True, there are spirits of ignobler kind,
Unform'd, and cast in Nature's rudest mould,
Who, in a circle's magic bound confined,

Tread one dull line, and count their treasured gold;

Strangers alike to pity and to love,

Whose thought unvarying marks one sordid end;
SELF Swallowing all, leaves not a pang to prove
In life's last scene, the brother or the friend.

But these, the specks on Nature's liberal plan,
Peep from their nooks obscene, by all abhorred,
See foreign objects as they glance on MAN,
And back recoiling sink into their hoard.

As yet the stream of life serenely flows,
No trace of thought informs the vacant eye,
Save when th' officious nurse disturbs repose,
Or pain, or appetite, provoke to cry.

But now the visual orbs begin to move,
As sight directs, not fixed in ideot stare
But drawn by glittering forms that float above,
Pursues them gliding, as it seems, on air.

A watch, a chain, a speckled shell display'd
That lure yon eager wandering eyes away,
Speak of a MIND within the bustling head,
That sets, unseen, the quivering springs in play.

In infancy, an ideot is soon distinguished, either by a stare, which, although apparently fixed on one object, is really directed to none, or by eyes that wander over all objects successively without discrimination. The first indication of Thought at this early period is, when the organs of sight are attracted by any glittering form, which they follow with apparent wonder and desire.

He hears :-yon bell alarms his starting ear!
And see the tiny hands with ardour spread
To catch yon gilded toy, now hovering near,
Now swinging slow, suspended o'er the bed!

Ambition pause!-attend what Reason says:
"Is not this infant's playful sport thine own?
"Yon bauble, bright in Fancy's circling rays,
"Mocks thy vain search;-'tis distant, dark, un-

known.

"Tis gained, despised, forgot. Another scheme "Succeeds, but Heav'n denies th' expected joy; "Doubt shades, and night o'ercasts the varying dream; ""Tis all a meteor's glance, an infants toy!"

The forming members now expand apace;
He feels an eager hope, unknown before,
And tries a new attempt with forward grace,
Pointing his little foot to reach the floor.

He stands, but timid, at the mothers knee;
Then looks and crows, as wishful of applause,
And seeks, poor imp, by mincing step to free
Himself from bondage and the nursery laws.

Unconscious of the cause- -O sacred love
Of FREEDOM, planted in the human heart ;
With life's first pulse by Heaven ordain'd to move,
And with its ceasing throb alone to part;

Still may the Briton's manly bosom beat,
At thy lov'd name, to foreign lands unknown;
His guardian oak be still thy native seat,

His friends, his patrons, and his foes,-thine own!

Now, half-released, th' adventurous urchin tries
Another walk, impatient of command:
But mark the fate of hardy wights! he lies
Sprawling and screaming for th' assisting hand,

Angry, yet impotent, and woe begone,

Sad fate of pride !Yet soon by practice braced,
Onward with fearless heart he walks alone,
Nor feels deterr'd by dread, by falls disgraced.

'Tis on some day, when at th' expected call
That brings his friends to share an annual feast,
The father meets them in the festive ball,
And gladness reigns in every chearful guest;

His infant darling marking at the board,
Some puny mate, with him in age the same;
Minces with meaning eyes an half-form'd word,
And pointing lisps the little stranger's name.

The welcome sounds first meet the female ear,
To each fine feeling of the heart that move;
These form a group apart, prepared to hear,
And soothe the gentle pair with looks of love.

Each in his turn obsequious to the voice
Of his foud parent, prating while he plays,
Speaks as his mind incites, with ease, with noise;
Awed now by stern regard, and soothed by praise.

But now weak Infancy beholds her charge
Leaping her feeble fence, nor heeding more
Her rules, she leaves them now to rove at large,
And gives to Childhood's hand the prattlers o'er.

TO MISS M. S. ANDERSON,

On the Clofe of the Year 1802.

HARK! the deep knell of the departed year
Dies on the blast that sweeps the midnight tower !
Ah while it sounds-to scenes for ever dear,

My soul returns in Memory's musing hour.

Yes, while the loud stroke vibrates on my brain,
My soul entranced in Fancy's vivid dream,
Views Time's long vista opening bright again,
And long lost joys revive in Memory's beam.

To gather flowers in Childhood's fairy grove
Thro' yielding shades the raptured spirit flies,
And views the cherub forms of infant love,
Tread lovelier landscapes, hail far purer skies.

Fondly I gazed thro' the receding gloom,

Till Truth's dread accents broke the magic spell, Frowning she cried, and pointing to the tomb, "There the gay partners of your childhood dwell*."

* In allusion to several of our early companions who are now

no more.

Friend of my youth, while dawns the lingering day,
Oh, as you hail the herald of the Year,

O'er the cold forms that mingle in the clay,
Oh turn and shed the tributary tear.

Shrunk is the heart whence living currents flowed,
Heavy the clods that press the ghastly form,
And those now slumber in their last abode,
That we have seen with life's pure spirits warm.

I hold thee closer to my throbbing breast,
While sad I gaze upon their early grave;
As some worn wretch escaped the watery waste,
Snatches his last best treasure from the wave.

Seven times the sun has crossed the gelid sign,
And faintly beamed on Winter's icy throne,
Since first my soul confessed the powers divine,
That Friendship consecrates and calls her own.

Say, will the changing seasons as they roll
Her flame extinguish on the shrine of Truth;
Say, will they chill the ardours of the soul,
By Nature kindled in the breast of youth!

No, they shall live the pledge of joys to come,
When souls refined shall hail the light sublime
That streams serene from Heaven's empyreal dome,
Thro' scenes untrodden by the steps of Time.

Yes, they shall glow like Mercy's sacred fires,
Kindling her star to gild sepulchral night,
While youthful Hope on drooping wing retires
Far from the ruin'd altars of Delight.