When Israel's host, with all their stores, Past through the ruby-tinctur'd crystal shores, The wilderness of waters and of land: Then persecution rag'd in Heaven's own cause, Strict justice for the breach of nature's laws, The legislator held the scythe of fate, Where'er his legions chanc'd to stray, Death and destruction mark'd their bloody way; [hate. Immoderate was their rage, for mortal was their But when the King of Righteousness arose, In pastoral simplicity and peace, And show'd to man that face, which Moses could not see. Well hast thou, Webster, pictur'd Christian love, And copied our Master's fair design; But livid envy would the light remove, Or crowd thy portrait in a nook malignThe muse shall hold it up to popular viewWhere the more candid and judicious few Shall think the bright original they see, The likeness nobly lost in the identity. Oh, hadst thou liv'd in better days than these, And to deserve is all thy empty claim. Else thou'dst been plac'd, by learning, and by wit, There, where thy dignified inferiors sit Oh, they are in their generations wise; Each path of interest they have sagely tred— To live-to thrive-to rise-and still to riseBetter to bow to men, than kneel to God. Behold, where poor unmansion'd Merit stands, And begs a little bread, but begs in vain; Oh, indignation! wherefore wert thou given, OR, A HYMN FOR THE HAY-MAKERS. "Quinetiam Gallum noctem explaudentibus alis LUCRET. BRISK Chanticleer his matins had begun, And thrice he hail'd the dawn's ambiguous light; Back to their graves the fear-begotten phantoms run. Strong labour got up with his pipe in his mouth, He stoutly strode over the dale; He lent new perfumes to the breath of the south; On his back hung his wallet and flail, Behind him came health from her cottage of thatch, Where never physician had lifted the latch. First of the village Colin was awake, And thus he sung, reclining on his rake: The abbey-bells in wakening rounds Her morning hymn to Heaven. All nature wakes, the birds unlock their throats, And mock the shepherd's rustic notes: All alive o'er the lawn, Full glad of the dawn, The little lambkins play, Sylvia and Sol arise-and all is day- And all hands to the fork, While the sun shines our hay-cocks to make; So fine is the day, And so fragrant the hay, That the meadow's as blithe as the wake: Our voices let's raise In Phoebus's praise, Inspir'd by so glorious a theme, Our musical words Shall be join'd by the birds, And we'll dance to the tune of the stream. A NOON-PIECE. OR, THE MOWERS AT DINNER. "Jam pastor umbras cum grege languido, Dumeta Silvani ; caretque HOR. THE sun is now radiant to behold, And vehement he sheds his liquid rays of gold; No cloud appears through all the wide expanse ; And short, but yet distinct and clear; To the wanton whistling air; The mimic shadows dance. Fat mirth and gallantry the gay, Mad with May, and wild of wing, From the leathern bottle swill. } |