I. . Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme With self-rewarding toil, thus far have sung Of godlike deeds, far loftier than beseem The lyre which I in early days have strung: And now my spirit's faint, and I have hung The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour, On the dark cypress! and the strings which rung With Jesus' praise, their harpings now are o'er, Or, when the breeze comes by, moan and are heard no more. And must the harp of Judah sleep again? And this slight boon would consecrate to thee, Ere I with Death shake hands, and smile that I am free. LINES WRITTEN ON A SURVEY OF THE IN THE MORNING BEFORE DAYBREAK. YE many twinkling stars, who yet do hold Of night's dominions!-Planets, and central orbs Of boundless space, above the rolling spheres The angelic hosts, in their inferior Heaven, Hymn to the golden harps his praise sublime, Repeating loud, "The Lord our God is great," In varied harmonies.-The glorious sounds Roll o'er the air serene-The Æolian spheres, Harping along their viewless boundaries, Catch the full note, and cry, "The Lord is great,' Responding to the Seraphim. O'er all. Oh! 'tis this heavenly harmony which now Oh! what is man, when at ambition's height, What even are kings, when balanced in the scale Of these stupendous worlds! Almighty God! Thou, the dread author of these wondrous works! Say, canst thou cast on me, poor passing worm, One look of kind benevolence?-Thou canst: For Thou art full of universal love, And in thy boundless goodness wilt impart Oh! when reflecting on these truths sublime, How insignificant do all the joys, The gauds, and honours of the world appear! How vain ambition! Why has my wakeful lamp Outwatch'd the slow-paced night?-Why on the page, The schoolman's labour'd page, have I employ'd The loss of health? or can the hope of glory eye, Say, foolish one-can that unbodied fame, For which thou barterest health and happiness, Say, can it soothe the slumbers of the grave? Give a new zest to bliss, or chase the pangs Of everlasting punishment condign? Alas! how vain are mortal man's desires! How fruitless his pursuits! Eternal God! Guide thou my footsteps in the way of truth, And oh! assist me so to live on earth, That I may die in peace, and claim a place In thy high dwelling.—All but this is folly, The vain illusions of deceitful life. LINES SUPPOSED TO BE SPOKEN BY A LOVER AT THE GRAVE OF HIS MISTRESS. OCCASIONED BY A SITUATION IN A ROMANCE. MARY, the moon is sleeping on thy grave, Thy whisper'd tale of comfort and of love, When o'er the barren moors the night wind howl'd, Thou on the lambent lightnings wild careering Betwixt the hollow pauses of the storm, Spirit of her! My only love! O! now again arise, [ing And let once more thine aëry accents fall |