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His natural temper, fervent, choleric, fierce,
Nay bloody, see, by sentiment subdued;
Subdued, for thee, to every soft reverse,
For thee, in all its native rage renew'd!
When unattach'd, and yet to man unknown,
Wolfish and wild the wilderness he roves;
Bays with his horrid howl the silent moon,,
And stalks the terror of the desert groves.
Yet mark this heart, of savage enterprise,
Moulded by thee to all that's kind and sweet;
See him approach, with mild imploring eyes,
And lay his strength and courage at thy feet!
Charm'd to exchange them for the soft delights
Of growing love, his duteous head he lays
Light on thy knee;-his lifted eye invites
The wish'd command, which instant he obeys.
At that known voice with ardour up he springs,
And, in the joy of usefulness elate, [brings,
With gladden'd haste the' endear'd commission
Or drives intruding vagrants from thy gate.

Thy wealth, thy person anxious to protect,
And gentle only to thy frequent friends,
Nor bribe nor flattery gain his coy respect,
Useless the flattery, and the bribe offends,
When night broods sullen o'er the drowsy earth,
Though faint with midday toil he scorns repose,
Leaves the warm comforts of the ember'd hearth,
To guard thy slumbers, and appal thy foes.

Watchful and listening walks his silent rounds,
Scenting the lurking stranger from afar.-
And, if he pass the interdicted bounds,
The loud indignant bark proclaims the war.

Or beast, or man, is he to spoil devote?
With fangs terrific, and with burning eyes,
Rushes thy brave protector on his throat,
And low in blood the dark destroyer lies.
But yet, if fear resign what theft supplied,
He, pitying, from the prostrate foe recoils.-
Mark then the victor, great in honest pride,
Content with conquest, rest upon his spoils !
Though high in health, the pleas of hunger strong,
In tempting opportunity arise,

Generously proud he scorns his trust to wrong,
And all untouch'd the prey he rescued lies!
Vainly do night and secrecy accord,
This sacred sense of honour to control!
Do human records fairer proof afford
Of all that elevates a thinking soul?

Exempt the nuptial and the filial ties,

Hast thou one friend amongst the reasoning kind,
On whom thy secret heart for truth relies,
Thus ardent, noble, constant, and refined?

To selfish passions thus superior found,
Whom neither interest sways nor arts beguile?
To thee in faith and trust unfaltering bound,
Thy will his law, his happiness thy smile.
Ah, wretch ingrate, to liberal hope unknown!
Does pride incrust thee in so dark a leaven,
To deem this spirit, purer than thine own,
Sinks while thou soarest to the light of heaven?
What though, when Reason all her power displays,
Drawn from Philosophy's most copious source,
Too subtle proves Creation's endless maze
For her best skill, too mighty for her force;

Or when she tries the mystery to explain
Of the tremendous Expiatory Plan,
Shows, only shows how arrogant, how vain
Such needless daring scrutiny in man;

Yet, while Almighty Wisdom thus appears
To human powers inscrutably sublime,
Her gracious form Almighty Justice rears,
Unveil'd, unchanging, through the rounds of Time.

Hear, from the centre of the' Eternal Throne,
Her awful voice the fix'd award disclose,
'If evils over guiltless life are strown, [woes.'
The God who gave that life will recompense its

ANNA SEWARD.

KNOWLEDGE.

Is there a joy that gilds our stormy days,
For which the soul of man so much doth pine
As heaven-born Knowledge? Yet her sacred rays
Are as the diamond's, and by art must shine;
The latent beams more exquisitely fine

In some of highest worth, yet all require
Industrious care, or lost the light divine
Ordain'd to wake each elegant desire
That shall to all that's fair and great and good

[aspire.

While yet unknown the principles of art,
Imperious veils must shroud its radiance clear;
When sluggish ignorance surrounds the heart
No lustres can pervade the darkness drear,
But all as colours to the blind appear;
Where Pleasure's tint, celestial, rosy red,
Majestic purple, scarlet, hue of war,

The undulating mantle of the mead,

[spread.

And heaven's gay robe, a dark, unmingled mass is

There glows in man a principle innate,
Of powerful bias, which to good, or ill,
Low, or exalted, must direct his state,
And one fix'd purpose of the soul fulfil,
As early choice, to habit grown, shall will;
If, like the lark that mounts the orient beam,
His wing he not expand, aspiring still

To wisdom's sun, whence light and beauty stream,
He sinks in murky caves, where owls and ravens

scream.

Youth is life's spring, the seed time, when the mind
Fosters each new idea planted there;

If we neglect to sow the grain refined,
No future pains can raise a harvest fair;
And memory, warm and soft in early year
As yielding wax, disused, grows cold and hard,
Nor aught retains of each impression rare,
Which, when retain'd, acquire the high reward
Bestow'd by star-crown'd Fame on timely studious
bard.

Mild Sensibility, whose trembling light

Has rarely fail'd to shine in youthful breast,
Resisted, chill'd, withdraws her influence bright
From the dull spirit in its stagnant rest;
She flies!-and with her flies each lovely guest,
From her deriving all their noblest powers,
Genius and Truth, in sun-gilt mantle dress'd,
Love, Friendship, Pity, all that speed the hours,
And strew the path of life with ever blooming
flowers.

ANNA SEWARD.

TO-MORROW.

SEE, where the falling day
In silence steals away,

Behind the western hills withdrawn;
Her fires are quench'd, her beauty fled,
With blushes all her face o'erspread,
As conscious she had ill fulfill'd
The promise of the dawn!
Another morning soon shall rise,
Another day salute our eyes

As smiling and as fair as she,
And make as many promises;
But do not thou the tale believe,
They're sisters all, and all deceive.

MRS. BARBAULD.

FOR

THE BLIND ASYLUM, LIVERPOOL.

STRANGER, pause for thee the day

Smiling pours its cheerful ray,

Spreads the lawn and rears the bower,
Lights the stream and paints the flower.
Stranger, pause-with soften'd mind
Learn the sorrows of the Blind;
Earth and seas and varying skies
Visit not their cheerless eyes.

Not for them the bliss to trace
The chisel's animating grace;
Nor on the glowing canvass find
The poet's soul, the sage's mind.

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