Thee, heav'n's first-born favourite child,

Hail beauteous form! divinely mild!

Religion !...Man's best friend below,

Thou only canst assuage his woe

Thou only dost possess the art

That tends to heal a broken heart.

Thy daughters...Hope, with placid eye,
And finger pointing to the sky,

And Resignation, heavenly fair

Forbidding mortals to dispair

Their sacred influence impart,

From woe to snatch the broken heart.

THE STORM. (1) ·

"Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,

"That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,

"How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
"Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
"From seasons such as these."
SHAKESPEARE.

'Tis night...loud howls the storm...the surges roar—

With dreadful force they beat the rocky shore;
Beneath the blast the lofty forest bends,

And thick the torrent-swelling rains descends.

The hardy tenant of the crazy cot,

Rous'd from refreshing sleep, by labour bought,
In silent horror hears the tempest rave→→→

He fears...but still the hand of Heav'n can save;
Then to that Pow'r whose nod the storm obeys
His voice he raises, and with fervour prays—
Himself, his wife, and babes, are first his care,
His friends next claim an int'rest in the pray'r;

(1) For Notes see end of the volume.

But one above the rest demands a part,

His early friend...the brother of his heart—
Who, led away by Hope's alluring smile,

Rides o'er the waves, far from his native isle.
When danger threatens, or when cares annoy,
What soul but feels a momentary joy,

In soaring to its GOD thro' boundless space,
And craving mercy at the throne of grace?
At length the gloom recedes...returning day
Casts o'er the wasteful scene a dubious ray;
Involv'd in clouds, the sun withholds his light,
And long the morn contends with shades of night;
The river swell'd above its former bounds,
Spreads devastation o'er the level grounds;

The careful swain beholds, in doleful mood,
The gifts of Ceres borne along the flood:
A thousand streams rush down from ev'ry hill,
The rain yet pours, nor yet the wind is still.
In haste the cottager ascends a height,

And on the foamy sea-shore bends his sight;

He sees a vessel on the breakers tost,

Then, in a doubtful maze his mind is lost:
Again his brother to his thought returns,
His beating heart with keenest anguish burns-
Tho' soothing Hope persuades his fears are vain,
He feels, by turns, the poignant throe of pain-
"And should no friend of mine a suff'rer be,"

He sighing cries..." yet some shall feel like me—
"Some aged sire a darling son deplore,

"Who fills an early grave on Erin's shore:

"Ah! hapless fate! some newly-wedded bride, "For ever sever'd from her husband's side,

"In sad suspence, may his long absence mourn, "And wish (but wish in vain !) his safe return. "Some helpless widow, whose dependance lay " On one lov'd son, her sole support and stay,

May chide the adverse gales, which waft not home,

"The long-expected youth who ne'er shall come!"

Thus rapt in scenes of visionary woe,

He sea-ward hies the mournful truth to know;

The happy news, his doubts and fears dispel,

That all the mariners are safe and well!

He thanks the Pow'r who stretch'd an arm to save, The storm-tost wretches from a wat❜ry grave.

Yet fancy points one rueful prospect left,

Some ruin❜d merchant of his all bereft...

By this dire stroke, from opulence he falls,
To pine within a prison's dreary walls.

The shatter'd wreck appears now full in view,
And, on the beach, a vile rapacious crew
Expectant stand; no tear of pity flows,
But every face a smile of triumph shews.
Disgraceful selfishness! by heav'n accurst !
In darkest hell thou hadst thy birth at first;
The wily serpent knew thou couldst deceive,
And, by thy aid, corrupted mother Eve:
She gave thee to her children, and since then,
How dost thou influence the sons of men !

The shameful plunder is not yet begun,

ast, one bolder than the rest falls on ;