Unwarm'd by Ecftacy's celeftial fire?
Not, furely, that poor worm who proudly dares
Deny the dread Supreme. Hail, profpect fair!
Replete with Deity! that preachest more

Than human tongue can preach, fave on one theme,
(Fail'n man thro' grace reftor'd) of power divine,
Of goodness, mercy, wifdom infinite,
Enkindling rapture in th' adoring mind!
-Here vifion roams unwearied, fweetly woo'd
By nature's thousand charms :-nor refting finds,
Nor refting needs, the gladly-roving eye.

So wanders freely o'er fome gay parterre
The bee melliferous,-on each fav'rite flower
That tempts his ftay-alighting; yet with none
E'er tarrying long: from honeyfuckle sweet
To sweeter rofe the vagrant pilferer flies;
And thence to where fyringa's lufcious bloom
Loads the mild zephyrs, or where lilac blends
Its purple with laburnum's golden pride.

MUSINGS on arriving at, and quitting, the SUMMIT of the MALVERN HILLS, early in the Morning of WHITMONDAY.

[From MALVERN HILLS, a POEM, by JOSEPH COTTLE.]

TOW on the beacon's towering head I ftand!
The radiant fun juft peeps o'er yonder hill
In filent grandeur, whilft the neighbouring land,
Like Ocean, drinks the fplendor of the morn-
One mafs of glory. Now the last faint ftar
Withdraws its timid ray, and flow the moon
Sinks fhadowy in the western hemisphere.
Beneath my feet, down the dark mountain's fide,
The clouds are troubled! now diffolve they fast!
A fairy vifion! whilft the early lark

Up through their bofom mounts moft merrily.

Oh what a luxury do they poffefs

Who, rifing with the morn, tafle its firft fweets!
The breeze that waves the long grafs to and fro,
While yet the dew of heaven hangs thick upon it,
Gives health, and raises the unfetter'd mind
To loftieft meditation. Day returns,

And Nature, from a tranfient reft, affumes
Her wonted form, and feems to look more pleas'd
For being feen. 'Tis well to contemplate
On Providence, whofe eye encircles all.
Parent and guardian of creation round!

The

The elephant on thee depends for food,
And all the intermediate train of shapes
Down to the mite: and beings, fmaller ftill,
Poffeft of parts peculiar and complete,
To whom the mite appears an elephant!
All on our common Father call for bread!
Learn it, aftonish'd earth! shout it, oh Heaven!
He hears them all!

Tho' man's fearching eye

Hath pierc'd the ethereal vault where planets roll
The eternal courfe, and funs their steady fires
On other worlds beftow; feen the vast orbs
That tremble in the immeafurable void;
Yet thefe fmall things are loft in littleness,
A drop of water to the boundless deep!
Compar'd with Deity's unnumber'd works,
Scatter'd beyond the utmoft verge of fight,
Where ftars far diftant never light exchange,
And never comets in their wide career
Blend their faint beams.

Moft thankful be our hearts,
That not to fearch the vaft profound of space
Reafon requires to fee the almighty power!

This world, this land, this fpot, an endless fource
Of meditation offers, where the eye,

In every blade of grafs, may view the God
Who form'd the univerfe.

How bright the scene!

Now the low cots appear, the diftant hills,
The fertile plains, far ftretch'd on every fide;
Whilft all the vast variety of forms

In yonder funny vale, tranquil and fair,
O'erpower my ravifh'd fenfes. What a fweep
From mortal eye! trees of an hundred years,

From this huge mount, look like fome tender fprays,
And mock the toil to feparate: whilft flocks,
And scatter'd herds, fo faintly meet my fight,
They feem not living things. The goodly view

Makes

Makes my eye fwim with rapture, and my heart
Feel ecftafy.

Ah! who could stand unmov'd,

And view this blue expanfe, this beauteous orb,
This fpeaking tablet of intelligence!

Ah! who with cold-cold heart could view yon fun
Mounting the ethereal vault, whilft fiery clouds
Surround, and o'er the horizon's verge, far ftretch'd,
Heap their rich columns? 'tis a fight, methinks,
No eye might contemplate, and not adore

The hand that made it.

Now the morning beam

Gilds each far eminence; a motley fhow
Of colours fanciful and ftarting fhapes,
That quaint fimilitudes force on the mind.

Even now my heart beats high, for now I hear
The village bells beneath play merrily.
From hill to hill imperfect gladnefs bounds,
And floating murmurs die upon the air.
It is the long-look'd paftime now begun!
Aye! there they are upon the level green,
Maiden and ruftic, deck'd in best attire,
And ufhering in the Whitfun holidays:
Weaving the mazy dance, fantastic, whilft
Encircled by a gaping crowd of boys,
The merry piper ftands, and capering plays;
Or, half forgetful of his half-learn'd tune,
Looks 'fkantwife to behold his fav'rite lafs
Pair'd with another; haply, fmiling too.
The aged ploughman now forgets his team,
And, tho' to join the fkipping throng too old,
Laughs to fee others laugh, he knows not why,
Or, if in graver mood, looks wond'rous wife,
And tells his hoiden daughters as they pafs,
Hold, maidens! hold! no whifpering in the dance.
All, all is life and foothing jollity!

That king of fports is there, the mountebank,
With autic tricks, or, with no fparing hand,
Dealing around fome noftrum, fam'd alike
Specific in all pains and maladies.

And there the village matrons gaily trimm'd,
With lace and tucker, handed down fecure
Through a long line of prudent ancestors;
And never fhewn to gaping multitude,
Save at fome marriage gay, or yearly wake.

[From POEMS, Sacred and Moral, by THOMAS GISBORNE, M. A.]

HERE—lie for ever there-' the murderer said;

'TH

And preft his heel contemptuous on the dead-
No terrors haunt the well-concerting mind!
Vengeance my aim, thy gold I leave behind:
Clutch'd in thy grafp be thy own knife furvey'd
Thus-fo may death felf-fought thy name degrade!
My fteel, that did the deed, this lake fhall hide→→
• Here-ruft beneath the all-concealing tide-
The long defcent thefe mounting bubbles tell-
Down; down-ftill deeper-to the fancied hell.
But why this needlefs care-the wretch unknown—
My garment bloodlefs-no man heard him groan-
Nor he, the fabled monarch of the kies-
He spoke, and fix'd on heaven his iron eyes.

No terrors haunt the well concerting mind!

Say'ft thou, when March unchains the midnight wind?
When the full blaft, as Alp-defcending Po
Whirls through the rocky ftreight the liquid fnow,
Down the vale driving with refiftless course,

Pours on thy walls its congregated force;

When tottering chimneys bellow o'er thy head
And the floor quakes beneath thy fleepless bed?

No terrors haunt thee ! - Say'ft thou, when the form

Bids all its horrors, each in wildett form,

From adverfe winds on wings of thunder hafte,
And clofe around thee on the naked waste:
Bids at each flafh untimely night retire,
And opes and huts the living vault of fire:
When from each burfting cloud the arrowy flame
Seems at thy central breast to point its aim;
While crash on crafh redoubles from on high,
As though the fhatter'd fabric of the sky

Would

Would rufh in hideous ruin through the air,
To whelm the guilty wretch whom lightnings fpare?

No terrors haunt thee !-Lo, 'tis Winter's reign:
His broad hand, plunging in the Atlantic main,
Lifts into mountain piles the boiling deep,

And bounds with vales of death each billowy fteep.
Now, when thy bark, the dire afcent furpaft,
Turns to the black abyfs the downward mast;
In that dread paufe, while yet the dizzy prow
Poifed on the verge o'erhangs the gulph below;
Now prefs thy confcious bofom, and declare
If guilt has raifed no throbs of terror there.

Still art thou proof?-In fleep I fee thee laid:
Dreams by the paft infpired thy fleep invade.
Houfelefs and drear a plain expands in view;
There travels one like him thy fury flew :
Couch'd in the brake, a ruffian from his den
Starts forth, and acts thy bloody deed again:
Like thine his mien, like thine his iron ftare
Fix'd in defiance on the vault of air.
Lo, as fecure he quits the unplunder'd dead,
Wide-weltering feas of fire before him spread:
With frenzied ftep ne hurries to the fhore,
Shrieks, plunges headlong, and is feen no more!

Thou wak'ft, and fmil'ft in fcorn!-Has Heaven no dart Potent to reach that adamantine heart?

Yes. He, whofe viewlefs gales the foreft bend,
Whofe feebleft means attain the mightiest end,
Touches the fecret fpring that opes the cell

Where Confcience lurks, and lumbering horrors dwell.
Lo, as the wretch his carelefs path purfues,
Struck by his foot a rusted knife he views.

In thought the blade conceal'd from mortal eyes
Beneath the lake his troubled foul defcries.
In wild difmay his clouded fenfes swim;

Cold ftreams of terror bathe each fhivering limb:
Then with new fires in every nerve he burns;
To earth, to heaven, his flashing eyebalis turns;
Buries with frantic hand the avenging knife
Deep in his breait, and renders life for life.