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patiently invoked, should put an end to the miseries of a life so deplorably wretched. In this sad situation I espied on one hand of me a deep muddy river, whose heavy waters rolled on in slow sullen murmurs. Here I determined to plunge, and was just upon the brink, when I found myself suddenly drawn back. I turned about, and was surprised by the sight of the loveliest object I had ever beheld. The most engaging charms of youth and beauty appeared in all her form; effulgent glories sparkled in her eyes, and their awful splendors were softened by the gentlest looks of compassion and peace. At her approach, the frightful spectre, who had before tormented me, vanished away; and with her all the horrors she had caused. The gloomy clouds brightened into cheerful sunshine, the groves recovered their verdure, and the whole region looked gay and blooming as the garden of Eden. I was quite transported at this unexpected change; and reviving pleasure began to glad my thoughts, when, with a look of inexpressible sweetness, my beauteous deliverer thus uttered her divine instructions:

“My name is Religion. I am the offspring of Truth and Love, and the parent of Benevolence, Hope, and Joy. That monster, from whose power I have freed you, is called Superstition; she is the child of Discontent, and her followers are Fear and Sorrow. Thus different as we are, she has often the insolence to assume my name and character, and seduces unhappy mortals to think us the same, till she, at length, drives them to the borders of Despair, that dreadful abyss into which you were just going to sink.

“ Look round and survey the various beauties of the globe, which Heaven has destined for the seat of the human race, and consider whether a world thus exquisitely framed could be meant for the abode of misery and pain. For what end has the lavish hand of Providence diffused such innumerable objects of delight, but that all might rejoice in the privilege of existence, and be filled with gratitude to the beneficent Author of it? Thus to enjoy the blessings he has sent, is virtue and obedience; and to reject them merely as means of pleasure, is pitiable ignorance, or absurd perverseness. Infinite goodness is the source of created existence; the proper tendency of every rational being, from the highest order of raptured seraphs, to the meanest rank of man, is to rise incessantly from lower degrees of happiness to higher. They have each faculties assigned them for various orders of delights."

“What,” cried I, “is this the language of Religion? Does she lead her votaries through flowery paths, and bid them pass an unlaborious life? Where are the painful toils of virtue, the mor

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tifications of penitents, the self-denying exercises of saints and heroes?

“The true enjoyments of a reasonable being," answered she mildly, “ do not consist in unbounded indulgence, or luxurious ease; in the tumult of passions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of light amusements. Yielding to immoral pleasure corrupts the mind, living to animal and trifling ones debases it; both in their degree disqualify it for its genuine good, and consign it over to wretchedness. Whoever would be really happy, must make the diligent and regular exercise of his superior powers his chief attention, adoring the perfections of his Maker, expressing good-will to his fellow-creatures, and cultivating inward rectitude. To his lower faculties he must allow such gratifications as will, by refreshing him, invigorate his nobler pursuits. In the regions inhabited by angelic natures, unmingled felicity forever blooms, joy flows there with a perpetual and abundant stream, nor needs there any mound to check its course.

“ To him who is animated with a view of obtaining approbation from the Sovereign of the universe, no difficulty is insurmountable. Secure in this pursuit of every needful aid, his conflict with the severest pains and trials is little more than the vigorous exercise of a mind in health. His patient dependence on that Providence which looks through all eternity, his silent resignation, his ready accommodation of his thoughts and behavior to its inscrutable ways, is at once the most excellent sort of self-denial, and a source of the most exalted transports. Society is the true sphere of human virtue. In social, active life, difficulties will perpetually be met with; restraints of many kinds will be necessary; and studying to behave right in respect of these, is a discipline of the human heart, useful to others, and improving to itself. Suffering is no duty, but where it is necessary to avoid guilt, or to do good; nor pleasure a crime, but where it strengthens the influence of bad inclinations, or lessens the generous activity of virtue. The happiness allotted to man in his present state is indeed faint and low, compared with his immortal prospects, and noble capacities; but yet whatever portion of it the distributing hand of Heaven offers to each individual, is a needful support and refreshment for the present moment, so far as it may not hinder the attaining of his final destination.

“ Return then with me from continual misery to moderate enjoyment and grateful alacrity. Return from the contracted views of solitude to the proper duties of a relative and dependent being. Religion is not confined to cells and closets, nor restrained to sullen retirement. These are the gloomy doctrines of Superstition,

by which she endeavors to break those chains of benevolence and social affection that link the welfare of every particular with that of the whole. Remember that the greatest honor you can pay to the Author of your being is by such a cheerful behavior as discovers a mind satisfied with his dispensations.”

Here my preceptress paused, and I was going to express my acknowledgments for her discourse, when a ring of bells from the neighboring village, and a new-risen sun darting his beams through my windows, awakened me.

ODE TO WISDOM.

The solitary bird of night
Through the pale shades now wings his flight,

And quits the time-shook tower
Where, shelter'd from the blaze of day,
In philosophic gloom he lay

Beneath his ivy bower.
With joy I hear the solemn sound
Which midnight echoes waft around,

And sighing gales repeat:
Fav'rite of Pallas !! I attend,
And faithful to thy summons bend,

At Wisdom's awful seat.
She loves the cool, the silent eve,
Where no false shows of life deceive,

Beneath the lunar ray:
Here Folly drops each vain disguise,
Nor sports her gaily-color'd dyes

As in the glare of day.
0! Pallas, queen of every art
That glads the sense, or mends the heart,

Bless'd source of purer joys;
In every form of beauty bright,
That captivates the mental sight

With pleasure and surprise ;
To thine unspotted shrine I bow;
Assist thy modest suppliant's vow,

That breathes no wild desires :
But taught, by thy unerring rules,
To shun the fruitless wish of fools,

To nobler views aspires.
• Not fortune's gem, ambition's plume,
Not Cytherea's2 fading bloom,

Be objects of my prayer :

· Venus.

* Minerva, the goddess of wisdom.

Let avarice, vanity, and pride,
These glittering, envied toys divide,

The dull rewards of care :
To me thy better gifts impart,
Each moral beauty of the heart,

By studious thought refined:
For wealth, the smiles of glad content;
For power, its amplest, best extent,

An empire o'er my mind.
When fortune drops her gay parade,
When pleasure's transient roses fade,

And wither in the tomb,
Unchanged is thy immortal prize,
Thy ever-verdant laurels rise

In undecaying bloom.
By thee protected, I defy
The coxcomb's sneer, the stupid lie

Or ignorance and spite;
Alike contemn the leaden fool,
And all the pointed ridicule

or undiscerning wit.
From envy, hurry, noise, and strife,
The dull impertinence of life,

In thy retreat I rest;
Pursue thee to thy peaceful groves,
Where Plato's sacred spirit roves,

In all thy graces dress'd.
He bade Ilissus'' tuneful stream
Convey the philosophic theme

Of perfect, fair, and good :
Attentive Athens caught the sound,
And all her listening sons around

In awful silence stood.
Reclaim'd, her wild licentious youth
Confess'd the potent voice of truth,

And felt its just control;
The passions ceased their loud alarms,
And virtue's soft, persuasive charms

O er all their senses stole.
Thy breath inspires the poet's song,
The patriot's free unbiass'd tongue,

The liero's generous strife;
Thine are retirement's silent joys,
And all the sweet, endearing ties

Or still, domestic life!

* A small stream near Athens.

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No more to fabled names confined,
To thee, Supreme, All-perfect Mind,

My thoughts direct their flight;
Wisdom's thy gift, and all her force
From thee derived, unchanging source

Of intellectual light!
0! send her sure, her steady ray,
To regulate my doubtful way

Through life's perplexing road;
The mists of error to control,
And through its gloom direct my soul

To happiness and good!
Beneath her clear discerning eye,
The visionary shadows fly,

Of folly's painted show;
She sees, through every fair disguise,
That all, but virtue's solid joys,

Is vanity and woe.

Let avarice, vanity, and pride,
These glittering, envied toys divide,

The dull rewards of care:
To me thy better gists impart,
Each moral beauty of the heart,

By studious thought refined:
For wealth, the smiles of glad content;
For power, its amplest, best extent,

An empire o'er my mird.
When fortune drops her gay parade,
When pleasure's transient roses fade,

And wither in the tomb,
Unchanged is thy inmortal prize,
Thy ever-verdant laurels rise

In undecaying bloom.
By thee protected, I defy
The coxcomb's sneer, the stupid lie

Or ignorance and spite ;
Alike contemn the leaden fool,
And all the pointed ridicule

Of undiscerning wit.
From envy, hurry, noise, and strife,
The dull impertinence of life,

In thy retreat I rest;
Pursue thee to thy peaceful groves,
Where Plato's sacred spirit roves,

In all thy graces dress'd.
He bade lissus'' tuneful stream
Convey the philosophic theme

Of perfect, fair, and good :
Attentive Athens caught the sound,
And all her listening sons around

In awful silence stood.
Reclaim'd, her wild licentious youth
Confess'd the potent voice of truth,

And felt its just control;
The passions ceased their loud alarms,
And virtue's soft, persuasive charms

Oer all their senses stole.
Thy breath inspires the poet's song,
The patriot's free unbiass'd tongue,

The hero's generous strife;
Thine are retirement's silent joys,
And all the sweet, endearing ties

HENRY KIRKE WHITE, 1785-1806.

“Unhappy White! while life was in its spring,

And thy young Muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep forever there. Oh! what a noble heart was here undone, When science' self destroyed her favorite son! Yes! she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, She sowed the seeds--but death has reaped the fruit. 'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low : So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart That wing'd the shast that quiverd in his heart: Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nurs'd the pinion which impell’d the steel; While the same plumage that had warm'd his nesto Drank the last life-lrop of his bleeding breast."

So sang Lord Byron of that most gifted youth, Henry Kirke White, whose sincere and ardent piety was equalled only by his genius, his learning, and his uncommon ardor in the pursuit of knowledge. Had Byron possessed the moral and Christian principles of him whom he thus most beautifully eulogizes, what English poet would have stood before him-what one

Of still, domestic life!

A small stream near Athens.

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