ON CHRISTMAS DAY.

AWAKE from silence ev'ry voice,
Each tuneful pipe, and sounding string;
Let ev'ry grateful heart rejoice,
And ev'ry tongue in rapture sing.

On this distinguish'd day of grace,
Th' eternal Prince of glory came,
To purge the guilt of human race,
And save them by his powerful name.

Bow down your heads, ye lofty pines,
Ye mountains, crown'd with cedars tall;
Be still, ye rude imperious winds,
Throughout the wide terrestrial ball,

Let nought but harmony and love
O'er all th' expanded surface reign,
And let the sacred choir above

Approve, and join the heav'nly strain.

When we in bondage were exil'd,
And rebels to th' eternal God,
Our souls, with blackest guilt defil'd,
Obnoxious to th' impending rod :

That from his seat of perfect bliss
The Son of glory should descend,
To offer man the terms of peace,
And his unbounded grace extend.

Such goodness, such stupendous care!
Nor man, nor angels can explore:
Then let us what we cannot trace,
With awful reverence adore.

Ye wing'd inhabitants of air,

All ye that graze the verdant plain,
Ye herds that to the wilds repair,
And ye that skim the surging main:

Some signs of exultation show,

While grateful minds your voices raise, 'Tis all that mortals can bestow, To hail the day in songs of praise :

While skilful hands the chorus join,

And tune the rapture-raising lyre ; While grateful strains of love divine, Serene, extatic joys inspire.

Thus sacred be the happy day,

While sun, and moon, and stars endure;

Till nature feels her last decay,

And time itself shall be no more.

W. B.

TO A FRIEND.

Written after his departure to the West-Indies.

ADIEU, my much lov'd friend! adieu for ever!
To thy sweet converse, social mirth adieu!

O thou whom many an envious league doth sever,
Be thine the lay to parting friendship due.

Thee my lorn fancy loves to picture, sailing
Across the vast Atlantic's foamy waste,
Each unknown coast in fond idea hailing,

And dreaming joys thou haply ne'er shalt taste.

For ah! to what blest region canst thou wander, Where scenes than ours more fair thy senses greet; Where canst thou view more healthful streams meander? Find skies more genial, airs more balmy sweet?

What though the clime thou seek'st with maize wide spreading,

Bananas tall, in green luxuriance smile;

What though the citron, richest odours shedding,
With grateful zest the novel taste beguile ;-

There many a Briton-cross'd the hostile surges,
The soil scarce trod—hath heav'd his gasping breath;
Tornado there his blasting fury urges,

And arid fever breathes contagious death!

But thou art gone, and vain the voice dissuading:-
Knew'st thou my wish-yet ah! it may not be
Endearments past thy visions oftimes aiding,
Thy truant soul would wing its thoughts to me!

Say, when the sun, meridian beams diffusing,
With vivid splendor gilds the cloud's thin folds,
Say, wilt thou think thy friend, like thee, deep musing,
Though distant far, the self-same orb beholds?—

Say, when the breezes sleep on Ocean's pillow,
And the calm water's scarcely lave the strand,
Say, wilt thou think each gently murmuring billow,
Like thee, perchance, hath left its natal land?

W. Case, Jun.

THE LONG VACATION.

My lord now quits his venerable seat,
The six clerk on his padlock turns the key,
From bus'ness hurries to his snug retreat,
And leaves vacation and the town to me.

Now all is hush'd, asleep the eye of care,
And Lincoln's Inn a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the porter whistles o'er the square,
Or Pompey barks, or basket woman scolds;

Save that, from yonder pump, and dusty stair,
The mopeing shoeblack, and the laundress maid,
Complain of such as from the town repair,

And leave their little quarterage unpaid.

In those dull chambers, where old parchments lie, And useless draughts, in many a mould'ring heap, Each for parade to catch the clients eye,

Salkeld and Ventris in oblivion sleep.

In these dead hours, what now remains for me?
Still to the stool and to the desk confin'd,
Debarr'd from Autumn's shades, and liberty,
Whose smiles are soft as my Cleora's kind.

Hail, beauteous nymph! how does thy presence gild
The brow of care, and mitigate my pains!
With thee (such ecstasy thy beauties yield)
Bondage is free, and hugs thy pleasing chains.

Blest in thy love, sincerely I despise

The quibble, warmly urg'd with many a frown,
Hear each opinion of the learn'd and wise,
Nor envy Cato's wig, or Tully's gown.

British Chronicle.