Yet there is

peace

for man.

Yea, there is peace

Even in this noisy, this unsettled scene;

When from the crowd, and from the city far,
Haply he may be set (in his late walk

O'ertaken with deep thought) beneath the boughs
Of honeysuckle, when the sun is gone,
And with fixt eye, and wistful, he surveys
The solemn shadows of the Heavens sail,
And thinks the season yet shall come, when Time
Will waft him to repose, to deep repose,
Far from the unquietness of life—from noise
And tumult far beyond the flying clouds,
Beyond the stars, and all this passing scene,

Where change shall cease, and Time shall be no more.

THE CHRISTIAD,

A DIVINE POEM.

This was the work which Henry had most at heart. His riper judgment would probably have perceived that the subject was ill chosen. What is said so well in the Censura Literaria of all scriptural subjects for narrative poetry, applies peculiarly to this. "Any thing taken from it leaves the story imperfect; any thing added to it disgusts and almost shocks us as impious. As Omar said of the Alexandrian Library, we may say of such writings: if they contain only what is in the Scriptures they are superfluous: if what is not in them they are false." - It may be added, that the mixture of mythology makes truth itself appear fabulous.

In editing

There is great power in the execution of this fragment. these Remains, I have, with that decorum which it is to be wished all editors would observe, abstained from informing the reader what he is to admire and what he is not; but I cannot refrain from saying, that the two last stanzas greatly affected me, when I discovered them written on the leaf of a different book, and apparently long after the first canto; and greatly shall I be mistaken if they do not affect the reader also.

THE CHRISTIAD,

A DIVINE POEM.

BOOK I.

I.

I

SING the CROSS! - Ye white-rob'd angel choirs,
Who know the chords of harmony to sweep,

Ye who o'er holy David's varying wires

Were wont of old your hovering watch to keep, Oh, now descend! and with your harpings deep, Pouring sublime the full symphonious stream

Of music, such as sooths the saint's last sleep, Awake my slumbering spirit from its dream,

And teach me how to exalt the high mysterious theme.