PICTURE OF MORNING.

ONCE more supported by the care of heaven Without whose knowledge, not a sparrow falls, I breathe the air of Morn. The voice of Joy Now welcomes Nature from the sleep of Night, And pours its song of gratitude to God.

Bright from yon hill looks forth the king of day, He shakes his golden locks and flings on earth His full effulgence and his genial warmth. With red the towering mountians all are tipt. The lake slow winding thro' its sedgy bed Reflects his radiance trembling o'er its wave. The tall pines whistle, bending their green heads. The hills with gladness meet the opening day, And echo to the bleating of the flocks. Varying and wild, sweet Nature's tuneful band Forth from the grove their gayest music send; And now and then is wafted to the ear

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PICTURE OF MORNING.

The music of the distant shepherd's pipe. Moistened with dew the flowret of the vale Lifts its gay head, and the saluting breeze Bears its sweet fragrance on its wings away. Health flies the pillow when the sun is risen. Health wantons in the breath of balmy morn. Nature has wakened from her still repose, Shook from her arms the drowsy God of sleep.

Come then Alinda, with me bend thy course O'er the gay landscape glittering in the sun. Let us inhale the spirit of the breeze, And mark the charms of nature in the bush, And brake and lawn, and morn's unruffled wave. Give to the light fair maid thy peerless beauty, Give to the wind thy locks of glossy hair, And give to me thy soft benignant smile.

AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,

WITH

THE POEM

ON THE

POWERS OF GENIUS.

HEALTH to Licinius, my warm wishes send, Health and all blessings, to my favour'd friend.... May heaven, indulgent to my fervent prayer, Make thee the object of continual care; May no rude hand thy museful peace molest, Or wound the quiet of thy feeling breast.

Time, whose swift wings no human force can stay,

Has borne his months, his darkening years away, Since last we met beneath thy cheerful shed, And talk'd of scenes which have forever fled;

Together read the rich and classic page,
And liv'd with Homer in his epic age,

Rov'd o'er the plains and sought the mountain's

height,

To cast o'er Nature our extended sight.
Now busy Fancy calls before my view,
Those early days which I have spent with you,
When village-boys, with hearts of merry glee,
To school we went and "whistled o'er the lea."
When o'er the fields, light as the Summer's wind
We flew, and left each anxious thought behind.
When wasting pains and manhood's brooding woes,
Broke not the slumbers of our gay repose,
When Academic bell, which called to prayer,
Rous'd us from couches undisturb'd by care,
When sallying forth we hail'd the peep of dawn,
And brush'd the dew-drops glittering on the lawn,

Now far have fled these days of fairy joys,
And wider views our riper thought employs;
But still those meet our retrospective sight,
And leave a sorrow mingled with delight.
We now have left the school-room and the hall,
And now are soldiers at our master's call;

The Foes of Virtue, we are call'd to engage,
To lash the follies of an impious age.
Then cautious let us steer the bark of Youth,
With Friendship leagued and innocence and truth,
Let us not rashly dangerous depths explore,
Nor shrink with terror when the billows roar;
Firm in our trust let us thro' seas contend,
And on the arm Omnipotent depend.

'The' fools may laugh and meet us with disdain,
Let us proceed, and bid them laugh in vain.
What tho' unknown to Honour and to Fame,
And greatness owns no letter of our name,
Then we'll escape all their consuming woes,
Nor know those cares which haughty grandeur

knows.

Beneath the storm in peace and safety dwell,
The straw-thatch'd cottage and the silent cell;
But shook by winds the oak's thick branches spread,
And lightnings blast the towering mountain's head.

Happy the Man, who in the gloom of night, Still sees thro' darkness day's approaching light; Who hopes in sorrow, and while prosperous, fears, Who looks for worlds beyond the vale of tears: