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And now dissoly'd the heart in tenderness :
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself.
But back into his soul retir'd, alone,
Dark, sullen, proud; gazing contemptuously
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet.
So Ocean from the plains, his waves had late
To desolation swept, retir'd in pride,
Exulting in the glory of his might,
And seem'd to mock the ruin he had wrought.

As some fierce comet of tremendous size,
To which the stars did reverence, as it pass'd;
So he through learning and through fancy took
His flight sublime; and on the loftiest top
Of Fame's dread mountain sat: not soil'dand worn,
As if he from the earth had labour'd up;
But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair,
He look'd, which down from higher regions came,
And perch'd it there, to see what lay beneath.

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ANTHEM.
It was an eve of Autumn's holiest mood :
The corn fields, bath'd in Cynthia's silver light,
Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand;
And all the winds slept soundly; nature seem'd,
In silent contemplation, to adore
Its Maker: now and then the aged leaf
Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground;
And, as it fell, bade man think on his end.
On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high,
With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly thought,
Conversiog with itself.

THE MORNING PRECEDING THE FINAL

CONSUMMATION OF ALL THINGS.
In custom'd glory bright, that morn the sun
Rose, visiting the earth with light, and heat,

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And now dissolv'd the heart in tenderness :
Yet would not tremble, would not weep hiase?
But back into his soul retir'd, alone,
Dark, sullen, proud; gazing contemptuously
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet

.
So Ocean from the plains, bis waves had late
To desolation swept, retir'd in pride,
Exulting in the glory of his might,
And seein'd to mock the ruin he had trought.

As some fierce comet of tremendous size,
To which the stars did reverence, as it pass 'd;
So he through learning and through fancy torek
His flight sublime; and on the loftiest top
Of Fame's dread mountaip sat: not soil'dandan,
As if he from the earth had labour'd up;
But as some bird of beavenly plumage tair,
He look'd, which down from higher regions cher
And perch'd it there, to see what lay beneath,

And joy; and seem'd as full of youth, and strong
To mount the steep of heaven, as when the Stars
Of morning sung to his first dawn, and Night
Fled from his face: the spacious sky receiv'd
Him blushing as a bride, when on her look'd
The bridegroom : and spread out beneath his eye,
Earth smil'd. Up to his warm embrace the dews,
That all night long had wept bis absence flew :
The herbs and Powers, their fragrant stores unlock'd
And gave the wanton breeze, that, newly woke,
Reveld in swects, and from its wings shook health,
A thousand grateful smells: the joyous woods
Dried in his beams their locks, wet with the drops
Of night: and all the sons of music sung
Their matin song, from arbour'd bower, the thrush
Concerting with the lark that hymn'd on high :
On the green hill the flocks, and in the vale
The herds, rejoic'd : and, light of heart, the hind
Eyed amorously the milk-maid as she pass'd,
Not heedless, though she look'd another way,

VIEW OF THE BURNING LAKE.

ANTHEN
It was an eve of Autumn's holiest mood:
The corn fields, bath'd in Cynthia's silver light.
Slood ready for the reaper's gathering hand;
And all the winds slept soundly; nature seem'd,
In silent contemplation, to adore
Its Maker: now and then the aged leaf
Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground;
And, as it fell, bade man think on his end.
On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high,
With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly thought.
Conversing with itself.

Thus stood the reprobate beneath the shade
Of terror, and beneath the crown of love,
The good; and there was silence in the vault
Of heaven: and as they stood and listened, they

heard,
Afar to left, among the utter dark,

Hell rolling o'er his waves of burning fire,
And thandering through his caverns, empty then,
As if he preparation made, to act
The final vengeance of the Fiery Lamb.

THE MORNING PRECEDING THE FINAL

CONSUMMATION OF ALL THINGS
In custom'd glory bright, that morn the sun
Rose, visiting the earth with light, and beat,

And there was heard, coming from out the l'it,
The hollow wailing of Eternal Death,
And horrid cry of the Undying

THE SACRED LYRE

THE VOICE OF MEMORY.

How canst thou move my fix'd regret,
Or how allure me to forget,
When there is nought in earth, sea, sky,
But hath a Voice to Memory?
What speaks the sinking orb of day?-
Of hope, as quick to pass away!
What speaks the pale and drooping flower?-
Of joy, that withers in an hour !
What speaks the balmy breath of eve ?-
Of sighs as sweet, that could deceive!
What speaks the music of the bird ?--
Of strains more soft, no longer heard !
What speaks still ocean's glassy breast ?-
Of peace as brief, as false a rest!
What speaks each wave that leaves the shore ? -
Of days that pass, to come no more!
What speaks the far-receding sail ?-
Of faithless fortune's changing gale !
What speaks the pure and pendent dew?-
Of tears as fresh, as silent too!
What speaks the deep’ning gloom of night?-
Of woe, succeeding to delight!
What speaks each brightly-twinkling star ?
Of eyes more soft-more radiant far !
What speaks the blue expanse of Heaven -
Of plighted vows in sunder riven,
Recorded there though here forgiven !
Thus is there nought in earth, sea, sky,
But hath a Voice to Memory! -
| voice that will be heard, as now,
fill o'er this eye and aching brow,
This welcome shadow Death shall cast,
And this fond heart has throbb’d its last!

REV. T. DALE.

May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more !
Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived.
By expectation ev'ry day beguil'd,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learn’d at last submission to my lot,
But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot,

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more,
Children not thine bave trod my nurs'ry floor ;
And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bauble-coach, and wrapp'd
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt,
'Tis now become a hist'ry little known,
That once we call’d the past’ral house our own.
Short-liv'd possessions! but the record fair,
That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd
A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
Thát thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, the confectionary plum ;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd :
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks,
That humour interpos'd too often makes ;
All this still legible in mem’ry's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,