"Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,
If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind,

Or saint to hear, or angel to defend."
So truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound
Burst from the centre of her burning throne,
Where aye she sits with star-wreath'd lustre crown'd;
A bright sun clasps her adamantine zone.

So Truth proclaims: her awful voice I hear;
With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.

Attend, ye sons of men! attend, and say,
Does not enough of my refulgent ray
Break through the veil of your mortality?

Say, does not reason in this form descry
Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass
The angel's floating pomp, the seraph's glowing grace?
Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
With me! Shall she, whose brightest eye

But emulates the diamond's blaze,

Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume,

Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays,
Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form
Of elemental dross, of mould'ring clay,

Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm

Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day
Shall pass, and she is gone: while I appear

Flush'd with the bloom of youth through heaven's eternal year.

Know, mortals! know, ere first ye sprung,
Ere first these orbs in ether hung,
I shone amid the heavenly throng:
These eyes beheld creation's day,
This voice began the choral lay,

And taught Archangel's their triumphant song.
Pleas'd I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth,
Saw infant light with kindling lustre spread,

Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flow'ring earth, And ocean heave on its extended bed; Saw the tall pine aspiring pierce the sky; The tawny lion stalk; the rapid eagle fly. Last, Man arose, erect in youthful grace, Heav'n's hallow'd image stamp'd upon his face, And, as he 'rose, the high behest was given, "That I, alone, of all the host of heaven, Should reign protectress of the godlike youth.* Thus the Almighty spake: he spake, and call'd me Truth.

ODE TO THE MORNING.

BY THE SAME.

HAIL to thy living light,
Ambrosial Morn! all hail thy roseat ray,
That bids gay Nature all her charms display
In varied beauty bright:

That bids each dewy-spangled flow'ret rise,
And dart around its vermeil dyes;

Bids silver lustre grace yon sparkling tide,
That winding warbles down the mountain's side.

Away, ye goblins all!

Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt;

Whose vagrant feet have trac'd your secret haunt Beside some lonely wall,

Or shatter'd ruin of a moss-grown tow'r,

Where, at pale midnight's stillest hour,

Through each rough chink the solemn orb of night Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.

Away, ye elves, away!

Shrink at ambrosial Morning's living ray;

That living ray, whose pow'r benign

Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye,

Where, thron'd in artless majesty,

The cherub Beauty sits on Nature's rustic shrine.

THE FIRE-SIDE.

BY DR. COTTON.

DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd, The vain, the wealthy, and the proud, In folly's maze advance;

Though singularity and pride.

Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside, Nor join the giddy dance,

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employ;
No noisy neighbours enter here,
No intermeddling stranger near
To spoil our heartfelt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies;

And they are fools who roam:

The world has nothing to bestow; From our own selves our joys must flow,

And that dear hut, our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,

When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark; Giving her vain excursion o'er,

The disappointed bird once more

Explor'd the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs, We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,

That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good
A paradise below..

Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring

Whence pleasures ever rise:

We'll form their minds, with studious care, To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,

And crown our hoary hairs:

They'll grow in virtue every day,
And thus our fondest love repay,

And recompense our cares.