Th' advent'rous toil, and up the path sublime Now lead, now follow; the glad landscape round,

Wide and more wide, increasing without bound!

O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark The berries of the half up-rooted ash

Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash

Beneath the cypress or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock;
In social silence now, and now t'unlock
The treasur'd heart; arm link'd in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Mutt'ring brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;
Till, high o'er head, his beck'ning friend ap-

pears,

:

And from the forehead of the topmost crag
Shouts eagerly for haply there uprears
That shadowing pine its old romantic limbs,
Which latest shall detain th' enamoured sight
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims,
Ting'd yellow with the rich departing light;
And haply, basin'd in some unsunn'd cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the
gale!

Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine,
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,

Ah, dearest Charles! it were a lot divine

To cheat our noons in moralising mood, While west winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd :

Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the mount,

To some low mansion in some woody dale, Where, smiling with blue eye, Domestic Bliss Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss!

Thus rudely vers'd in allegoric lore, The hill of knowledge I essay'd to trace; That verd'rous hill with many a resting place, And many a stream, whose warbling waters

pour

To glad and fertilise the subject plains ;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod

Where Inspiration, his diviner strains

Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks

Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of

age,

And mad oppression's thunder-clasping rage!
O meek retiring Spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime;
And from the stirring world uplifted high,
(Whose noises faintly wafted on the wind
To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
And oft the melancholy theme supply,)

There, while the prospect thro' the gazing eye Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, We'll laugh at wealth, and learn to laugh at fame,

Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the

same,

As neighb'ring fountains image, each the whole.

SONNET.

NOT, Stanhope! with the Patriot's doubtful name
I mock thy worth-friend of the human race!
Since scorning Faction's low and partial aim
Aloof thou wendest in thy stately pace,
Thyself redeeming from that leprous stain,
Nobility and aye unterrified

Pourest thine Abdiel warnings on the train
That sit complotting with rebellious pride
Gainst her, who from the Almighty's bosom

leapt

With whirlwind arm, fierce minister of love! Wherefore, ere virtue o'er thy tomb hath wept, Angels shall lead thee to the throne above: And thou from forth its clouds shalt hear the

voice,

Champion of freedom and her God! rejoice!

*Gallic liberty.

IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.

O PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love
To rest thine head beneath an olive tree;
I would that from the pinions of thy dove
One quill withouten pain ypluck'd might be!
For O! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee,
And fain to her some soothing song would write,
Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,

Who vow'd to meet her ere the morning light, But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant wight!

Last night, as I my weary head did pillow, With thoughts of my dissevered fair engross'd, Chill Fancy droop'd, wreathing herself with willow,

As though my breast entomb'd a pining ghost. "From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast,

Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way;
But leave me with the matin hour, at most!
As night clos'd flow'ret to the orient ray,
My sad heart will expand, when I the maid

survey.

But Love, who heard" the silence of my thought,"
Contriv'd a too successful wile, I ween;

And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught,
"Too long our slave the damsel's smiles hath seen,
To-morrow shall he ken her alter'd mien !"
He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed
The Morning shot her dewy glances keen,
When, as I 'gan uplift my drowsy head-

Now, bard! I'll work thee woe!" the laughing elfin said.

Sleep, softly-breathing god! his downy wing Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart; When twang'd an arrow from Love's mystic string,

With pathless wound it pierc'd him to the heart. Was there some magic in the elfin's dart? Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance? For straight so fair a form did upwards start, (No fairer deck'd the bowers of old romance) That Sleep enamour'd grew, nor mov'd from his sweet trance!

My Sara came, with gentlest look divine;
Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam:
I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!

Whisp'ring we went, and love was all our theme.
Love pure and spotless, as at first I deem;
He sprang from heaven! Such joys with sleep
did bide,

That I the living image of my dream

Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd— "O how shall I behold my love at even-tide?"