"Perhaps," says Dobson," so it might, "But latterly I've lost my sight!" "This is a shocking tale, 'tis true, "But still there's comfort left for you; "Each strives your sadness to amuse, "I warrant you hear all the news." "There's none," cries he, "and if there were, "I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.” "Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined, "These are unjustifiable yearnings ;" "If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, "You've had your three sufficient warnings; "So come along! aq more we'll part," He said; and touched him with his dart : And now old Dobson, turning pale, Yields to his fate!So ends my tale. EXTRACTS FROM SOME OF OUR MOST ADMIRED POETS. SPENSER. FROM AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE. O THOU most blessed Spirit, pure lampe of light, Rouze, lift thyself, O earth, out of thy soyle, In which thou wallow'st like to filthy swine, That thou His soveraigne bounty maist behold, Begin from first where He encradled was In simple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hay, Between the toylefull oxe and humble asse, And in what rags, and in how base array The glory of our heavenly riches lay, When Him the silly shepheards came to see, Whom greatest princes sought on lowest knee. From thence read on the story of His life, His humble carriage, His unfaulty waies, His cancred foes, His fights, His toyle, His strife, His pains, His poverty, His sharp assays, Through which he past His miserable dayes, Offending none, and doing good to all, Yet being malic'd both of great and small. And look at last, how of most wretched wights He taken was, betray'd, and false accused, How with most scornful taunts, and fell despights He was revil'd, disgrac'd, and foul abused, How scourg'd, how crown'd, how buffeted, how brused; And, lastly, how 'twixt robbers crucifide, Then let thy flinty heart, that feels no pain, And let thy bosom bleed in ev'ry vein At sight of His most sacred heav'nly corse Melt into tears, and grone in grieved thought. With sense whereof, whilst so thy softned spirit Lift up thy mind to the Author of thy weal, Learn Him to love that loved thee so dear, FROM AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY BEAUTY. HUMBLED with fear and awful reverence, For fear lest, if He chance to look on thee, But lowly fall before His Mercy-seat, More firm and durable than steel or brass, pass. His sceptre is the rod of righteousness, With which he bruseth all his foes to dust, And the great dragon strongly doth repress, Under the rigour of his judgment just; His seat is truth, to which the faithful trust, From whence proceed her beams so pure and bright, That all about Him sheddeth glorious light. With the great glory of that wond'rous light Thunder, and lightning, and tempestuous fire, But unto all He daily doth display, And shew himself in th' image of His grace, His glorious face, which glistereth else so bright Ah, then, my hungry soul! which long hast fed |