Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood,
So much thy juniors, who their birth receiv'd
Half a millennium since the date of thine.

But since, although well qualified by age
To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice
May be expected from thee, seated here,
On thy distorted root, with hearers none,
Or prompter, save the scene-I will perform
Myself the oracle, and will discourse
In my own ear, such matter as I may.

One man alone, the father of us all,
Drew not his life from woman; never gaz'd,
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw,
On all around him; learn'd not by degrees,
Nor ow'd articulation to his car ;
But moulded by his Maker into man
At once, upstood intelligent, survey'd
All creatures, with precision understood
Their purport, uses, properties, assign'd
To teach his name significant, and, fill'd
With love and wisdom, render'd back to Heaven,
In praise harmonious, the first air he drew.
He was excus'd the penalties of dull

Minority; no tutor charg'd his hand

With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind
With problems; history, not wanted yet,

Lean'd on her elbow, watching time, whose course,
Eventful, should supply her with a theme.

THE MARKET NIGHT,

From "Rural Tales," by BLOOMFIELD.

WINDS, howl not so long and loud;
Nor with your vengeance arm the snow:
'Bear hence each heavy-loaded cloud :
And let the twinkling star-beams glow-

2.

Now sweeping floods rush down the slope, 'Wide scattering ruin. . . Stars shine soon! No other light my love can hope;

6 Midnight will want the joyous Moon

3.

O guardian spirits!... Ye that dwell
Where woods, and pits, and hollow ways,
The lone night trav'ller's fancy swell
With fearful tales of older days,....

4.

Press round him . . . guide his willing steed
Through darkness, dangers, currents, snows;
Wait where, from shelt'ring thickets freed,
The dreary heath's rude whirlwind blows-

5.

'From darkness rushing o'er his way,

The thorn's white load it bears on high! "Where the short furze all shrouded lay, 'Mounts the dried grass; ... Earth's bosom dry

6.

Where have you stay'd? put down your load.
How have you borne the storm, the cold?

"What horrors did I not forebode...

That beast is worth his weight in gold!'

CADYOW CASTLE,

Addressed to the Right Hon. Lady Anne Hamilton.