To leafeless shrubs the flowery palms succeed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed.
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant
25
mead,

And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead.
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake,
Pleas'd, the green lustre of the scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently
play.

See, nature hastes her earliest wreaths to
bring,
With all the incense of the breathing spring:
See lofty Lebanon his head advance;
See nodding forests on the mountains dance;
See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise,
And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers;
Prepare the way! A God, a God appears! 30
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply,
The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity.
Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies!
Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys, Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise!
rise!
34 Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes! 86
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn ;
See future sons, and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate
kings,

With heads declin'd, ye cedars, homage pay; Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way;

The Savior comes! by ancient bards foretold:
Hear him, ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold!
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day: 40
"Tis he th' obstructed paths of sound shall
clear,

And bid new music charm th' unfolding ear:
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch fore-

go,

44

95

And heap'd with products of Sabean springs !
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day!
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn;
But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts; the Light himself shall
shine

And leap exulting, like the bounding roe.
No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear
From every face he wipes off every tear.
In adamantine chains, shall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air; 50
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects;
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms; Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
Thus shall mankind his guardian care en- But fix'd his word, his saving power remains ;
55 Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah
reigns!

gage,

The promis'd father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more; 60
But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a plow-share end.
Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son
Shali finish what his short liv'd sire begun;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield;
And the same hand that sow'd, shall reap the
field.
66

Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine!
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke de-
cay.
105

Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true;
But are not critics to their judgment too?
Yet, if we look more closely, we shall find,
Most have the seeds of judgment in their
mind;
20

Nature affords at least a glimmering light;
The lines, though touch'd but faintly, are
drawn right.

But as the slightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
Is by ill-coloring but the more disgrac'd,
So by false learning, is good sense defac'd. 25
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs, Nature meant but
fools.

In search of wit, these lose their common sense.
And then turn critics in their own defence.

Short views we take, nor see the lengths be-
hind;
[prise, 70
But more advanc'd, behold with strange sur-
New distant scenes of endless science rise !
So pleas'd at first the towering Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the
sky;

Th' eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the
last;
75

But those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labors of the lengthen'd way;
Th' increasing prospect tires our wandering
eyes,

Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!

A perfect judge will read each work of wit, With the same spirit, that its author writ; 81 Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find [mind; Where nature moves, and rapture warms the Nor lose, for that malignant, dull delight, [meet. 35 The generous pleasure to be charm'd with

But you who seek to give, and merit fame,
And justly bear a critic's noble name,
Be sure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be dis
creet,

wit.

And mark that point, where sense and dulness
First follow nature, and your judgement But, in such lays, as neither ebb nor flow,

frame

85

90

Correctly cold and regularly low,
That shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep;
We cannot blame indeed-but we may sleep.
In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts
Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.

By her just standard, which is still the same:
Unerring nature, still divinely bright,
One clear, unchang'd, and universal light,
Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart, 40
At once the source, and end, and test of art.
Art from that fund each just supply provides;
Works without show, and without pomp pre-Thus when we view some well-proportion'd

sides:

In some fair body, thus th' informing soul 44
With spirit feeds, with vigor fills the whole.
Each motion guides, and every nerve sustains;
Itself unseen, but in th' effects remains.

50

Those rules, of old discover'd, not devis'd,
Are nature still, but nature methodis'd.
Nature, like liberty, is but restrain'd
By the same laws, which first herself ordain'd.
Of all the causes which conspire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the
mind,

What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. 55
Whatever nature has in worth deny'd,
She gives in large recruits of needful pride!
For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find
What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with
wind :

The whole at once is bold and regular.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, 100 Thinks what ne'er was nor is, nor e'er shall be.

In every work, regard the writer's end, [tend;
Since none can compass more than they in-
And if the means be just the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trival faults, is due. 105
As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit,
To avoid great errors, must the less commit;
Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays,
For not to know some trifles, is a praise.
60 Most critics, fond of some subservient art, 110
Still make the whole depend upon a part;
They talk of principles, but notions prize,
And all to one lov'd folly sacrifice.

Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of sense.
If once right reason drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day.
Trust not yourself, but your defects to know,
Make use of every friend-and every foe. 65
Fir'd at first sight with what the muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts,
While, from the bounded level of our mind,

Some to conceit alone their taste confine, And glittering thoughts struck out at every line;

115

Pleas'd with a work, where nothing's just or fit;
One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit.
Poets like painters, thus unskill'd to trace

120

art.

most

125

Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.

170

Avoid extremes; and shun the fault of such,
Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.
At every trifle, scorn to take offence,
That always shows great pride, or little sense.
Some foreign writers, some our own des-
pise;

174

The naked nature and the living grace,
With gold and jewels cover every part,
And hide with ornaments their want of
Words are like leaves; and where they
abound,
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.
False eloquence, like the prismatic glass,
Its gaudy colors spreads on every place;
The face of nature, we no more survey,
All glares alike, without distinction gay:
But true expression, like th' unchanging sun,
Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon;
It gilds all objects, but it alters none.
Expression is the dress of thought, and still
But catch the spreading notion of the town;
Appears more decent, as more suitable : They reason and conclude by precedent,
A vile conceit in pompous words express'd,
And own stale nonsense, which they ne'er in-
Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd;
[then 180
For different styles with different subjects sort, Some judge of authors, names, not works, and
As several garbs, with country, town and Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the

court.

sense;

130

134

[tence,

Such labor'd nothings in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd, and make the learned smile,

140

The ancients only, or the modern prize :
Regard not then, if wit be old or new,
But blame the false, and value still the true.
Some ne'er advance a judgment of their

own,

vent.

men.

Some by old words, to fame have made pre- That in proud dulness joins with quality;
Of all this servile herd, the worst is he,
Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their
A constant critic as the great man's board,
To fetch and carry nonsense for my lord. 185
What woful stuff this madrigal would be,
In some starv'd, hackney'd sonneteer, or me!
How the wit brightens ! how the style refines!
But let a lord once own the happy lines,
Before his sacred name flies every fault,
And each exalted stanza teems with thought!
As oft the learn'd by being singular;
The vulgar thus through imitation err;
So much they scorn the crowd, that if the
throng

In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold;
Alike fantastic, if too new or old;
Be not the first, by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last, to lay the old aside.

145

But most by numbers judge a poet's song; And smooth or rough, with them, is right or

wrong:

In the bright muse though thousand charms
conspire,

Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire;
Who haunt Parnassus, but to please their ear,
Not mend their minds; as some to church re-
pair,

150 Th'

plays,

200,

205

Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire; It draws up vapors, which obscure its rays; While expletives their feeble aid do join, 154 But e'en those clouds at last adorn its way, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line. Reflect new glories, and augment the day. True ease in writing comes from art, not Learn then what morals critics ought to show; chance, [dance. For 'tis but half a judge's task to know. As those move easiest, who have learnt to 'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, 'Tis not enough, no harshness gives offence, The sound must seem an echo to the sense : In all you speak, let truth and candor shine; Soft is the strain, when Zephyr gently blows, That not alone what to your sense is due And the smooth stream in smoother numbers All may allow, but seek your friendship too. 161 Be silent always, when you doubt your But when loud surges lash the sounding 210

[rent roar. And speak, though sure, with seeming diffiThe hoarse, rough verse should like the tordence. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to Some positive, persisting fops we know, throw, 164 Who, if once wrong, wil! needs be always so; The line too labors, and the words move slow. But you, with pleasure, own your errors past, Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, And make each day a critique on the last. 215

Beniggards of advice on no pretence;

For the worst avarice is that of sense.
With mean complacence, ne'er betray your
trust,

Nor be so civil, as to prove unjust.
Fear not the anger of the wise to raise ; 220
Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise.
But where's the man, who counsel can be-
stow,

[know?

The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's
song.

The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester morn bloom'd waving in the
breeze;

The faintest sounds attract the ear,-the hum Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, The distant bleating, midway up the hill. Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to Calmness seems thron'd on yon unmoving Unbiass'd, or by favor, or by spite;

Not dully prepossess'd, nor blindly right; 225
Though learn'd, well bred; and though well-
bred, sincere ;

Modestly bold and humanly severe,
Who to a friend his faults can freely show,
And gladly praise the merit of a foe?
Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfin'd; 230
A knowledge both of books and human kind;
Generous converse; a soul exempt from pride;
And love to praise with reason on his side?

NO. 153. BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.
BY CAMPBELL.

ON Linden, when the sun was low,

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter, was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darknes of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet, fast array'd, Each warrior drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd,

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills, with thunder riven,
Then rush'd the steeds to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of Heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

And redder yet those fires shall glow
On Linden's hills of blood-stain'd snow;
And darker yet shall be the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn; but scarce yon lurid sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, While furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!

And charge with all thy chivalry!
Ah! few shall part, where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet,

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

NO. 154. THE SABBATH. BY GRAHAME.

H Mute is the voice of rural labor; hush'd

OW still the morning of the hallow'd day!

cloud.

10

To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from
the dale,

brook

And sweeter from the sky, the gladsome lark
Warbles his heav'n-tun'd song; the lulling
[glen; 15
Murmurs more gently down the deep-sunk
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling
smoke

O'er-mounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise.
With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon vil-
lage broods;

19

The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din
Ilas ceas'd; all, all around is quietness.
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare
Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on
[free,
Her deadliest foe;-the toil-worn horse, set
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large,
And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls,
His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning

man,

ray.

25

With elevated joy, each rural charm,

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy
stroke!

He hopes, (yet fears presumption in the hope,)
That heaven may be one Sabbath without Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

The aged man, the bowed down, the blind 55 Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes

[pleas'd;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these, the fault, With pain, and eyes the new-made grave, well If mem'ry o'er their tomb, no trophies raise, These, mingled with the young, the gay, ap- Where thro' the long drawn aisle and fretted

[ills,

proach
The house of God; these, spite of all their
A glow of gladness prove; with silent praise
They enter in; a placid stillness reigns; 61
Until the man of God, worthy the name,
Opens the book, and with impressive voice,
The weekly portion reads.

NO. 155. AN ELEGY. WRITTEN IN A!
COUNTRY CHURCH YARD. BY GRAY.

THE

HE curfew tolls the knell of parting day; The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the, lea;

[way,!

vault,
[praise. 40
The pealing anthem swells the note of
Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion, call the fleeting breath?
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot, is laid 45
Some heart, once pregnant with celestial
fire;
[sway'd,
Hands, that the rod of empire might have
Or wak'd to ecstacy, the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes, her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er un-
rol;
50

The ploughman homeward plods his weary Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And leaves the world to darkness and to And froze the genial current of the soul. [sight; 5 Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,

me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the
And all the air a solemn stillness holds ;
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight;
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Save that, from yonder ivy mantled tow'r,|
The moping owl does to the moon com-
plain

Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

10

The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, 54 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast,

The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest; Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

60

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's The applause of list'ning senate to command, shade,

[heap,

The threats of pain and ruin to despise,

Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

15

And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade. Nor circumscrib'd alone 65 Their growing virtues, but their crimes,

confin'd

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;70
Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life,

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture
deck'd,
75
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd

muse,