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Cails off from heavenly truth this reasoning me,
And tells me, I'm a brute as much as he.
If on sublimer wings of love and praise,
My soul above the starry vault I raise,
Lured by some vain conceit, or shameful lust,
I fag, I drop, and flutter in the dust.
The towering lark thus from her lofty strain
Stoops to an emmet, or a barley grain.
By adverse gusts of jarring instincts tost,
I rove to one, now to the other coast;
To bliss unknown my lofty soul aspires,
My lot unequal to my vast desires.
As 'mongst the hinds a child of royal birth
Finds his high pedigree by conscious worth ;
So man, amongst his fellow brutes exposed,
Sees he's a king, but 'tis a king deposed:
Pity him, beasts! you, by no law confined,
Are barr'd from devious paths by being blind;
Whilst man, through opening views of various ways
Confounded, by the aid of knowledge strays;
Too weak to choose, yet choosing still in haste,
One moment gives the pleasure and distate;
Bilk'd by past minutes, while the present cloy,
The flattering future still must give the joy.
Not happy, but amused upon the road,
And (like you) thoughtless of his last abode,
Whether next sun his being shall restrain
To endless nothing, happiness, or pain.

Around me, lo, the thinking, thonghtless crew,
(Bewilder'd each) their different paths pursue;
Of them I ask the way; the first replies,
Thou art a god; and sends me to the skies.
Down on the turf (the next) thou two-legg'd beast,
There fix thy lot, thy bliss, and endless rest.
Between these wide extremes the length is such,
I find I know too little or too much.

“ Almighty Power, by whose most wise command, Helpless, forlorn, uncertain here I stand; Take this faint glimmering of thyself away, Or break into my soul with perfect day ! This said, expanded lay the sacred text, The balın, the light, the guide of souls perplex'd: Thus the benighted traveller that strays Through doubtful paths, enjoys the morning rays; The nightly mist, and thick descending dew, Parting, unfold the fields, and vaulted blue. "( Truth divine! enlighten d by thy ray, I grope and guess no more, but see my way; Thou clear dst the secret of my high descent, And told me what those mystic tokens meant; Marks of my birth, which I had worn in vain, Too hard for worldly sages to explain. Zeno's were vain, vain Epicurus schemes, Their systems false, delusive were their dreams;

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Unskill'd my two-fold nature to divide,
One nursed my pleasure, and one nursed my pride:
Those jarring truths which human art beguile,
Thy sacred page thus bids me reconcile.”
Offspring of God, no less thy pedigree,
What thou once wert, art now, and still may be,
Thy God alone can tell, alone decree;
Faultless thou dropt from his unerring skill,
With the bare power to sin, since free of will:
Yet charge not with thy guilt his bounteous love,
For who has power to walk, has power to rove:
Who acts by force impellid, can naught deserve;
And wisdom short of infinite may swerve.
Borne on thy new-imp d wings, thou took'st thy flight,
Leti thy Creator, and the realms of light;
Disdain'd his gentle precept to fulfil;
And thought to grow a god by doing ill :
Thongl by foul guilt thy heavenly form defaced,
In nature chang'd, from happy mansions chased,
Thou still retain'st some sparks of heavenly fire,
Too faint to mount, yet restless to aspire;
Angel enough to seek thy bliss again,
And brute enough to make thy search in vain.
The creatures now withdraw their kindly use,
Some fly thee, soine torment, and some seduce;
Repast ill suited to such different guests,
For what thy sense desires, thy soul distastes;
Thy lust, thy curiosity, thy pride,
Curb ll, or deferr'd, or balk d, or gratified,
Rage on, and make thee equally unbless d,
In what thou want'st, and what thou hast possess d:
In vain thou hopest for bliss on this poor clod,
Return, and seek thy Father, and thy God:
Yet think not to regain thy native sky,
Borne on the wings of vain philosophy;
Mysterious passage! lid from human eyes;
Soaring you'll sink, and sinking you will rise:
Let humble thoughts thy wary footsteps guide,
Regain by meekness what you lost by pride.

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ELIZABETH ROWE. 1674-1737. ELIZABETH Rowe, distinguished for her piety, literature, talents, was the daughter of Mr. Walter Singer, a clergyma She early evinced a very decided taste for reading and poetry, and twenty.second year she published a volume of “ Poems on DENT by Philomela." In 1710 she married Mr. Thomas Rowe, a genti considerable literary attainments, who was soine years her her great grier, died of consumption but a few years anter." the early age of twenty-eight. After his death she retired to me neighborhood of which she possessed a paternal estate, ana... her once celebrated work, “ Letters from the Dead to the Livog in 1737.

ely, literature, and poetical ger, a clergyman of Ilchester.

'g and poetry, and in der * Poems on Several Occasions,

nas Rowe, a gentleman of le years her junior, but who, to years after their marriage, at

to Frome, in the

al estate, and there composed

the Living." She died

* The poems of Mrs. Rowe," says Southey, “show much spirit and cultivation, and are chiefly characterized by their devotion. They are at times a little more enthusiastic than is allowable even for poetry, and are sometimes distorted by metaphysics, but generally their beauties prevail over their faults."

Oh! lead me to some solitary glooin,
Where no enlivening beams nor cheerful echoes come;
But silent all, and dusky let it be,
Remote, and unfrequented but by me;
Mysterious, close, and sullen as that grief
Which leads me to its covert for relief.
Far from the busy world's detested noise,
Its wretched pleasures, and distracted joys;
Far from the jolly fools, who laugh and play,
And dance, and sing, impertinently gay,
Their short, inestimable hours away;
Far from the studious sollies of the great,
The tiresome farce of ceremonious state.
There, in a melting, solemn, dying strain,
Let me all day upon my lyre complain,
And wind up all its soft harmonious striugs,
To noble, serious, melancholy things.
And let no human foot, but mine, e'er trace
The close recesses of the sacred place:
Nor let a bird of cheerful note come near,
To whisper out liis airy raptures here.
Only the pensive songstress of the grove,
Let her, by mine, her mournful notes improve;
While drooping winds among the branches sigh,
And sluggish waters heavily roll by.
Here, to my fatal sorrows let me give
The short remaining hours I have to live.
Then, with a sullen, deep-fetch'd groan expire,
And to the grave's dark solitude retire.

In imitation of Canticles, v. 6, 7.
Ye pure inhabitants of light,

Ye virgin minds above,
That feel the sacred violence

And mighty force of love:
By all your boundless joys, by all

Your love to human kind,
I charge you to instruct me where

My absent Lord to find.
I've search'd the pleasant vales and plains.

And climb'd the hills around;
But no glad tidings of my love

Among the swains have found.
I've oft invoked him in the shades,

By every stream and rock;
The rocks, the streams, and echoing shades,

My vain industry mock.

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I traced the city's noisy streets,

And told my cares aloud;
But no intelligence could meet

Among the thoughtless crowd.
I search'd the temple round, for there

Ile oft has blest my sight,
And half unveild, of his loved face

Disclosed the heavenly light.
But with these glorious views, no more

I feast my ravishd eyes,
For veild with interposing clouds,

My eager search he flies.
Oh, could I in some desert land

His sacred footsteps trace,
I'd with a glad devotion kneel,

And bless the happy place.
I'd follow him o'er burning sands,

Or where perpetual snow
With horrid aspect clothes the ground,

To find my Lord, I'd go.
Nor stormy seas should stay my course,

Nor unfrequented shore,
Nor craggy Alps, nor desert wastes

Where hungry lions roar.
Through ranks of interposing deaths

To his embrace I'd fly,
And to enjoy lis blissful smiles,

Would be content to die.

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school and at

HENRY GROVE. 1683_1738. HENRY GROVE, a «dissenting" clerryman of great literature and piety, born at Taunton, Somersetshire. 1652. He was early inipressed by Ins parents with an ardent love for religion and morality, and at seno the academy' he acquired a taste for the elegant authors of Greece ani. which he cultivated through life with unwearied fondness and issu? which gave uncommon grace and beauty to his style. At the is

twenty. two he entered the ministry, for which he was eminently quan , piety and learning; and he became a very popular preacher..

en, the preceptor of the academy at Taunton, Mr. Grove was elected to fill his place, and his first publication was an essay " the use of his pupils, entitled, “The Regulation of Diversions, des call off the attention of youth from the too eager pursut of Peace infuse into them a thirst for the acquisition of knowledge and

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a very popular preacher. On the decease

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on was an essay drawn up for
I Diversions," designed to

sull of pleasure, and to
owledge and virtue. His

1 "Dissenters" had not the privilege of Oxford and Cambridge Univers

3 “II were to pray for a taste which should stand me in stead under en stances, and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me through her, ills, however things might go amiss, and the world frown upon me, it woul ING. I speak or it only as a worldly advantare and not in the sliglitest degree derogating from the higher office and surer and stronger panoply of rengi taste, an instrument, and a mode of pleasurable gratification. Give ar of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of making a happy man; unless,

in stead under every variety of circum

e through life, and a shield against its ? upon me, it would be A TASTE FOR LEAD

I degree as superseding or panoply of religious principles-but as a

an this taste, and the mean

s, indeed, you put into his

next writings for the public were contributions for the Spectator. Numbers 588, 601, 626, and 635 (the last number) are from his pen. He also published many treatises of a strictly religious character. Of these, “ A Discourse on Secret Prayer," " The Evidence of our Saviour's Resurrection Considered," " Some Thoughts concerning the Proof of a Future State from Reason,” and Discourses on the Lord's Supper," and on “ Saving Faith," are best known.

* In all his writings, Mr. Grove, taking the Scripture solely for his guide, adhered to the result of his own inquiries; his mind was biased by no systems or creeds, and his theology, therefore, was purely practical, and, as far as the fallibility of men will allow in judging of the text, perfectly conforma. ble to the tenor of the Gospel.'' 1 After living a life of great benevolence and practical piety, he died on the 27th of February, 1738, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. The following extracts from one of his letters to a friend, draw a true picture of his own character, in his directions for

THE TRUE ART OF ENJOYING LIFE. It will not be altogether out of character, if I write down a few reflections on the art of improving human life, so as to pass it in peace and tranquillity, and make it yield the noblest pleasures it is capable of affording us. The first rule, and in a manner comprehensive of all the rest, is always to consider human life in its connection, as a state of trial, with an everlasting existence. How does this single thought at once raise and sink the value of every thing under the sun? sink it as a part of our worldly portion ; raise it as a means and opportunity of promoting the glory of the great Author of all good, and the happiness, present and future, of our fellow-creatures as well as our own ?- In the next place, we are to lay down this for a certain maxim, and constantly attend to it, that our happiness must arise from our own temper and actions, not immedaitely from any external circumstances. These, at best, are only considerable, as they supply a larger field to the exercise of our virtue, and more leisure for the improvements and entertainments of the mind : whereas, the chief delights of a reasonable being must result from its own operations, and reflections upon them as consonant to its nature, and the order it holds in the universe. How do I feel myself within ? Am I in my natural state ? Do I put my faculties to their right use ?-To require less from others than is commonly done, in order to be pleased, and to be more studious to please them, not from a meanness of spirit, not from artful views, but from an unaffected benevolence, is another rule of greater importance than is easily imagined ; and more ef

hands a most perverse selection of books. You place him in contact with the best society in every period of history--with the wisest, the wittiest--with the tenderest, and the purest characters that have adorned humanity. You make him a denizen of all nations-a contemporary of all ages. The world has been created for him. It is hardly possible but the character should take a higher and better tone from the constant habit of associating in thought with a class of thinkery, to say the least of it, above the average of humanity." From Sir John Herschel's “ Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy."

1 Drake's Essays, vol. iii. p. 210.

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