To the bless'd calm of an abstracted mind,
And its communion with things all its own,
Its forms sublime and lovely; as the blind,
Mid earthly scenes, forgotten, or unknown,
Live in ideal worlds, and wander there alone.

Such were the lone enthusiasts, wont to dwell
With all whom that enchantress held subdued,
As in the holiest circle of her spell,
Where meaner spirits never dare intrude,
They dwelt in calm and silent solitude,

Rapt in the love of all the high and sweet,
In thought, and art, and nature, and imbued
With its devotion to life's inmost seat,

As drawn from all the charms which in that valley meet.

In stripes drawn parallel with order rare, As of some temple vast or colonnade, While on green turf, made smooth without his care, He wander'd o'er its stripes of light and shade And heard the dying day-breeze all the boughs pervade.

"T was thus in nature's bloom and solitude He nursed his grief till nothing could assuage; "T was thus his tender spirit was subdued, Till in life's toils it could no more engage; And his had been a useless pilgrimage, Had he been gifted with no sacred power, To send his thoughts to every future age; But he is gone where grief will not devour, Where beauty will not fade, and skies will never lower.

ROUSSEAU AND COWPER.

ROUSSEAU Could weep-yes, with a heart of stone
The impious sophist could recline beside
The pure and peaceful lake, and muse alone
On all its loveliness at eventide :

On its small running waves, in purple dyed
Beneath bright clouds, or all the glowing sky,
On the white sails that o'er its bosom glide,
And on surrounding mountains wild and high,
Till tears unbidden gush'd from his enchanted eye.
But his were not the tears of feeling fine,
Of grief or love; at fancy's flash they flow'd,
Like burning drops from some proud, lonely pine,
By lightning fired; his heart with passion glow'd
Till it consumed his life, and yet he show'd
A chilling coldness both to friend and foe,
As Etna, with its centre an abode
Of wasting fire, chills with the icy snow
Of all its desert brow the living world below.

Was he but justly wretched from his crimes?
Then why was CowPER's anguish oft as keen,
With all the heaven-born virtue that sublimes
Genius and feeling, and to things unseen
Lifts the pure heart through clouds that roll be-

tween

The earth and skies, to darken human hope?
Or wherefore did those clouds thus intervene
To render vain faith's lifted telescope,

And leave him in thick gloom his weary way to grope?

He, too, could give himself to musing deep; By the calm lake at evening he could stand, Lonely and sad, to see the moonlight sleep On all its breast, by not an insect fann'd, And hear low voices on the far-off strand, Or through the still and dewy atmosphere The pipe's soft tones waked by some gentle hand, From fronting shore and woody island near In echoes quick return'd more mellow and more clear.

And he could cherish wild and mournful dreams, In the pine grove, when low the full moon fair Shot under lofty tops her level beams, Stretching the shades of trunks erect and bare,

THE CURE OF MELANCHOLY.

AND thou, to whom long worshipp'd nature lends No strength to fly from grief or bear its weight, Stop not to rail at foes or fickle friends, Nor set the world at naught, nor spurn at fate; None seek thy misery, none thy being hate; Break from thy former self, thy life begin; Do thou the good thy thoughts oft meditate, And thou shalt feel the good man's peace within, And at thy dying day his wreath of glory win. With deeds of virtue to embalm his name, He dies in triumph or serene delight; Weaker and weaker grows his mortal frame At every breath, but in immortal might His spirit grows, preparing for its flight: The world recedes and fades like clouds of even, But heaven comes nearer fast, and grows more

bright,

All intervening mists far off are driven; The world will vanish soon, and all will soon be heaven.

Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? Or is thy heart oppress'd with woes untold? Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief? Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold: "Tis when the rose is wrapp'd in many a fold Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there Its life and beauty; not when, all unroll'd, Leaf after leaf, its bosom rich and fair Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.

Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers, Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the

night

When death is waiting for thy number'd hours
To take their swift and everlasting flight;
Wake ere the earthborn charm unnerve thee quite,
And be thy thoughts to work divine address'd;
Do something-do it soon-with all thy might;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
And God himself inactive were no longer bless'd.

Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind,

Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined;
Pray Heaven with firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this thy purpose-to begin, pursue,
With thoughts all fix'd and feelings purely kind,
Strength to complete, and with delight review,
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.

No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit
To light on man as from the passing air;
The lamp of genius, though by nature lit,
If not protected, pruned, and fed with care,
Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare;
And learning is a plant that spreads and towers
Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare,

That, mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers

Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers.

Has immortality of name been given To them that idly worship hills and groves, And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven? Did NEWTON learn from fancy, as it roves, To measure worlds, and follow where each moves? Did HOWARD gain renown that shall not cease, By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves? Or did PAUL gain heaven's glory and its peace, By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece?

Beware lest thou, from sloth, that would appear But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim Thy want of worth; a charge thou couldst not hear From other lips, without a blush of shame, Or pride indignant; then be thine the blame, And make thyself of worth; and thus enlist The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame; "Tis infamy to die and not be miss'd, Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist.

Rouse to some work of high and holy love, And thou an angel's happiness shalt know,Shalt bless the earth while in the world above; The good begun by thee shall onward flow In many a branching stream, and wider grow; The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours, Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers.

SIGHTS AND SOUNDS OF THE NIGHT.

ERE long the clouds were gone, the moon was set; When deeply blue without a shade of gray, The sky was fill'd with stars that almost met, Their points prolong'd and sharpen'd to one ray; Through their transparent air the milky-way Seem'd one broad flame of pure resplendent white, As if some globe on fire, turn'd far astray, Had cross'd the wide arch with so swift a flight, That for a moment shone its whole long track of light.

At length in northern skies, at first but small, A sheet of light meteorous begun

To spread on either hand, and rise and fall In waves, that slowly first, then quickly run Along its edge, set thick but one by one With spiry beams, that all at once shot high, Like those through vapours from the setting sun; Then sidelong as before the wind they fly, Like streaking rain from clouds that flit along the sky.

Now all the mountain-tops and gulfs between Seem'd one dark plain; from forests, caves pro

found,

And rushing waters far below unseen, Rose a deep roar in one united sound, Alike pervading all the air around, And seeming e'en the azure dome to fill, And from it through soft ether to resound In low vibrations, sending a sweet thrill To every finger's end from rapture deep and still.

LIVE FOR ETERNITY.

A BRIGHT or dark eternity in view, With all its fix'd, unutterable things, What madness in the living to pursue, As their chief portion, with the speed of wings, The joys that death-beds always turn to stings! Infatuated man, on earth's smooth waste To dance along the path that always brings Quick to an end, from which with tenfold haste Back would he gladly fly till all should be retraced! Our life is like the hurrying on the eve Before we start, on some long journey bound, When fit preparing to the last we leave, Then run to every room the dwelling round, And sigh that nothing needed can be found; Yet go we must, and soon as day shall break; We snatch an hour's repose, when loud the sound For our departure calls; we rise and take A quick and sad farewell, and go ere well awake.

Rear'd in the sunshine, blasted by the storms Of changing time, scarce asking why or whence, Men come and go like vegetable forms, Though heaven appoints for them a work immense, Demanding constant thought and zeal intense, Awaked by hopes and fears that leave no room For rest to mortals in the dread suspense, While yet they know not if beyond the tomb A long, long life of bliss or wo shall be their doom.

What matter whether pain or pleasures fill The swelling heart one little moment here? From both alike how vain is every thrill, While an untried eternity is near! Think not of rest, fond man, in life's career; The joys and grief that meet thee, dash aside Like bubbles, and thy bark right onward steer Through calm and tempest, till it cross the tide, Shoot into port in triumph, or serenely glide.

THE Reverend HENRY WARE, Jr., D.D., was born at Hingham, in Massachusetts, on the seventh day of April, 1794. He was educated at Cambridge, and graduated when he was but eighteen years old. In 1817, he was ordained minister of the Second Congregational Church, in Hanover street, Boston; but, in consequence of ill health, he resigned that charge in 1828. In the following year he was appointed Professor of Pulpit Eloquence and the Pastoral Care in the Theological School con

nected with Harvard College, and still holds that office. He is the author of several popular prose works, of which the most important are a Life of the Saviour, Hints on Extemporaneous Preaching, and Hints on the Formation of the Christian Character. As a poet, he seems to have aimed only to prove, by a few masterly attempts, his possession of the vision and the faculty divine." He is a brother of the Reverend WILLIAM WARE, author of Probus, Letters from Palmyra, etc.

TO THE URSA MAJOR.

WITH what a stately and majestic step That glorious constellation of the north Treads its eternal circle! going forth Its princely way among the stars in slow And silent brightness. Mighty one, all hail! I joy to see thee on thy glowing path Walk, like some stout and girded giant; stern, Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot Disdains to loiter on its destined way. The other tribes forsake their midnight track, And rest their weary orbs beneath thy wave; But thou dost never close thy burning eye, Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on, While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds. The near horizon tempts to rest in vain. Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quit Thy long-appointed watch; but, sleepless still, Dost guard the fix'd light of the universe, And bid the north forever know its place.

Ages have witness'd thy devoted trust, Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God Sent forth that shout of joy which rang through heaven,

And echo'd from the outer spheres that bound
The illimitable universe, thy voice

Join'd the high chorus; from thy radiant orbs
The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise,
Who thus had cast another sparkling gem,
Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd
Of splendours that enrich his firmament.
As thou art now, so wast thou then the same.
Ages have roll'd their course, and time grown gray;
The earth has gather'd to her womb again,
And yet again, the myriads that were born
Of her uncounted, unremember'd tribes.
The seas have changed their beds; the eternal hills
Have stoop'd with age; the solid continents
Have left their banks; and man's imperial works-
The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had
flung

Their haughty honours in the face of heaven,
As if immortal-have been swept away:
Shatter'd and mouldering, buried and forgot.
But time has shed no dimness on thy front,
Nor touch'd the firmness of thy tread; youth,
strength,

And beauty still are thine; as clear, as bright,
As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth,
Beautiful offspring of his curious skill,
To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaim
The eternal chorus of eternal Love.

I wonder as I gaze. That stream of light, Undimm'd, unquench'd-just as I see it nowHas issued from those dazzling points through years That go back far into eternity.

Exhaustless flood! forever spent, renew'd
Forever! Yea, and those refulgent drops,
Which now descend upon my lifted eye,
Left their far fountain twice three years ago.
While those wing'd particles, whose speed outstrips
The flight of thought, were on their way, the earth
Compass'd its tedious circuit round and round,
And, in the extremes of annual change, beheld
Six autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom.
So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve!
So vast the void through which their beams descend!
Yes, glorious lamp of God! He may have quench'd
Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night
Rest on your spheres; and yet no tidings reach
This distant planet. Messengers still come
Laden with your far fire, and we may seem
To see your lights still burning; while their blaze
But hides the black wreck of extinguish'd realms,
Where anarchy and darkness long have reign'd.

Yet what is this, which to the astonish'd mind
Seems measureless, and which the baffled thought
Confounds? A span, a point, in those domains
Which the keen eye can traverse. Seven stars
Dwell in that brilliant cluster, and the sight
Embraces all at once; yet each from each
Recedes as far as each of them from earth.
And every star from every other burns
No less remote. From the profound of heaven,

And multitude of God's most infinite works!
And these are suns! vast, central, living fires,
Lords of dependent systems, kings of worlds
That wait as satellites upon their power,
And flourish in their smile. Awake, my soul,
And meditate the wonder! Countless suns
Blaze round thee, leading forth their countless
worlds!

Worlds in whose bosoms living things rejoice,
And drink the bliss of being from the fount
Of all-pervading Love. What mind can know,
What tongue can utter all their multitudes!
Thus numberless in numberless abodes!
Known but to thee, bless'd Father! Thine they are,
Thy children, and thy care; and none o'erlook'd
Of thee! No, not the humblest soul that dwells
Upon the humblest globe, which wheels its course
Amid the giant glories of the sky,

Like the mean mote that dances in the beam
Amongst the mirror'd lamps, which fling
Their wasteful splendour from the palace wall,
None, none escape the kindness of thy care;
All compass'd underneath thy spacious wing,
Each fed and guided by thy powerful hand.

Tell me, ye splendid orbs! as from your throne
Ye mark the rolling provinces that own
Your sway, what beings fill those bright abodes?
How form'd, how gifted? what their powers, their
state,

Their happiness, their wisdom? Do they bear
The stamp of human nature? Or has GoD
Peopled those purer realms with lovelier forms
And more celestial minds? Does Innocence
Still wear her native and untainted bloom?
Or has Sin breathed his deadly blight abroad,
And sow'd corruption in those fairy bowers?
Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire?
And Slavery forged his chains; and Wrath, and
Hate,

And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust
Leagued their base bands to tread out light and truth,
And scatter wo where Heaven had planted joy?
Or are they yet all paradise, unfallen
And uncorrupt? existence one long joy,
Without disease upon the frame, or sin
Upon the heart, or weariness of life;
Hope never quench'd, and age unknown,
And death unfear'd; while fresh and fadeless youth
Glows in the light from Gon's near throne of love?
Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair!
Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds
Unfold! No language?
And everlasting silence?
May read and understand.

Everlasting light
Yet the eye
The hand of GoD

Has written legibly what man may know,
THE GLORY OF THE MAKER. There it shines,
Ineffable, unchangeable; and man,
Bound to the surface of this pigmy globe,
May know and ask no more. In other days,
When death shall give the encumber'd spirit wings,
Its range shall be extended; it shall roam,
Perchance, among those vast, mysterious spheres,
Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each,
Familiar with its children; learn their laws,
And share their state, and study and adore
The infinite varieties of bliss

And beauty, by the hand of Power divine
Lavish'd on all its works. Eternity
Shall thus roll on with ever fresh delight;
No pause of pleasure or improvement; world
On world still opening to the instructed mind
An unexhausted universe, and time
But adding to its glories. While the soul,
Advancing ever to the Source of light
And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns
In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss.

SEASONS OF PRAYER.

To prayer, to prayer;-for the morning breaks,
And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.
His light is on all below and above,
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
O, then, on the breath of this early air,
Send up the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer;-for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on.
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of
night.

To prayer;--for the day that God has bless'd
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of creation's early bloom;

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallow'd hours.

There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies.
O, hour of bliss! when the heart o'erflows
With rapture a mother only knows.
Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
Let it swell up to heaven for her precious care.

There are smiles and tears in that gathering band,
Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand.
What trying thoughts in her bosom swell,
As the bride bids parents and home farewell!
Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.

Kneel down by the dying sinner's side,
And pray for his soul through Him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow-
O, what is earth and its pleasures now!

And what shall assuage his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer?
Kneel down at the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is peace in his eye that upward bends;
There is peace in his calm, confiding air;
For his last thoughts are Gon's,his last words prayer.
The voice of prayer at the sable bier!

A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to GoD who gave;
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave;
It points to the glory where he shall reign,
Who whisper'd, "Thy brother shall rise again."
The voice of prayer in the world of bliss!
But gladder, purer, than rose from this.
The ransom'd shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;
But a sinless and joyous song they raise;
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.
Awake, awake, and gird up thy strength
To join that holy band at length.
To him who unceasing love displays,
Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise,
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given;
For a life of prayer is the life of heaven.

THE VISION OF LIBERTY.*

THE evening heavens were calm and bright; No dimness rested on the glittering light [high; That sparkled from that wilderness of worlds on Those distant suns burn'd on in quiet ray; The placid planets held their modest way: And silence reign'd profound o'er earth, and sea, and sky.

O what an hour for lofty thought!
My spirit burn'd within; I caught
A holy inspiration from the hour.

Around me man and nature slept;
Alone my solemn watch I kept,

Till morning dawn'd, and sleep resumed her power.

A vision pass'd upon my soul.

I still was gazing up to heaven,
As in the early hours of even;
I still beheld the planets roll,
And all those countless sons of light

Flame from the broad blue arch, and guide the moonless night.

When, lo, upon the plain,

Just where it skirts the swelling main,

A massive castle, far and high,

In towering grandeur broke upon my eye.

Proud in its strength and years, the ponderous pile

Flung up its time-defying towers;

Its lofty gates seem'd scornfully to smile
At vain assault of human powers,

And threats and arms deride.

Its gorgeous carvings of heraldric pride

* From a poem delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, at Cambridge, in 1825.

In giant masses graced the walls above, And dungeons yawn'd below.

Yet ivy there and moss their garlands wove, Grave, silent chroniclers of time's protracted flow. Bursting on my steadfast gaze,

See, within, a sudden blaze!

So small at first, the zephyr's slightest swell,
That scarcely stirs the pine-tree top,
Nor makes the wither'd leaf to drop,

The feeble fluttering of that flame would quell.
But soon it spread--

Waving, rushing, fierce, and red

From wall to wall, from tower to tower,
Raging with resistless power;

Till every fervent pillar glow'd,

And every stone seem'd burning coal, Instinct with living heat, that flow'd

Like streaming radiance from the kindled pole. Beautiful, fearful, grand,

Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand.

At length a crackling sound began;

From side to side, throughout the pile it ran;
And louder yet and louder grew,

Till now in rattling thunder-peals it grew;
Huge shiver'd fragments from the pillars broke,
Like fiery sparkles from the anvil's stroke.
The shatter'd walls were rent and riven,
And piecemeal driven

Like blazing comets through the troubled sky.
"Tis done; what centuries had rear'd,
In quick explosion disappear'd,

Nor even its ruins met my wondering eye,

And eyes with heaven's own brightness beam-
Rose a fair, majestic form,

As the mild rainbow from the storm.
I mark'd her smile, I knew her eye;

And when, with gesture of command,
She waved aloft the cap-crown'd wand,
My slumbers fled mid shouts of " Liberty !"

Read ye the dream? and know

ye

not

How truly it unlock'd the world of fate! Went not the flame from this illustrious spot, And spreads it not, and burns in every state? And when their old and cumbrous walls, Fill'd with this spirit, glow intense, Vainly they rear'd their impotent defence: The fabric falls!

That fervent energy must spread,

Till despotism's towers be overthrown; And in their stead,

Liberty stands alone!

Hasten the day, just Heaven!
Accomplish thy design;

And let the blessings thou hast freely given,
Freely on all men shine;

Till equal rights be equally enjoy'd

And human power for human good employ'd; Till law, and not the sovereign, rule sustain, And peace and virtue undisputed reign.