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O blest retreat, and sacred too! Sacred as when the bell of prayer Toll'd duly on the desert air, And crosses deck'd thy summits blue. Oft, like some loved romantic tale, Ost shall my weary mind recall, Amid the hum and stir of men, Thy beechen grove and waterfall, Thy ferry with its gliding sail, And her—the lady of the glen!

A FAREWELL. ONCE more, enchanting maid, adieu! I must be gone while yet I may; Oft shall I weep to think of you, But here I will not, cannot stay. The sweet expression of that face, For ever changing, yet the same, Ah no, I dare not turn to traceIt melts my soul, it fires my frame ! Yet give me, give me, ere I go, One little lock of those so blest, That lend your cheek a warmer glow, And on your white neck love to rest. -Say, when to kindle soft delight, That hand has chanced with mine to meet, How could its thrilling touch excite A sigh so short, and yet so sweet? O say—but no, it must not be. Adieu! a long, a long adieu ! -Yet still, methinks, you frown on me, Or never could I fly from you.

WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

OCTOBER 10, 1806.*
WHOE’ER thou art, approach, and, with a sigh,
Mark where the small remains of greatness lie.t
There sleeps the dust of Fox, for ever gone:
How dear the place where late his glory shone !
And, though no more ascends the voice of prayer,
Though the last footsteps cease to linger there,
Still, like an awful dream that comes again,
Alas! at best as transient and as vain,
Still do I see (while through the vaults of night
The funeral song once more proclaims the rite)
The moving pomp along the shadowy aisle,
That, like a darkness, fill'd the solemn pile ;
Th’illustrious line, that in long order led,
Of those that loved him living, mourn'd him dead;
Of those the few, that for their country stood
Round him who dared be singularly good :
All, of all ranks, that claim'd him for their own;
And nothing wanting—but himself alone !!

O say, of him now rests there but a name;
Wont, as he was, to breathe ethereal flame?
Friend of the absent, guardian of the dead !
Who but would here their sacred sorrows shed?
(Such as he shed on Nelson's closing grave;
How soon to claim the sympathy he gave !)
In him, resentful of another's wrong,
The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong.
Truth from his lips a charm celestial drew-
Ah, who so mighty and so gentle too ? ||

What though with war the madding nations rung,
“ Peace,” when he spoke, was ever on his tongue !
Amidst the frowns of power, the tricks of state,
Fearless, resolved, and negligently great!
In vain malignant vapours gather'd round;
He walk'd, erect, on consecrated ground.
The clouds, that rise to quench the orb of day,
Reflect its splendour, and dissolve away!

When in retreat he laid his thunder by, For letter'd ease and calm philosophy, Blest were his hours within the silent grove, Where still his godlike spirit deigns to rove; Blest by the orphan's smile, the widow's prayer, For many a deed, long done in secret there. There shone his lamp on Homer's hallow'd page; There, listening, sate the hero and the sage; And they, by virtue and by blood allied, Whom most he loved, and in whose arms he died.

Friend of all human kind! not here alone (The voice that speaks, was not to thee unknown Wilt thou be miss'd. O'er every land and sea, Long, long shall England be revered in thee! And, when the storm is hush'd-in distant years, Foes on thy grave shall meet, and mingle tears !

INSCRIPTION FOR A TEMPLE.

DEDICATED TO THE GRACES.*

APPROACH with reverence. There are those within Whose dwelling-place is heaven. Daughters of

Jove, From them flow all the decencies of life; Without them nothing pleases, virtue's self Admired, not loved; and those on whom they smile, Great though they be, and wise, and beautiful, Shine forth with double lustre.

TO THE BUTTERFLY. CHILD of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, Mingling with her thou lovest in fields of light; And, where the flowers of paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold. There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky, Expand and shut with silent ecstasy! -Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept. And such is man; soon from his cell of clay To burst a seraph in the blaze of day!

* After the funeral of the Right Hon. Charles James Fox. | Venez voir le peu qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, etc.- Bossuet. Oraison funebre de Louis de Bourbon.

t Et rien enfin ne manque dans tous ces honneurs, que celui à qui on les rend.-Ibid.

$ Alluding particularly to his speech on moving a new writ for the borough of Tavistock, March 16, 1802.

Il See that admirable delineation of his character by Sir James Mackintosh, which first appeared in the Bombay Courier, January 17, 1807.

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JAMES GRAHAME.

The poem of The Sabbath will long endear the giving vent to the familiar sentiments of his boson. name of JAMES GRAHAME to all who love the due We can trace here, in short, and with the same please observance of Sunday, and are acquainted with the ing effect, that entire absence of art, effort, and afdevout thoughts and poetic feeling which it inspires. fectation, which we have already noticed as the most Nor will he be remembered for this alone; his remarkable distinction of his attempts in descripBritish Georgics and his Birds of Scotland, rank tion. Almost all the other poets with whom we are with those productions whose images and sentiments acquainted, appear but too obviously to put their take silent possession of the mind, and abide there feelings and affections, as well as their fancies and when more startling and obtrusive things are phrases, into a sort of studied dress, before they forgotten. There is a quiet natural ease about all venture to present them to the crowded assembly his descriptions; a light and shade both of land of the public: and though the style and fashion of scape and character in all his pictures, and a truth this dress varies according to the taste and ability and beauty which prove that he copied from his of the inventors, still it serves almost equally to own emotions, and painted with the aid of his own hide their native proportions, and to prove that eyes, without looking, as Dryden said, through the they were a little ashamed or afraid to exhibit spectacles of books. To his fervent piety as well them as they really were. Now, Mr. Grahame, as poetic spirit the public has borne testimony, by we think, has got over this general nervousness purchasing many copies of his works. The Birds of and shyness about showing the natural and simple Scotland is a fine series of pictures, giving the form, feelings with which the contemplation of human the plumage, the haunts, and habits of each individ- | emotion should affect us; or rather, has been too ual bird, with a graphic fidelity rivalling the labours seriously occupied, and too constantly engrossed of Wilson. His drama of Mary Stuart wants that with the feelings themselves, to think how the passionate and happy vigour which the stage re-confession of them might be taken by the genequires; some of his songs are natural and elegant; rality of his readers, to concern himself about the his Sabbath Walks, Biblical Pictures, and Rural contempt of the fastidious, or the derision of the Calendar, are all alike remarkable for accuracy of unfeeling. In his poetry, therefore, we meet neidescription and an original turn of thought. He ther with the Musidoras and Damons of Thomson, was born at Glasgow, 220 April, 1765; his father, nor the gipsy-women and Ellen Orfords of Crabbe; who was a writer, educated him for the bar, but he and still less with the Matthew Schoolmasters, showed an early leaning to the Muses, and such a Alice Fells, or Martha Raes of Mr. Wordsworth ;love of truth and honour as hindered him from but we meet with the ordinary peasants of Scotaccepting briefs which were likely to lead him out land in their ordinary situations, and with a touchof the paths of equity and justice. His Sabbath ing and simple expression of concern for their sufwas written and published in secret, and he had the ferings, and of generous indulgence for their faults. pleasure of finding the lady whom he had married He is not ashamed of his kindness and condescenamong its warmest admirers ; nor did her admira- sion, on the one hand; nor is he ostentatious or tion lessen when she discovered the author. His vain of it, on the other; but gives expression in health declined; he accepted the living of Sedge the most plain and unaffected manner to sentiments ware, near Durham, and performed his duties that are neither counterfeited nor disguised. We diligently and well till within a short time of his do not know any poetry, indeed, that lets us in so death, which took place 14th September, 1811. directly to the heart of the writer, and produces so

The great charm of Mr. Grahame's poetry, (says a full and pleasing a conviction that it is dictated by writer in the Edinburgh Review,) appears to us to the genuine feelings which it aims at communicatconsist in its moral character; in that natural ex-ing to the reader. If there be less fire and elevapression of kindness and tenderness of heart, which tion than in the strains of some of his contempogives such a peculiar air of paternal goodness and pa- raries, there is more truth and tenderness than is triarchal simplicity to his writings; and that earnest commonly found along with those qualities, and and intimate sympathy with the objects of his com- less getting up either of language or of sentiment passion, which assures us at once that he is not than we recollect to have met with in any modern making a theatrical display of sensibility, but merely composition.

Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen; THE SABBATH.

While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke

O’ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
ARGUMENT.

The voice of psalms—the simple song of praise. Description of a Sabbath morning in the country. The

| With dove-like wings, peace o’er yon village labourer at home. The town mechanic's morning

broods; walk; his meditation. The sound of bells. Crowd | The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din proceeding to church. Interval before the service | Hath ceased ; all, all around is quietness. begins. Scottish service. English service. Scriptures | Less fearful on this day, the limping hare read. The organ, with the voices of the people. The

Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, sound borne to the sick man's couch: bis wish. The worship of God in the solitude of the woods. The

Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free, shepherd boy among the hills. People seen on the Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large; heights returning from church. Contrast of the present And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls, times with those immediately preceding the Revolu- His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray. tion. The persecution of the Covenanters: A Sabbath

But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. conventicle: Cameron: Renwick : Psalms. Night conventicles during storms. A funeral according to

| Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. the rites of the church of England. A female charac. On other days the man of toil is doom'd ter. The suicide. Expostulation. The incurable of To eat his joyless bread, lonely; the ground an hospital. A prison scene. Debtors. Divine ser- | Both seat and board ; screen’d from the winter's cold vice in the prison hall. Persons under sentence of

And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree; death. The public guilt of inflicting capital punishmeals on persons who have been left destitute of re

But on this day, imbosom'd in his home, ligious and moral instruction. Children proceeding to

He shares the frugal meal with those he loves ; a Sunday-school. The father. The impress. Appeal / With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy on the indiscriminate severity of criminal law. Com Of giving thanks to God-not thanks of form, parative mildness of the Jewish law. The year of ju. A word and a grimace, but reverently, bilee. Description of the commencement of the jubilee.

With cover'd face and upward earnest eye. The sound of the trumpets through the land. The bond

| Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. man and his family returning from their servitude to lake possession of their inheritance. Emigrants to the | The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe wilds of America. Their Sabbath worship. The whole The morning air, pure from the city's smoke; inhabitants of Highland districts who have emigrated

While, wandering slowly up the river-side, Ingether, still regret their country. Even the blind

He meditates on Him, whose power he marks man regrets the objects with which he had been conversant. An emigrant's contrast between the tropical | In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, climates and Scotland. The boy who had been born As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom on the voyage. Description of a person on a desert Around its roots; and while he thus surveys, island. His Sabbath. His release. Missionary ship. With elevated joy, each rural charm, The Pacific ocean. Defence of missionaries. Effects | He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope, of the conversion of the primitive Christians. Transi.

That heaven may be one Sabbath without end. tion to the slave trade. The Sabbath in a slave ship. Appeal to England on the subject of her encouragement

But now his steps a welcome sound recalls : to this horrible complication of crimes. Transition to Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile, war. Unfortunate issue of the late war-in France- Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe: in Switzerland. Apostrophe to Tell. The attempt to Slowly the throng moves o’er the tomb-paved ground. resist too late. The treacherous foeg already in pog. The aged man, the bowed down, the blind session of the passes. Their devastating progress. Desolation. Address to Scotland. Happiness of seclu- Le

In. Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes sion from the world. Description of a Sabbath evening With pain, and eyes the new-made grave well in Scotland. Psalmody. An aged man. Description pleased; of an industrious female reduced to poverty by old age These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach and disease. Disinterested virtuous conduct to be found | The house of God: these, spite of all their ills, chiefly in the lower walks of life. Test of charity in the

A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise opulent Recommendation to the rich to devote a por. tion of the Sabbath to the duty of visiting the sick. In. They enter in. A placid stillness reigns, vocation to health-lo music. The Beguine nuns. Laza. Until the man of God, worthy the name, rus. The Resurrection. Dawnings of faith-its progress Arise and read th' anointed shepherd's lays. --consummation.

His locks of snow, his brow serene, his look How still the morning of the hallow'd day! . Of love, it speaks, “ Ye are my children all ; Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd

The gray-hair'd man, stooping upon his staff, The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song. As well as he, the giddy child, whose eye The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath Pursues the swallow flitting thwart the dome.” Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, Loud swells the song: 0 how that simple song, That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze. Though rudely chanted, how it melts the heart, Sounds the most faint attract the ear-the hum Commingling soul with soul in one full tide Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,

Of praise, of thankfulness, of humble trust! The distant bleating midway up the hill.

Next comes the unpremeditated prayer, Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud. Breathed from the inmost heart, in accents low, To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,

But earnest.-Alter'd is the tone; to man The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale; | Are now address'd the sacred speaker's words. And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark Instruction, admonition, comfort, peace, Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook Flow from his tongue: O chief let comfort flow!

It is most needed in this vale of tears :

Almost beyond the sound of city chime, Yes, make the widow's heart to sing for joy ; At intervals heard through the breezeless air; The stranger to discern th’ Almighty's shield When not the limberest leaf is seen to move, Held o'er his friendless head; the orphan child Save where the linnet lights upon the spray; Feel, 'mid his tears, I have a father still !

When not a floweret bends its little stalk, 'Tis done. But hark that infant querulous voice Save where the bee alights upon the bloom ; Plaint not discordant to a parent's ear;

There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love, And see the father raise the white-robed babe The man of God will pass the Sabbath noon; In solemn dedication to the Lord :

Silence his praise ; his disembodied thoughts, The holy man sprinkles with forth-stretch'd hand Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend The face of innocence; then earnest turns, Beyond the empyrean. And prays a blessing in the name of Him

Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne, Who said, Let little children come to me ;

The Sabbath-service of the shepherd-boy. Forbid them not :* the infant is replaced

In some lone glen, where every sound is lull'd Among the happy band : they, smilingly,

To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill, In gay attire, hie to the house of mirth,

Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry, The poor man's festival, a jubilee day,

Stretch'd on the sward, be reads of Jesse's son ; Remember'd long.

Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold, Nor would I leave unsung And wonders why he weeps; the volume closed, The lofty ritual of our sister land :

With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings In vestment white, the minister of God

The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conn'd Opens the book, and reverentially

With meikle care beneath the lowly roof, The stated portion reads. A pause ensues. Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes, Pines unrewarded by a thankless state. Then swells into a diapason full:

Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen, The people rising, sing, With harp, with harp, The shepherd-boy the Sabbath holy keeps, And voice of psalms ; harmoniously attuned Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands The various voices blend ; the long drawn aisles, Returning homeward from the house of prayer. At every close, the lingering strain prolong. In peace they home resort. O blissful days! And now the tubes a mellow'd stop controls, When all men worship God as conscience wills. In softer harmony the people join,

Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew, While liquid whispers from yon orphan band A virtuous race, to godliness devote. Recall the soul from adoration's trance,

What though the skeptic's scorn hath dared to soil And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears.

The record of their fame! what though the men Again the organ-peal, loud-rolling, meets

Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatize The hallelujahs of the choir : Sublime,

The sister-cause, religion and the law, A thousand notes symphoniously ascend,

With superstition's name! yet, yet their deeds, As if the whole were one, suspended high

Their constancy in torture and in death,In air, soaring heavenward : afar they float,

These on tradition's tongue still live; these shall Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch: On history's honest page be pictured bright Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close, To latest times. Perhaps some bard, whose muse Yet thinks he hears it still: his heart is cheer'd; Disdains the servile strain of fashion's quire, He smiles on death ; but, ah! a wish will rise, May celebrate their unambitious names. “ Would I were now beneath that echoing roof! With them each day was holy, every hour No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow; They stood prepared to die, a people doom'd My heart would sing; and many a Sabbath-day To death;-old men, and youths, and simple maids. My steps should thither turn; or, wandering far With them each day was holy; but that morn In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow, On which the angel said, See where the Lord There would I bless his name, who led me forth Was laid, joyous arose ; to die that day From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets, Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways, Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow O'er hills, through woods, o'er dreary wastes, they Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye.”

sought It is not only in the sacred fane

The upland muirs, where rivers, there but brooks, That homage should be paid to the Most High ; Dispart to different seas : Fast by such brooks There is a temple, one not made with hands A little glen is sometimes scoop'd, a plat The vaulted firmament: Far in the woods,

With green sward gay, and flowers that strangers

seem

| Amid the heathery wild, that all around *" And they brought young children to him that he ratio

| Fatigues the eye ; in solitudes like these, should touch them; and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was much dig.

| Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foil'd pleased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to A tyrant’s and a bigot’s bloody laws : come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the There, leaning on his spear, (one of the array, kingdom of God. Verily, I say unto you, Whosoever | Whose gleam, in former days, had scathed the rose shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he On England's banner, and had powerless struck shall not enter therein. And he took them up in his

The infatuate monarch and his wavering host,) arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them." Mark X. 13-16.

| The lyart veteran heard the word of God

By Cameron thunder'd, or by Renwick pour'd With melancholy ornaments—the name,
In gentle stream; then rose the song, the loud The record of her blossoming age)-appears
Acclaim of praise. The wheeling plover ceased Unveil'd, and on it dust to dust is thrown,
Her plaint; the solitary place was glad,

The final rite. 0! hark that sullen sound !
And on the distant cairns the watcher's ear* Upon the lower'd bier the shovell’d clay
Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note, Falls fast, and fills the void. -
But years more gloomy follow'd; and no more

But who is he Th' assembled people dared, in face of day, That stands aloof, with haggard, wistful eye, To worship God, or even at the dead

As if he coveted the closing grave? Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce, And he does covet it-his wish is death : And thunder-peals compell’d the men of blood The dread resolve is fix'd; his own right-hand To couch within their dens: then dauntlessly Is sworn to do the deed: The day of rest The scatter'd few would meet, in some deep dell No peace, no comfort brings his wo-worn spirit: By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice,

Self-cursed, the hallow'd dome he dreads to enter ; Their faithful pastor's voice: He by the gleam He dares not pray; he dares not sigh a hope ; Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred book,

Annihilation is his only heaven. And words of comfort spake: Over their souls Loathsome the converse of his friends : he shuns His accents soothing came,-as to her young The human face; in every careless eye The heathfowl's plumes, when, at the close of eve, Suspicion of his purpose seems to lurk. She gathers in, mournful, her brood dispersed Deep piny shades he loves, where no sweet note By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads Is warbled, where the rook unceasing caws: Fondly her wings; close nestling 'neath her breast, Or far in moors, remote from house or hut, They, cherish'd, cower amid the purple blooms. Where animated nature seems extinct.

But wood and wild, the mountain and the dale, Where e'en the hum of wandering bee ne'er breaks The house of prayer itself,-no place inspires The quiet slumber of the level waste; Emotions more accordant with the day,

Where vegetation's traces almost fail, Than does the field of graves, the land of rest: Save where the leafless cannachs wave their tufts Oft at the close of evening prayer, the toll, Of silky white, or massy oaken trunks The solemn funeral toll, pausing, proclaims Half buried lie, and tell where greenwoods grew,The service of the tomb: the homeward crowds There on the heathless moss outstretch'd he broods Divide on either hand; the pomp draws near : O'er all his ever-changing plans of death : The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing, The time, place, means, sweep like a stormy rack, I am the resurrection and the life.

In fleet succession, o'er his clouded soul ;Ah me! these youthful bearers robed in white, The poniard,—and the opium draught, that brings They tell a mournful tale; some blooming friend Death by degrees, but leaves an awful chasm Is gone, dead in her prime of years :—'Twas she, Between the act and consequence,-the flash The poor man's friend, who, when she could not Sulphureous, fraught with instantaneous death ;give,

The ruin'd tower perch'd on some jutting rock, With angel tongue pleaded to those who could ; So high that, 'tween the leap and dash below, With angel tongue and mild beseeching eye, The breath might take its fight in midway air,That ne'er besought in vain, save when she pray'a This pleases for a while; but on the brink, For longer life, with heart resign'd to die,

Back from the toppling edge his fancy shrinks Rejoiced to die ; for happy visions bless'd

In horror: sleep at last his breast becalms, Her voyage's last days,t and hovering round, He dreams 'tis done ; but starting wild awakes, Alighted on her soul, giving presage

Resigning to despair his dream of joy. That heaven was nigh:- O what a burst Then hope, faint hope, revives—hope, that despair Of rapture from her lips! what tears of joy May to his aid let loose the demon frenzy, Her heavenward eyes suffused! Those eyes are To lead scared conscience blindfold o’er the brink closed;

Of self-destruction's cataract of blood. But all her loveliness is not yet flown:

Most miserable, most incongruous wretch ! She smiled in death, and still her cold, pale face Darest thou to spurn thy life, the boon of God, Retains that smile; as when a waveless lake, Yet dreadest to approach his holy place? In which the wintry stars all bright appear, O dare to enter in ! maybe some word, Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice,

Or sweetly chanted strain, will in thy heart Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged, Awake a chord in unison with life. Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast. What are thy fancied woes to his, whose fate Again that knell! The slow procession stops : Is (sentence dire!) incurable disease,The pall withdrawn, death's altar, thick emboss'd The outcast of a lazar house, homeless,

Or with a home where eyes do scowl on him! *Sentinels were placed on the surrounding hills to

| Yet he, e'en he, with feeble steps draws near, give warning of the approach of the military.

With trembling voice joins in the song of praise. # Towards the end of Columbus's voyage to the new Patient he waits the hour of his release; world, when he was already near, but not in sight of land, He knows he has a home beyond the grave. the drooping hopes of his mariners (for his own confidence

Or turn thee to that house with studded doors, seems to have remained unmoved) were revived by the

And iron-visor'd windows; even there appearance of birds, at first hovering round the ship, and then alighting on the rigging.

| The Sabbath sheds a beam of bliss, though faint;

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