The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold, No prodigy appear'd in earth or air, Nor aught that might a strange event declare. And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy: And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why. There would he wander wild, till Phœbus' beam, Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed, His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed By trap or net, by arrow, or by sling; These he detested, those he scorn'd to wield; He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king, And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield. Lo! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves Would Edwin this majestic scene resign Ah! no: he better knows great Nature's charms to prize. And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn, But lo! the Sun appears, and heaven, earth, ocean, smile. And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, And if a sigh would sometimes intervene, A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control. MORNING. But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild-brook babbling down the mountain side; The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark; Brightness, splendor. The word is used by some late writers as well as by Milton. THE HUMBLE WISH. The end and the reward of toil is rest. Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace. Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possess'd, All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring, Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave. And thither let the village swain repair; And light of heart, the village maiden gay, THE HERMIT. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky, She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; 'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed- My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, 'O pity, great Father of Light,' then I cried, Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee; From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free! And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, WILLIAM PALEY, 1743-1805. "No writers are rewarded with a larger share of immediate celebrity than those who address themselves to the understandings of general readers, who investigate truths, develop principles, and convey instruction in that popular style, and that plain, expressive language, which all read with pleasure, and comprehend with ease.' Such was eminently the characteristic of Dr. William Paley. He was the son of the head-master of Giggleswick grammar school, in Yorkshire, and was born in July, 1743. After having Read two articles on Dr. Paley in the "Quarterly Review," vol. ii. p. 75, and vol. ix. p. 388; and another in the "Edinburgh Review," vol. i. p. 287. acquired the rudiments of learning under the tuition of his father, he was admitted, in November, 1758, a sizer of Christ's College, Cambridge. For some time he attracted notice only as an uncouth but agreeable idler. "I spent," he says, "the first two years of my under-graduateship happily, but unprofitably. I was constantly in society, where we were not immoral, but idle and rather expensive. At the commencement of my third year, however, after having left the usual party at rather a late hour in the evening, I was awakened, at five in the morning, by one of my companions, who stood at my bedside, and said, 'Paley, I have been thinking what a fool you are. I could do nothing profitably were I to try, and can afford the life I lead: you could do everything, and cannot afford it. I have had no sleep during the whole night on account of these reflections, and I am now come solemnly to inform you that, if you persist in your indolence, I must renounce your society.' I was so struck with the visit and the visitor, that I lay in bed a great part of the day and formed my plan." The result was that he changed his whole habits, became a close student, and at the close of his college course was the first in his class. Soon after taking his degree, he obtained the situation of usher at a private school at Greenwich; but being elected, in June, 1766, a fellow of the college to which he belonged, he fixed his residence at the university, became a tutor of his college, and delivered lectures on metaphysics, morals, and the Greek Testament. His reputation, in this situation, rose extremely high, as he was remarkable for the happy talent of adapting his lectures singularly well to the apprehensions of his pupils. In 1775, he was presented to the rectory of Musgrove, in Westmoreland; and in the following year he vacated his fellowship by marrying. He was soon advanced by his friend Dr. Law, then Bishop of Carlisle, to various preferments, until he was finally, in 1782, made archdeacon and chancellor of that diocese. Here he digested and prepared his celebrated work, the "Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy," which appeared in 1785. His "Hora Paulina" followed in 1790, and his "Evidences of Christianity" in 1794. Soon after this, he became so infirm as to be incapable of preaching, and he devoted his attention almost exclusively to the preparation of his "Natural Theology, or Evidences of the Existence and Attributes of a Deity, collected from the Appearances of Nature," which was published in 1802. He died on the 25th of May, 1805, leaving a wife and eight children. "Dr. Paley was, in private life, a cheerful, social, unassuming character, and of an equable temper. He entered with great zest into the common enjoyments of life, and was anxious to promote good humor and harmless mirth on all occasions. His conversation was free and unreserved: he had a strong relish of wit, a copious fund of anecdote, and told a story with peculiar archness and naïveté." "As a writer, he did not possess a comprehensive and grasping genius, nor was he endowed with a rich and sparkling imagination. His mind was well informed, but not furnished with deep, extensive, ponderous erudition. His distinguishing characteristic is a penetrating understanding, and a clear logical head: what he himself comprehends fully, that he details luminously. |