OM

NCE, I remember well the day,

'Twas ere the blooming sweets of May
Had lost their freshest hues ;
When every flower on every hill,
In every vale, had drank it's fill

Of sunshine and of dews.

In short, 'twas that sweet season's prime,
When Spring gives up the reins of Time

To Summer's glowing hand,
And doubting mortals hardly know
By whose command the breezes blow

Which fan the smiling land.

a

'Twas then, beside a green-wood shade,
Which cloath'd a lawn's aspiring head,

I urg'd my devious way,
With loit'ring steps, regardless where,
So foft, fo genial was the air,

So wond'rous bright the day.

And now my eyes with transport rove
O'er all the blue expanse above,

Unbroken by a cloud!

And

And now beneath delighted pass,
Where winding thro' the deep-green grass

A full-brimm'd river flow'd.

I stop, I gaze ; in accents rude,
To thee, fereneft Solitude,

Burst forth th' unbidden lay :
• Be gone, vile world! the learn'd, the wise,
· The great, the bofy I despise,

• And pity e'en the gay.

« These, these are joys alone,' I cry; < 'Tis here, divine Philosophy,

• Thou deign't to fix thy throne ! • Here Contemplation points the road,

Thro' Nature's charms, to Nature's God! · These, these are joys alone!

• Adieu, ye vain low-thoughted cares,

Ye human hopes, and human fears,

• Ye pleasures and ye pains !! While thus I fpake, o'er all my soul A philosophick calmness stole,

A stoick ftillness reigns.

The tyrant' paffions all subfide,
Fear, anger, pity, shame and pride,

No more my bosom move ;
Yet still I felt, or seem'd to feel,
A kind of visionary zeal

Of universal love.

When, lo! a voice, a voice I hear! 'Twas Reason whisper'd in my ear

These monitory strains :

« What

• What mean'st thou, man would'ft thou unbind • The ties which constitute thy kind,

• The pleasures and the pains ?

• Shall light and shade, and warmth and air, • With those exalted joys compare

s Which active Virtue feels ! • When on the drags, as lawful prize,

Contempt, and Indolence, and Vice, • At her triumphant wheels.

• As reft to labour still succeeds
• To man, whilft Virtue's glorious deeds

• Employ his toilsome day;

.

« This fair variety of things,
• Are merely life's refreshing springs,

• To soothe him on his way.

• Enthufiaft, go! unstring thy lyre,
• In vain thou fing'ft, if none admire,

• How sweet foe'er the strain.
• And is not thy o'erflowing mind,

Unless thou mixeft with thy kind,
• Benevolent in vain

• Enthufiaft, go! try every sense;
• If not thy bliss, thy excellence,
• Thou yet

haft learn'd to scan;
• At least thy wants, thy weakness know,
• And see them all uniting show,

. That man was made for man.'

THE CURE OF

SA UL.

A

SACRED ODE.

BY DR. BROWN.

:V

TENGEANCE, arise from thy infernal bed,
And

pour thy tempest on his guilty head!!
Thus Heaven's decree, in thunder's found,
Shook the dark abyss profound.
The unchain'd Furies come!
Pale Melancholy stalks from hell :
Th'abortive offspring of her womb,
Despair and Anguilh, round her yell.

By sleepless terror Saul possess'd,
Deep feels the fiend within his tortur'd break.
3 A

Midnight