Of his bright god, with lofty fury raves,
Celeftially difturb'd till the ftrong flames,
That his whole foul to heavenly madness heat,
Have spent their blaze in all the rage of fong!

Great conflagration! whofe immortal fires,
With myftic, everlasting fewel fed,
Flame with a generous fury, flame to fpread
Far other fcene than fmoaking ruin round,
Fair flowers and smiling verdure, fields that wave
With yellow wealth, and boughs that ftoop beneath
Their blufhing load, with affluence oppreft!

Great Father of the fyftem! round whofe thrones,
In filial circles all thy children fhine,
Exulting in thy kind, paternal smile!
Well-order'd family! for ever free
From jarring ftrife; harmonious moving on
In eafy dance; and calling human life
To lift the mufic of your filent glide,
And make its focial fyftem chime like yours.
Preceptors fweet of concert and of love!
Had but this noify scene an ear to learn.

Or is thy name, the ftudent's facred lamp,
Hung up on high, and trimm'd by Heaven's own hand?
By whofe pure light, more precious to his eye,
Than that which trembles on his nightly page,
(Man's puny tome,) with filent joy he reads
The broad, inftructive sheet, which thou haft held,
All wife inftructor! to thy pupil man,

Through every age. Invaluable book!

In fchools unrival'd, though but little read!

Fair, faultless piece! immortal work of Heaven!
Bible of ages! boundless word of God!
Writ in a language to all nations known;

And, through all time, with care divine, preferv'd
From all corrupt interpolations pure.

Or art thou Nature's eye, to whofe keen fight
The fyftem's utmost circle naked lies?
Oh, tell a curious mortal all thou seest!
Say, by what various beings tenanted,

The orbs that borrow thy refulgent blaze;
Made of what matter; moulded to what form;
Bleft with what organs; with what minds inforin'd;
Spurr'd by what paffions; on what arts intent;
Eager in what purfuits; and by what ties
Combin'd:-Oh, fay, all-fearching radiance, fay,
(For doubtless mortal and immortal all),
1798.
Q

Taught

Taught by what difcipline the generous love'
Of beauteous Virtue; to what duties call'd;
By what temptations urg'd to act thofe deeds
Which ftain thy day, and by what motives fir'd,
With moral fplendours, to outfhine thy beams.

Or wilt thou tell of thy revolving fpheres, Which wears the bays of genius whofe quick fons Have fhot, with fartheft wing, into the field Of Nature's works; or moft fublimely foar'd, On eagle pinions, to that parent-fun, At whofe eternal glories thine were lit ? Say, haft thou feen a creature's compafs take An ampler fweep over the dread immenfe, Than that which turned obedient to the hand Of him we, Newton name, our earth's proud boast ? Or, in which world of this our neighbourhood, Hath there been wav'd a wand of mightier call Than our renown'd, immortal Shakespear mov'd, O'er Nothing's yaft profound, and said, let be, And, lo, it was! lo, a bright universe Of great and fair, of tranfports, and of woes, And charming fears! in bards or fages, fay, Which is the ball that bears away the prize.

FROST at MIDNIGHT. 1.

[From FEARS in SOLITUDE, &c. by S. T. COLERIDGE.]

HE froft performs it's fecret ministry,
Unhelp'd by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud and bark, again! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at reft,
Have left me to that folitude, which suits
Abftrufer mufings: fave that at my fide
My cradled infant flumbers peacefully.
'Tis calm indeed! fo calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with it's ftrange
And extreme filentnefs. Sea, hill, and wood,

This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberlefs goings on of life,
Inaudible as dreams! The thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
Only that film,, which flutter'd on the grate,
Still Autters there, the fole unquiet thing.
Methinks, it's motion in this hufh of nature

Idle thought!

Gives it dim fympathies with me, who live
Making it a companionable form,
With which I can hold commune.
But ftill the living fpirit in our frame,
That loves not to behold a lifeless thing,
Transfufes into all it's own delights
It's own volition, fometimes with deep faith
And fometimes with fantaftic playfulness.
Ah me! amus'd by no fuch curious toy
Of the felf-watching fubtilifing mind,
How often in my early school-boy days
With moft believing fuperftitious with
Prefageful have I gaz'd upon the bars,
To watch the stranger there! and oft belike,
With unclos'd lids, already had I dreamt

Of my fweet birthplace, and the old church-tower,
Whofe bells, the poor man's only mufic, rang
From morn to evening, all the hot fair-day,
So fweetly, that they stirr'd and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Moft like articulate founds of things to come!
So gaz'd I, till the foothing things, I dreamt,
Lull'd me to fleep, and fleep prolong'd my dreams!
And fo I brooded all the following morn,
Aw'd by the ftern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fix'd with mock ftudy on my fwimming book:
Save if the door half open'd, and I fnatch'd
A hafty glance, and ftill my heart leapt up,
For ftill I hop'd to fee the ftranger's face,
Townfman, or aunt, or fifter more belov'd,
My play-mate when we both were cloth'd alike!

Dear babe, that fleepeft cradled by my fide,
Whofe gentle breathings, heard in this dead calm,
Fill up the interfperfed vacancies

And momentary paufes of the thought!
My babe fo beautiful! it fills my heart

With tender gladnefs, thus to look at thee,
And think, that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other fcenes! For I was rear'd
In the great city, pent mid cloifters dim,
And faw nought lovely but the fky and stars..
But thou, my babe! fhalt wander, like a breeze,
By lakes and fandy fhores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and thores
And mountain crags: fo fhalt thou fee and hear
The lovely fhapes and founds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach

Himfelf in all, and all things in himself...
Great universal teacher! he hall mould
Thy fpirit, and by giving make it ask.

Therefore all feafons fhall be sweet to thee,
Whether the fummer clothe the general earth
With greennefs, or the redbreasts fit and fing
Betwixt the tufts of foow on the bare branch
Of mofly apple-tree, while all the thatch
Smokes in the fun-thaw: whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blaft,

Or whether the fecret ministery of cold, !
Shall hang them up in Glent icicles,

Quietly shining to the quiet moon,, able

Like thofe my babe! which, ere to-morrow's warmth
Have capp'd their fharp keen points with pendulous drops,
Will catch thine eye, and with their novelty
Sufpend thy little foul; then make thee shout,
And stretch and flutter from thy mother's arms
As thou would'st fly for very eagernets.

D

ELEGY. SPRING-1796.

་་་

[From POEMS, by J. Hucks, A. M. &c.]

ELIGHTFUL Spring, I tafte thy balmy gales Pregnant with life, my penfive foul they cheer, Creation fmiles, the woods, the hills, the vales, Hail the gay morning of the dawning year.

Expand, ye groves, your renovated bloom, Warble, ye ftreams, ye fwelling buds, unfold, Waft all the plenty of your rich perfume, And wave, ye florets, wave your locks of gold.

Rapt in the maze of nature's boundless charms, I gaze infatiate, wonder and admire,

Ah! how they foothe th' impaffion'd heart's alarms, And wake, to tranfport fhort, the woe-ftruck lyre.

But foon, the contraft blackens on the view, Thefe fcenes of beauty, man infenfate mars, Cloaths fmiling nature with a mournful hue, Blafts all her blooms, and with her mufic jars.

1

O! might

O! might the moral spring but once revolve It's infant bloffoms, 'midft the noon-tide blaze';" Barbaric paffion's low'ring mifts diffolve, t While dawn'd pure reafon, with ferener rays.

.༢.།

O fool! to think it winter, bleak and foul, There broads, eternal hope creates, in vain, Fantastic forms, which please the cheated foul, Poor air-built fabrics of the poet's brain.

N

See life and health enliven all around,
O'er lawns and woods the eye delighted røves:
While pour an artless harmony of found,
Flocks from the fields, and warblers from the groves.

Luxuriant verdure, here, adorns the plain, There, the grey fallows and the toiling team, The farm's neat manfion, and the village fane, Whofe mofs-clad tower reflects the folar gleam.

But ah! while nature pours th' enlivening breath, Paints her fair forms, and spreads her treasures here; O'er other flores, black fweeps the cloud of death, Glares the red falchion, and the murderous fpear.

Ev'n now, perhaps, confronting armies meet, Loud roll the drums, the thundering cannons roar, Rocks the dire field beneath unnumber'd feet, And horror waves his locks bedropt with gore.

Thro' duft in whirlwinds driv'n, inconstant seen, Thick flash the fwords, the frequent victim falls; While o'er his mangled trunk, and ghaftly mien, Hofts trampling rush, where maniac fury calls.

Say, foldier! fay, grim spectacle of pain,
What fyren lur'd thee from thy peaceful home;
To leave thy poor, thy fmall domestic train,
For toils of arms, o'er billowy deeps to roam.

No beams of glory chear thy hapless lot,
Thy name defcends not to a future age,
Impell'd to combat for thou knew it not what,

And urg'd to flaughter, by another's rage:

Thy widow'd wife, thine orphan children weep,

And beg their feanty meal from door to door,

T

While gafi'd with wounds, thy limbs difhonour'd fleep, And waste and moulder, on a foreign fhore,