And with thee bring thy sisters fair

The soul-transporting, syren pair—

Sweet Voice, and heavenly Poesy,
To swell the tide of harmony;

And bring with thee thy darling son,

Thy best belov'd, thy chosen one,

Whose glowing soul thou didst inspire
With all thine own celestial fire,

To sing in high seraphic lays,
And triumph in Messiah's praise,

Whilst pealing organ's solemn sound
Rolls the vaulted roofs around,
And the full-voic'd, warbling choir
The ravish'd soul with joys inspire
Of such divine, and pure delight,
As brings all heaven before the sight.
But oh! thou sweet, and heavenly Power,

Thy fame was great in days of yore,

And

every clime, and every tongue,

For he could stay the torrent's force,

When rushing on in rapid course,

To listen to his powerful song,

As swept his hand the chords along;

Could move the monarchs of the wood,

And savage rocks from where they stood;

And, passing strange! his magic spell
Could raise the spirits out of hell;
Yet greater power to Handel's given,
For he can raise the soul to Heaven.
Thou art the lightning of the soul,
That flashed forth without controul,
And fill'd thy Bards with Glory's fire,
To wake the terrors of the lyre,

And rouse th' embattled hosts to arms,

And mad'ning strife of war's alarms,
When, marshall'd on the bloody plain,

They seem'd as demi-gods to reign,

In high chivalric days of old,

When armed Knights, and Warriors bold,

But 'tis in life's domestic scenes

In fairest form thy Spirit reigns;
For thou canst dry the Mourner's tear,

His sorrows

sooth, his bosom cheer,

And make his soul to feel as though

The storm's rude blast had ceas'd to blow, And hush'd were every breaker's sound, And all was joy, and peace around: And thou canst sooth the Lover's woes, And calm his soul to soft repose,

When his sad heart, with anguish riven, In rain with dark despair has striven, By hope, and woman's love betray'd,

And perjur'd

TOWS

of cruel maid;

Canst smooth the ruffled brow of Cas

Thy magic power all care beguiles,

And wan Despair looks up, and smiles.

But sweeter, lovelier music far,

Than ever charm'd the ravish'd ear,

The heaven-taught music of the soul,
When all its powers in sweet controul,
In perfect concord all combine,
And make such harmony divine

Of joy, and peace, and holy love,
As reign in angel-breasts above.

Then come, thou sweet Inspirer! come,

And make my humble cell thy home.

Ah! deign to leave thy blest abode,

And raise my soul from earth to God.

A MOTHER'S MONODY

ON THE

DEATH OF HER DAUGHTER.

O, THOU art gone, sweet Innocent!
Thy gentle spirit's fled;

No more in listless languishment

Thou hang'st thy drooping head:

Like some fair lily of the vale

Thou liest in death, all cold, and pale.

The rosy tint has pass'd away,

The throbbing pulse is still,

The playful smile has ceas'd to play,

The heart is cold, and chill;

And oh! that sparkling, bright, blue eye