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Know, mortals' know, ere first ye sprung, Ere first these orbs in ether hung, I shone amid the heavenly throng: These eyes beheld creation's day, This voice began the choral lay, And taught Archangel's their triumphant song. Pleas'd I survey’d bright Nature's gradual birth, Saw infant light with kindling lustre spread, Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flow'ring earth, And ocean heave on its extended bed; Saw the tall pine aspiring pierce the sky; The tawny lion stalk; the rapid eagle fly. Last, Man arose, erect in youthful grace, Heav'n's hallow'd image stamp'd upon his face, And, as he 'rose, the high behest was given, “That I, alone, of all the host of heaven, Should reign protectress of the godlike youth.* Thus the Almighty spake: he spake, and call'd me Truth.

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ODE TO THE MORNING.

BY The SAM e.

Hail to thy living light,
Ambrosial Morn! all hail thy roseat ray,
That bids gay Nature all her charms display

In varied beauty bright:
That bids each dewy-spangled flow'ret rise,
And dart around its vermeil dyes;
Bids silver lustre grace yon sparkling tide,
That winding warbles down the mountain's side.

Away, ye goblins all! Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt; Whose vagrant feet have trac'd your secret haunt

Beside some lonely wall, Or shatter'd ruin of a moss-grown tow'r, Where, at pale midnight's stillest hour, Through each rough chink the solemn orb of night Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.

Away, ye elves away!

Shrink at ambrosial Morning's living ray; That living ray, whose pow'r benign Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye,

Where, thron'd in artless majesty, The cherub Beauty sits on Nature's rustic shrine.

THE FIRE-SIDE.

by DR. cotton.

Dean Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance;
Though singularity and pride
Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,
Nor join the giddy dance,

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,
Where love our hours employ;
No noisy neighbours enter here,
No intermeddling stranger near
To spoil our heartfelt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies;
And they are fools who roam:
The world has nothing to bestow;
From our own selves our joys must flow, .
And that dear hut, our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left
That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird once more
Explor'd the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs,

We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know,

That marriage, rightly understood,

Gives to the tender and the good
A paradise below.

Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring
Whence pleasures ever rise:
We'll form their minds, with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,
And crown our hoary hairs:
They'll grow in virtue every day,
And thus our fondest love repay,
And recompense our cares.

No borrow'd joys: they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,
Or by the world forgot:
Monarchs! we envy not your state,
We look with pity on the great,
And bless our humbler lot.

Our portion is not large indeed,
But then, how little do we need!
For nature's calls are few
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,
And make that little do.

we'll therefore relish with contest.
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our pow'r;
For if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudent to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are deny'd,
And pleas'd with favours giv'n,
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part,
This is that incense of the heart,
Whose fragrance smells to heav'n.

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