THE SCEPTIC,

А РОЕМ.

"Leur raison, qu'ils prennent pour guide, ne presente a leur esprit que des conjectures et des embarras; les absurdites ou ils tombent en niant la Religion deviennent plus insoutenables que les verites dont la hauteur les etonne ; et pour ne vouloir pas croire des mysteres incomprehensibles, ils suivent l'une apres l'autre d'incomprehensibles erreurs."—BossUET, Oraisons Funebres.

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THE SCEPTIC.

WHEN the young Eagle, with exulting eye,
Has learned to dare the splendour of the sky,
And leave the Alps beneath him in his course,
To bathe his crest in morn's empyreal source,
Will his free wing, from that majestic height,
Descend to follow some wild meteor's light,
Which far below, with evanescent fire,
Shines to delude, and dazzles to expire?

No! still through clouds he wins his upward way, And proudly claims his heritage of day!

And shall the spirit on whose ardent gaze The day-spring from on high hath pour'd its blaze, Turn from that pure effulgence to the beam Of earth-born light that sheds a treacherous gleam, Luring the wanderer from a star of faith, To the deep valley of the shades of death? What bright exchange, what treasure shall be given, For the high birth-right of its hope in Heaven? If lost the gem which empires could not buy, What yet remains?-a dark eternity!

Is earth still Eden!-might a seraph guest, Still, 'midst its chosen bowers, delighted rest! Is all so cloudless and so calm below,

We seek no fairer scenes than life can show?

That the cold Sceptic, in his pride elate,
Rejects the promise of a brighter state,
And leaves the rock, no tempest shall displace,
To rear his dwelling on the quicksand's base?

Votary of doubt! then join the festal throng, Bask in the sunbeam, listen to the song, Spread the rich board, and fill the wine-cup high, And bind the wreath ere yet the roses die! 'Tis well, thine eye is yet undimm'd by time, And thy heart bounds, exulting in its prime; Smile then unmoved at Wisdom's warning voice, And, in the glory of thy strength, rejoice!

But life has sterner tasks; e'en youth's brief hours
Survive the beauty of their loveliest flowers;
The founts of joy, where pilgrims rest from toil,
Are few and distant on the desert soil;

The soul's pure flame the breath of storms must fan,
And pain and sorrow claim their nursling-Man!
Earth's noblest sons the bitter cup have shared—
Proud child of reason, how art thou prepared?
When years, with silent might, thy frame have bow'd,
And o'er thy spirit cast their wintry cloud,
Will Memory soothe thee on thy bed of pain,
With the bright images of pleasure's train?
Yes! as the sight of some far distant shore,

Whose well-known scenes his foot shall tread no more,
Would cheer the seaman, by the eddying wave
Drawn, vainly struggling, to th' unfathom'd grave!
Shall Hope, the faithful cherub, hear thy call,
She who, like heaven's own sunbeam, smiles for all?

Will she speak comfort?-Thou hast shorn her plume, That might have raised thee far above the tomb, And hush'd the only voice whose angel tone Soothes when all melodies of joy are flown!

For she was born beyond the stars to soar, And kindling at the source of life, above; Thou couldst not, mortal! rivet to the earth Her eye, whose beam is of celestial birth; She dwells with those who leave her pinion free, And sheds the dews of heav'n on all but thee.

Yet few there are, so lonely, so bereft, But some true heart, that beats to theirs is left, And, haply, one whose strong affection's power Unchanged may triumph through misfortune's hour, Still with fond care supports thy languid head, And keeps unwearied vigils by thy bed.

But thou! whose thoughts have no blest home above,

Captive of earth! and canst thou dare to love?
To nurse such feelings as delight to rest,
Within that hallow'd shrine-a parent's breast,
To fix each hope, concentrate every tie,
On one frail idol,—destined but to die,

Yet mock the faith that points to worlds of light,
Where sever'd souls, made perfect, reunite?
Then tremble! cling to every passing joy,
Twined with the life a moment may destroy !

If there be sorrow in a parting tear,
Still let "for ever" vibrate on thine ear!