that particular cheerfulness of spirit for which he was always so remarkable.-January 21st, 1759. The comet of Halley discovered on its return by Messier, remarkably verified the prediction of Dr. Halley and the calculations of Clairaut.-January 28th, 1687. John Hevelius died on his birth-day, aged seventy-six years. He was a very celebrated astronomer, and author of several remarkable discoveries in the heavens. He had the misfortune to have his house at Dantzick burnt down, by which his observatory and all his valuable instruments and astronomical apparatus were destroyed.
A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER.
(Written in sickness, by Dr. John Donne.)
WILT thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For, I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sin, which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallow'd in a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For, I have more.
have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore:
But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine, as he shines now, and heretofore;
And having done that, thou hast done!
SPECIMENS OF POETRY
BY SOPHIA WOODROOFFE.
I.-The Battle; and the Grecian Maid slain.
THE arrows flew around us, thick as hail;
War-cries innumerous drown'd the trumpet's clang;
Helmets were cleft; and, on the strong man's mail,
The sword and scymitar re-echoing rang;
And many a stately crest, and casque of proof,
Lay, trampled in the dust, beneath the charger's hoof.
And she, who stood unshrinking through that hour,
And battled by my side: her vow was kept.
She fell. She perish'd, like a summer flower,
O'er which the morn her pearly tears hath wept ;
But, when at noon with fullest beauty crown'd,
The ruthless spoiler comes, and flings it to the ground.-Lethe.
II.-The Epicurean Philosophy vain in Sorrow.
Bring wine! bring perfumes! crown the cup with roses!
Bring music! All that can enchant or bless!
And, while the form on purple couch reposes,
Forget all care, all terror, all distress!
Read well your locust symbols. E'en as they,
Ye come and go, the creatures of a day.
Then make that day a day of summer, bright
With sunshine, and with beauty, and with mirth.
Let no regrets disturb thy short delight;
Heed not the voice of grief, thou son of earth!
Soon endless night must veil thy flitting years.
Why stain them, then, with unavailing tears?
'Twas thus I heard one speak: and thus I tried
To think no more of loved ones gone for ever,
E'en from myself my misery to hide,
And pass my days in rapture. Fond endeavour!
I could not so fill up the aching void,
Left by affections wither'd, hopes destroy'd.-Lethe.
III.-Vanity of the Stoical Philosophy in Affliction.
I sought another. And he said, "Be great!
Keep down thy passions with an iron hand,
With firm, undaunted courage meet thy fate;
For all must bow beneath its stern command.
Feel not. Secure in apathy sublime,
Heed neither love, nor woe, nor change, nor time."
Cold, heartless creed! It was not made for those
Whose heart-strings thrill to every soft emotion.
It freezes feeling, like the mountain snows.
It dries the springs of lofty self-devotion.
It strips existence of its loveliest charm,
And gives, instead, a false and hollow calm.-Lethe.
IV. Nature silent to all the Inquiries of Grief.
Nature reveal'd not that I long'd to know.
Thus, each sad hour, I felt more desolate :
And, in a mood of dreary, listless woe,
I thought myself resign'd to rigid fate,
I watch'd the flowers at early daylight born,
Which droop'd and wither'd ere another morn.
I watch'd the rainbow's soft and radiant hues,
Scarcely beheld before they disappear'd;
I watch'd the sparkling of the early dews,
Whose fleeting loveliness the sunshine fear'd;
And said, that all upon this earth was made,
However beautiful, to perish and to fade.
But then I saw the river flowing on,
Now full, now almost dry; but flowing still,
As if its journey never would be done,
And it were govern'd by a loftier will.
And I beheld the seasons in their course
Ever return, as ruled by some constraining force.-Lethe.
I journey'd next towards the glorious East,
And tarried at imperial Babylon.
And her my wonder with each hour increased;
For, from the rising to the setting sun,
Innumerous multitudes their business plied,
Passing with hasty steps on every side.
And ever, at the open portals, enter'd
Merchants, with richest treasures, from afar;
For, in that old and joyous city, centred
The glory of the world. She was the star
Of countless peoples; and their wealth was pour'd
Out at her feet, a priceless, endless hoard.
Queen of the nations! stately were her walls;
Her streets, of palaces; and every shrine
Glowing with gems. And, in her marble halls,
Were song and feasting, flowers and sparkling wine.
And graceful were the forms which led the dance
In those bright halls, and bid the sounding timbrels glance.
Soon I departed. Freedom was not there.
Though all was luxury and pomp around,
There seem'd to hang a weight upon the air,
Men started e'en at their own voices' sound:
And want and misery cower'd, full oft, beside
The gilded palaces of lordly power and pride.-Lethe.
Roche, Printer, 25, Hoxton-square, London.
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