Unwarm'd by Ecstacy's celestial fire?

Not, surely, that poor worm who proudly dares
Deny the dread Supreme.Hail, prospect fair!
Replete with Deity! that preachest more

Than human tongue can preach, save on one theme
(Fa'l'n man thro' grace restor'd) of power divine,
Of goodness, mercy, wisdom infinite,
Erkindling rapture in th' adoring mind!
-Here vision roams unwearied, sweetly woo'd
By nature's thousand charms :-nor resting finds,
Nor resting needs, the gla ly-roving eye.

So wanders freely o'er some gay parterre
The bee melliferous,-on each fav'rite flower
That tempts his stay-alighting; yet with none
E'er
er tarrying long: from honeysuckle sweet
To sweeter rose the vagrant pilterer flies;
And thence to where syringa's luscious bloom
Loads the mild zephyrs, or where lilac blends
Its purple with laburnum's golden pride.

MUSINGS on arriving at, and quitting, the SUMMIT of the MALVERN HILLS, early in the Morning of WHITMONDAY.

[From MALVERN HILLS, a POEM, by JOSEPH COTTLE.]

TOW on the beacon's towering head I stand!

NOW

The radiant sun just peeps o'er yonder hill
In silent grandeur, whilst the neighbouring land,
Like Ocean, drinks the splendour of the morn
One mass of glory. Now the last faint star
Withdraws its timid ray, and slow the moon
Sinks shadowy in the western hemisphere.
Beneath my feet, down the dark mountain's side,
The clouds are troubled! now dissolve they fast!
A fairy vision! whilst the early lark

Up through their bosom mounts most merrily.

Oh what a luxury do they possess

Who, rising with the morn, taste its first sweets!
The breeze that waves the long grass to and fro,
While yet the dew of heaven hangs thick upon it,
Gives health and raises the unfetter'd mind
To loftiest meditation. Day returns,
And nature, from a transient rest, assumes
Her wonted form, and seems to look more pleas'd
For being seen. 'Tis well to contemplate
On Providence, whose eye encircles all.
Parent and guardian of creation round!

The

The elephant on thee depends for food,
And all the intermediate train of shapes
Down to the mite: and beings, smaller still,
Possest of parts peculiar and complete,
To whom the mite appears an elephant!
All on our common Father call for bread!
Learn it, astonish'd earth! shout it, oh Heaven!
He hears them all!

Tho' man's searching eye

Hath pierc'd the ethereal vault where planets roll
The eternal course, and suns their steady fires
On other worlds bestow; seen the vast orbs
That tremble in the immeasurable void :
Yet these small things are lost in littleness,
A drop of water to the boundless deep!
Compar'd with Deity's unnumber'd works,
Scatter'd beyond the utmost verge of sight,
Where stars far distant never light exchange,
And never comets in their wide career
Blend their faint beams.

Most thankful be our hearts,
That not to search the vast profound of space
Reason requires to see the almighty power!
This world, this land, this spot, an endless source
Of meditation offers, where the eye,

In every blade of grass, may view the God
Who form'd the universe.

Now the low cots appear, the distant hills,

The fertile plains, far stretch'd on every side;
Whilst all the vast variety of forms

In yonder sunny vale, tranquil and fair,

O'erpower my ravish'd senses. What a sweep
From mortal eye! trees of an hundred years,

From this huge mount, look like some tender sprays,
And mock the toil to separate; whilst flocks,
And scatter'd herds, so faintly meet my sight,
They seem not living things. The goodly view

Makes

Makes my eye swim with rapture, and my heart
Feel ecstasy.

Ah! who could stand unmov'd,
And view this blue expanse, this beauteous orb,
This speaking tablet of intelligence!

Ah! who with cold-cold heart could view yon sun
Mounting the ethereal vault, whilst fiery clouds
Surround, and o'er the horizon's verge, far stretch'd,
Heap their rich columns? 'tis a sight, methinks,
No eye might contemplate, and not adore'
The hand that made it.

Now the morning beam
Gilds each far eminence; a motley show
Of colours fanciful and starting shapes,
That quaint similitudes force on the mind.

Even now my heart beats high, for now I hear

The village bells beneath play merrily.

2

From hill to hill imperfect gladness bounds,
And floating murmurs die upon the air.
It is the long-look'd pastime now begun!
Aye! there they are upon the level green,
Maiden and rustic, deck'd in best attire,
And ushering in the Whitsun holidays:
Weaving the mazy dance, fantastic, whilst
Encircled by a gaping crowd of boys,
The merry piper stands, and capering plays;
Or, half forgetful of his half-learn'd tune,
Looks 'skantwise to behold his fav'rite lass
Pair'd with another; haply, smiling too."
The aged ploughman now forgets his team,
And, tho' to join the skipping throng too old,
Laughs to see others laugh, he knows not why;
Or, if in graver mood, looks wond'rous wise,
And tells his hoiden daughters as they pass,
Hold, maidens! bold! no whispering in the dance.
All, all is life and soothing jollity!

That king of sports is there, the mountebank,
With antic tricks, or, with no sparing hand,
Dealing around some nostrum, fam'd alike
Specific in all pains and maladies."

And there the village matrons, gaily trimm'd
With lace and tucker, handed down secure
Through a long line of prudent ancestors;
And never shewn to gaping multitude,
Save at some marriage gay, or yearly wake.

Musing

Musing the mothers look o'er all the plain,
A cheerful smile unbends their wrinkled brow,
The days departed start gain to life,
And all the scenes of childhood reappear,
Faint, but more tranquil, like the changing sun
To him who slept at noon and wakes at eve,
Children of Innocence, sport on in peace!
Enjoy the fair, but fleeting morn of life,
And may no tempest spoil your holiday.

CONSCIENCE.

[From POEMS, Sacred and Moral, by THOMAS GISBORNE, M.A.]

HERE-lie for ever there the murderer said;

'THE

And prest his heel contemptuous on the dead—
No terrors haunt the well-concerting mind!
Vengeance my aim, thy gold I leave behind.;
Clutch'd in thy grasp be thy own knife survey'd
Thus-so may death self sought thy name degrade 1
My steel, that did the deed, this lake shall hide-
Here rust beneath the all-concealing tide
The long descent these mounting bubbles tell-
Down; down-still deeper-to the fancied hell.
But why this needless care ?-the wretch unknown-
My garment bloodless no man heard him groan--
Nor be, the fabled monarch of the skies?
He spoke, and fix'd on heaven his iron eyes.

No terrors haupt the well-concerting mind !
Say'st thou, when March unchains the midnight wind
When the full blast, as Alp-descending Po,

Whirls through the rocky straight the liquid snow,
Down the vale driving with resistless course,
Pours on thy walls its congregated force;

When tottering chimneys bellow o'er thy head,
And the floor quakes beneath thy sleepless bed?

No terrors haunt thee!-Say'st thou, when the storm
Bids all its horrors, each in the wildest form,
From adverse winds on wings of thunder haste,
And close around thee on the naked waste;
Bids at each flash untimely night retire,
And opes and shuts the living vault of fire:
When from each bursting cloud the arrowy flame
Seems at thy central breast to point its aim;
While crash on crash redoubles from on high,
As though the shatter'd fabric of the sky

Would

Would rush in hideous ruin through the air,

To whelm the guilty wretch whom lightnings spare?

No terrors haunt thee!-Lo, 'tis Winter's reign:
His broad hand, plunging in the Atlantic main,
Lifts into mountain piles the boiling deep,
And bounds with vales of death each billowy steep.
Now, when thy bark, the dire ascent surpast,
Turns to the black abyss the downward mast;
In that dread pause, while yet the dizzy prow
Pois'd on the verge o'erhangs the gulph below;
Now press thy conscious bosom, and declare
If guilt has raised no throbs of terror there.

Still art thou proof?-In sleep I see thee laid:
Dreams, by the past inspir'd, thy sleep invade.
Houseless and drear a plain expands in view:
There travels one like him thy fury slew:
Couch'd in the brake, a ruffian from his den
Starts forth, and acts thy bloody deed again :
Like thine his mien, like thine his iron stare
Fix'd in defiance on the vault of air.
Lo! as secure he quits the unplunder'd dead,
Wide-weltering seas of fire before him spread ;
With frenzied step he hurries to the shore,
Shrieks, plunges headlong, and is seen no more!

་.

Thou wak'st, and smil'st in scorn!-Has Heaven no dart Potent to reach that adamantine heart?.

Yes. He, whose viewless gales the forest bend,
Whose feeblest means attain the mightiest end,
Touches the secret spring that opes the cell

Where Conscience lurks, and slumbering horrors dwell,
Lo! as the wretch his careless path pursues,
Struck by his foot a rusted knife he views.
In thought the blade conceal'd from mortal eyes
Beneath the lake his troubled soul descries.

In wild dismay his clouded senses swim;
Cold streams of terror bathe each shivering limb;
- Then with new fires in every nerve he burns;
To earth, to heaven, his flashing eyeballs turns;
Buries with frantic hand th' avenging knife
Deep in his breast, and renders life for life.