Thy Sire's equallizing state,

And thy sceptre that rules fate ?
Where's thy angel-guarded throne,
Whence thy laws thou didst make`known,
Laws which heaven and earth obey'd ?—
These-oh these-aside he laid;
Would the emblem be of pride,
By humility outvied.

THE FOUNTAIN.

STRANGER, whoe'er thou art, that stoop'st to taste These sweeter streams, let me arrest thy haste; Nor of their fall

The murmurs (though the lyre

Less sweet be) stand to admire:

But as you shall

See from this marble tun

The liquid crystal run,

And mark withal

How fix'd the one abides,

How fast the other glides;

Instructed thus, the difference learn to see "Twixt mortal life and immortality.

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

BORN 1618; DIED 1667.

COWLEY is commonly cited as having carried to their highest point the peculiarities of that class of poets-disciples of the school of Petrarch—who sought to be remarkable rather for refinement than good sense, and made the expression of natural feeling secondary to the sparkling of elaborate wit, and the windings of perplexed ingenuity. His native powers were, notwithstanding, such as to afford his works a fair chance of regaining, from time to time, among the fluctuations of the public taste, a considerable share of their great original popularity. If, as has been asserted, Cowley's genius was "a meteor," it at least shone with an intense light; nor will its reflection wholly pass away from the poetical heavens. He had a vivid imagination, a clear intellect, and a rich command of language. His prose essays are, perhaps, the most valuable of what he gave to the world; and the least esteemed are his dramas. Cowley was distinguished by a love of virtue; and a disposition to those retired and meditative habits which are favourable to piety and the acquisition of truth, appears conspicuous in his writings.

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

REASON:

THE USE OF IT IN DIVINE MATTERS.

SOME blind themselves, 'cause possibly they may Be led by others a right way;

They build on sands, which if unmov'd they find, 'Tis but because there was no wind.

Less hard 'tis not to err ourselves, than know
If our forefathers err'd or no.

When we trust men concerning God, we then
Trust not God concerning men.

Visions and inspirations some expect,
Their course here to direct.

Like senseless chymists their own wealth destroy,
Imaginary gold to enjoy.

So stars appear to drop to us from sky,

And gild the passage as they fly;

But when they fall, and meet the opposing ground, What but a sordid slime is found?

Sometimes their fancies they 'bove reason set,
And fast, that they may dream of meat.

Sometimes ill spirits their sickly souls delude,
And bastard forms obtrude.

So Endor's wretched sorceress, although

She Saul through his disguise did know, Yet when the devil comes up disguis'd, she cries, "Behold, the gods arise!"

In vain, alas! these outward hopes are tried;
Reason within 's our only guide.

Reason which (God be prais'd) still walks, for all
Its old original fall.

And since itself the boundless Godhead join'd
With a reasonable mind,

It plainly shows that mysteries divine
May with our reason join.

The holy book, like the eighth sphere, does shine
With thousand lights of truth divine:

So numberless the stars, that to the eye
It makes but all one galaxy.

Yet reason must assist too, for in seas
So vast and dangerous as these,

Our course by stars above we cannot know,
Without the compass too below.

Though reason cannot through faith's myst'ries see, It sees that there and such they be;

Leads to heav'n's door, and there does humbly keep, And there through chinks and key-holes peep.

Though it, like Moses, by a sad command

Must not come into th' Holy Land,

Yet thither it infallibly does guide,

And from afar 'tis all descried.