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Dale, champaign, grove, and hill;
The multitudinous abyss,
Where secrecy remains in bliss,

And Wisdom hides her skill.

Tell them, I AM, JEHOVAH said
To Moses, while Earth heard in dread,
And smitten to the heart;

At once above, beneath, around,
All nature, without voice or sound,
Replied, O LORD, THOU ART!

Lines written in the Church-yard of Richmond, Yorkshire.-By Herbert Knowles.

METHINKS it is good to be here,

If thou wilt let us build; but for whom?
Nor Elias nor Moses appear,

But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? Oh, no! Affrighted he shrinketh away;

For see, they would pin him below,

In a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? Ah, no! She forgets The charms which she wielded before; Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.

'S POEMS

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

Shall we build to the purple of Pride,—
The trappings which dizen the proud?

Alas! they are all laid aside;

And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd, But the long winding sheet, and the fringe of the shroud.

To Riches? Alas, 'tis in vain ;

Who hid, in their turns have been hid:
The treasures are squandered again.
And here in the grave are all metals forbid,
But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin lid.

To the pleasures which Mirth can afford,
The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?

463

Ah! here is a plentiful board;

But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer,
And none but the worm is a reveller here.

Shall we build to Affection and Love?
Ah, no! they have withered and died,
Or fled with the spirit above:

Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side,
Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.

Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve;
Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear,

Which compassion itself could relieve:
Ah, sweetly they slumber; nor hope, love, nor fear;
Peace, peace,
is the watch-word, the only one here.

Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow?
Ah, no; for his empire is known;

And here there are trophies enow.
Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone,
Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown.

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise;

The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfill'd; And the third to the LAMB of the great sacrifice, Who bequeath'd us them both, when He rose to the skies.

FROM THE GERMAN OF KLIEST.

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How rich the splendors of the western skies, In purple tints and glowing crimson bright! Where varying forms and shadowy landscapes

rise,

Mountains of gold, and flaming waves of light.
The sweetest fragrance scents the evening gale,
And o'er reposing nature silence reigns;
Save where the flute breathes softly thro' the
vale,

The streams, low murmuring, glide along the plains,

Or Night's sad songstress chants her long-drawn plaintive strains.

O Thou! my guide divine! whose sacred power
Can bid the dangerous storms of passion cease,
Shed on my soul the blessings of this hour,
The beams of virtue, and the dews of peace.
Led by Thy hand, I pass'd thro' life's fair morn,
And brav'd the ardours of its noontide ray;

Still may thy love its future hours adorn,

Bless the mild evening of my mortal day,

And bid unclouded shine its last declining ray.

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And ye! than wealth more priz'd, than fame

more dear,

Ye friends for ever lov'd, ye chosen few!
Who o'er the failings of a heart sincere
With generous hand the veil of friendship drew!
Shed o'er my latest hour one parting tear,
To fond remembrance give one tender sigh,
When the faint shadows of this earthly sphere
Shall sink in death before my closing eye,
In trembling transport rais'd to glorious scenes on
high!

THEODORE AND ROSETTA, OR THE DAY FLY.
Bp. Kenn.

Theo. Where had you those sweet flowers,
Rosetta, say.

Ros. O Theodore, I got them by the way.
You of our great man's garden know the fame,
And as I tow'rds you with our dinner came,
I saw it open, and my greedy eye
Stood at the door its beauties to descry,
When a kind maid, who of the flow'rs took care,
Invited me to take the garden air;
At parting, she, her neighbour to endear,
Gave me the flow'rs and fruits which I have here.

Theo. We'll eat the fruit for banquet to our meal,
But what is that you in your hand conceal ?

Ros. It is the prettiest creature ever bred
In garden, or that brows'd on flowery bed.

Theo. Shew it.

Ros.
I dare not; it away will fly,
And I shall lose the darling of my eye.

My heart misgives me.

Theo.

Open by degrees ; On some one limb I'll, to secure it, seize, O! with what wisdom are all things design'd Man of his GOD and latter end to mind! Duty and death are by all creatures taught: Tho' earthly, they raise heavenly minded thought. This fly GOD's goodness to instruct me sends : 0 may I learn the lesson GOD intends!

Ros. I little thought, dear Theodore, that I Brought you a preacher, when I brought a fly.

Theo. You have, for me and for Rosetta too; The same it teaches me, it teaches you.

Ros. What Theodore esteems a teacher fit,
To that Rosetta gladly will submit ;
But tell me what and how this fly can teach,-
To me 'tis mystery, and beyond my reach.

Theo. Once more, my dear, the amiable mold
Of this stupendous little thing behold;
The Lilies which great Solomon outvie,
Are far less glorious than this little Fly!
The great CREATOR'S power and wisdom shine,
Concentred in this miniature divine;

-

Bright various colour'd rays his wings adorn;
He of the garden is the sov'reign born;
Now with spread wings the pliant air he sweeps,
Then on his legs he on the surface creeps;
He perches on sweet plants, sucks öd'rous flow'rs,
Enjoys the sun, retreats to shady bow'rs;

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