Sweet is the haven to the battered tar,
Who long hath struggled with the growling main—
Sweet the white cottage to the son of war,
Sadly-familiar with the crowded slain--
And sweet to him, who long hath roved afar,
By Afric's stream, or India's burning plain,
The quiet roof-tree, where, his wanderings past,
Contentment deepens at each scourging blast.
Nor these alone contrasted gladness feel,
And hope new pleasures from each parting day—
Feelings, like vernal breezes, o'er me steal,
And bear the memory of all ill away.
Like happy bees, that sweetly-laden, wheel
On homeward journey-all my thoughts, astray,
Come dropping, one by one, into my breast,
And store the honey of delicious rest.
Pleasure! I bless a good, considerate God,
He hath not built thy dwelling-place of gold;
But wisely raised thy sanctified abode
In hearts to man and nature never cold.
Riches are oft the camel's weary load-
The cumbered bark 'mid mountain surges rolled-
The haughty peak by every tempest riven-
At once befriended and denounced by heaven.
The humble mind is like a trellised cot,
Where warbling waters run, and sunbeams smile-
The soul contented with the appointed lot,
Is like the lowly shrub, or rock-girt isle-
The storm that rends the oak, uproots it not,
A world of waves may chafe the rock awhile;
But the first rosy gleam that warms the sky—
It hails the gift-nor heeds the tempest's cry.
I would not spurn the Maker's generous boon;
But this be still my deep, my earnest prayer-
Rather than opulence, my mind attune
To note with gratitude, all objects fair.
In night of sadness, as in pleasure's noon,
Temper my joy-solace my sorest care;
And let me read around, beneath, above-
"All things are God's-and God is endless love."
Leave we the scene of woe, and calm the breast
With a brief survey of the glorious Shrine,
Where the great sons of deathless genius rest,
Freed from the labours of the mental mine-
Quoth the dark Goblin-sadly fallen of crest-
"I dare not meet that radiance divine;
So, if you please, to Dombey I'll betake me,
And see what fun the mountebank will make me."
With shout and bound away the Goblin sped;
While, sore dejected at the recent sight,
Through a vast vestibule 1 slowly tread,
And seek the hall of melody and light-
Ah me! what odours o'er the air are shed!
What strains of heaven the ravished sense invite!
What beams ineffable upon me break,
Like the red sunrise on a rippling lake!
A gorgeous shrine high in the centre stood;
The canopy above was heaven's own blue;
Stretched all around a world of mead and wood,
Where fountains laugh, and silver rills run through:
Rich beds of violets the breezes sued;
Bright gem-like birds, from branch to blossom flew;
A lake, inlaid with summer's calmest sky,
Up a green bank made dreamy melody.
Here all who held the pen, or swept the string,
Or twined the sword with never-dying wreath,
Drink deeply of a clear perennial spring,
Nor fear the blighting influence of death-
Here Gray and Collins strike the lyre, and sing,
Near Beattie, gifted with celestial breath;
Here the twin-dramatists go hand in hand;
Here Dryden treads, in classic beauty grand.
And there thy Peasant, cruel Scotia! roves,
Dispensing "thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,"
By crystal streams, and under shady groves,
No more lamenting "man was made to mourn ;”-
And there the bards of sunny eastern loves,
With Moore and Byron wake the shell in turn.
There Cowper, of his deep, dark woes beguiled*
Earth's truest painter, and her gentlest child.
Every one knows of Cowper's deep melancholy, to charm asleep which, the "Task" was
suggested and undertaken.
Like some rough rock, by tempests beat in vain,
Lifting its rugged forehead to the sky,
Noting the warring world with calm disdain,
Sat Johnson, stern of brow, and deep of eye
As when with reverence-half joy, half pain-
Boswell, that useful sycophant, drew nigh,
To crouch beneath the searing truths that rung
From the great moralist's impartial tongue.
By the bright rippling lake, wise Southey roves,
Dreaming perchance, of that familiar scene,
Where the hoarse Greta threads ambrageous groves,
And Derwent dimples under mountains green-
And there-still musing o'er auspicious loves*—
The pastoral reed aye answering between-
With careless step, the pleasant Prior treads
By whispering brooks and amaranthine beds.
Deep in a shady vale, withdrawn, are seen
Some who proclaimed the message of the "Word,"
The fervid Chalmers, eloquent of mien-
The philosophic Hall-the classic Hurd;
Leighton of beaming eye, and brow serene,
Signs of the truth through a long life adored
Keen-sighted Butler, and discerning Blair,
Whose thoughts are far-dispensed as heaven's own air.
Fraught with the wisdom of the Olive Hill,
Deep in the mysteries of life and death,t
"Holy Living and Dying." The very breath of the Spirit.
Taylor appears, like Moses, shining still—
Still breathing round the eloquence of Faith.
There Edwards sounding man's contested" Will,”
And Paley crowned with reason's fairest wreath-
There all the stars that guide the spirit's bark
Over the tide of Time so drear and dark.
There sat Warburton, learned in the "law,"
And Bossuet, of a strong and nervous pen,
There brilliant Massillon, well skilled to draw
The heart-warm feelings of entranced men.
Sherlock, the pure and sapient priest I saw;
And thought “shall kindred souls arise again?
Or must we hail a Stillingfleet no more?
Nor drink a Tillotson's persuasive lore?"
The good old style for thee I deeply mourn,
And sigh to think the manly, honest time,
When the wise Erskine preached, may ne'er return
To show the Pulpit in its golden prime.
Fate, let me gaze into thy secret urn,*
That I may tell the world in simple rhyme,
Whether another Alison shall raise
The buried spirit of lamented days.
And yet, old day! thou hast a fatal stain,
No years of flood and tempest may efface.
Say, what fell demon seized thy frenzied brain,
And made great Home thy glory-thy disgrace?
Ah! meddling Priests! your jealousy how vain!
Down our rough cheeks the tears each other chace,
While "Douglas" melts the hushed-the breathless throng,
And tells a double tale of cruel wrong.
If any thought by dint of leathern lung
To win the Shrine," mistaken they had been;
For though divines were there of every tongue,
No ranting, canting orator was seen.
No sobbing Homily, half-sighed, half sung-
No thundering sermon, got ye there, I ween.
That Temple owned a loathing most intense,
For every sound unsanctified by sense.
*Fate was represented by the ancients, as shaking her lots in an urn.
Anderson, Dr. John, his Course of Creation, Halley, James, Memoirs of, reviewed, 22
reviewed, 71
Anderson, William, On Regeneration, review- Iona, the Family of, noticed, 247
ed, 28
Helgyn, The Skald of, by David Vedder, 348
Angel-World, The, by P. J. Bailey, review- Lays of the Kirk and Covenant, by Mrs. S.
ed, 33
Annotated Paragraph Bible, noticed, 246
Arnot's Memoirs of James Halley, reviewed,
22
Bailey, P. J., his Angel World, reviewed, $3
Brief, The Pope's, 257
Brown, Dr. John, his Discourses of Our Lord,
reviewed. 167
Brown, Dr. John, his Our Lord's Intercessory
Prayer, reviewed, 315
Buchanan, Dr., his Ten Year's Conflict, re-
viewed, 305, 334
British Association, The, 81, 213, 354
Chalmers, Dr., his Memoirs reviewed, 129
Clearing of the Temple, The, 238
Confessions of a Court Preacher, The, 179,
226
Cook, Rev. Robert, his Communicant's Man-
Menteath, reviewed, 193
Lely, Peter, his Temple of Fame, 203, 295,
Regeneration, by William Anderson, review-
ed, 28
Conflict, The Ten Years, by Dr. Buchanan, Scenes and Legends of the North of Scotland,
reviewed. 305, 334
by Hugh Miller, reviewed, 110
Course of Creation, The, by Dr. John Ander- Sinclair, William, Song of the Children of
son, reviewed, 71
Israel, Paraphrased, 58
Skald of Helgyn, The, 343
Cornwall, Dr., his Young Composer, noticed, Statues, 65
191
Daphnis, A Modern Pastoral, noticed, 60
Dead, The Burial of the, 321
Discourses and Sayings of Our Lord, by Dr.
John Brown, reviewed, 167
Douglas, James of Cavers, his Structure of
Prophecy, noticed, 120
Ecclesiastical Intelligence, 63, 128, 192, 256
Edinburgh, Crime in, 47
Gorham Controversy, The, 1, 148, 268
Graham, Dr. T. J., his Preaching and Popu
lar Education, reviewed, 103
Grave-Yard Reform, 321
Staffa and Iona Described, noticed, 187
Stirling Tracts, noticed, 191
Structure of Prophecy, The, by James Dou-
glas of Cavers, noticed, 120
Tales and Sketches of Scottish Life, by Pas
tor, noticed, 61
The Temple of Fame, by Peter Lely, 203,
295, 371
The Angel World, by Bailey, reviewed, 33
Temple, The Clearing of the, 238
The Young Composer, by Dr. Cornwall, no.
ticed, 191
Vedder, David, his Skald of Helgyn, 348
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