my native land. Hither I came, and to the well known place,
In joyous hope and fond emotion hied; Thinking to feel my father's warm embrace,
And hear him bless the truant, ere he died. But ab! His eyes are closed, their lustre gone! - For ever mute the accents of his tougue! 'Tis cold---that face, where fond affection stone,
On whose love-beaming look my comfurt hung. No son shed o'er thy grave affection's tear,
On no kind friend thy dying head reposed; False, venal mourners decked thy humble bier,
By venal mourners were thy eyelids closed. Forsaken by his only, darling boy,
His aged heart cuuld not endure the stroke; But stripped of every sublunary joy,
A prey to melancholy dire---it broke! 'Twas from the mouth of yonder hollow dell,
Through whose dark shade the rippling waters play, I bade my native cot a sad farewell,
And hastened forward on my luckless way.
As then, the chimes still merrily resound,
And call the peasant to the harvest field;
The jasmines still their grateful fragrance yield. There, on the green, the modest cottage stands,
The same, as when I breathed my parting sigh; Save that the woodbine planted by my hands,
llas reared its lovely branches far on high." Still, o'er yon tall cascade the waters roar,
Still, on yon ivied roof, the red-breast sings; Still, v'er yon stream, the swallow loves to soar,
And in its glassy wave to wet bis wings. All is the same---save in this wretched heart,
Which once was free from every grief and care; But now, a prey to agonizing smart,
Ao ray of joy shall ever enter there.
When 'neath the wave had sunk the glorious sun, My daily task, and school employment o’er,
Joyful to meet my father, would I run. There would he sit, and into my young mind
Instil the principles of sacred truth; And with his arm upon my neck reclined,
Teach precepts for the guidance of my youth. And then, with lifted hands and streaming eyes,
Would 'silently breathe forth his ardent prayers, That his loved son to honoured rank might riše,
Avd prove a blessing to his hoary hairs. 'Neall yon green sod thy mortal body lies,
There will I go and ease my throbbing breast; Whilst thy dear soul, ascended to the skies,
Is gone to seek a long, eternal l'est.
And memory recal thy tender love;
I fly to join thee in the realms above.
GONNEK. LINES WRITTEN BY MOON-LIGHT.
HERE, by the moon's soft, silvery light,
Who has not marked the morning rise,
Till one wild storm the whole pervades.