A NIGHT PIECE.

By PARNEL.

GREAT folemnity of utterance is neceffary in the read

er, when he perufes this poem. The fhortnefs of the measure, which occasions it (if great care is not taken) to go off too trippingly from the tongue, is certainly a fault, confidering the awful gravity of the fubject, to fuit which, a verfe compofed of e-feet, would have been better than one of eight, which is made use of in the present instance. In correcting the effect of this error upon the ear, the fcholar must be uncommonly flow and deliberate in pronouncing the words, which he may lengthen out in the delivery as much as he can, without entering into a drawl, a defect of all others the moft wearifame and difgufting.

BY the blue taper's trembling light,
No more I wafte the wakeful night,
Intent with endless view to pore
The Schoolmen and the Sages o'er:
Their books from wifdom widely stray,
Or point, at beft, the longest way.
I'll feek a readier path, and go
Where wisdom's furely taught below.

Now look up with awe and refpect,

How

How deep yon azure dyes the sky!
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie,
While thro' their ranks, in filver pride,
The nether cre.cent seems to glide.
The flumb'ring breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is fmooth and clear beneath,
Where once again the fpangled fhow
Descends to meet our eyes below.
The grounds which on the right aspire,
In dimness from the view retire;
The left presents a place of graves,
Whofe wall the filent water laves;
That steeple guides thy doubtful fight
Among the livid gleams of night.
There pass with melancholy ftate,
By all the folemn heaps of fate;
And think, as foftly-fad you tread
Above the venerable dead,

"Time was, like thee they life possest,

“And time fhall be, that thou fhalt rest.”

Those graves, with bending offer bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought difclofe,
Where toil and poverty repofe.

The flat, fmooth stones, that bear a name,
The chiffel's flender help to fame,
(Which, ere our fet of friends decay,
Their frequent fteps may wear away)
A middle race of mortals own,
Men half ambitious, all unknown.

The marble tombs that rife on high,
Whofe dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whofe pillars fwell with fculptur'd ftones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;
Thefe, all the poor remains of state,
Adorn the rich, or praife the great;
Who, while on earth in fame they live,
Are fenfelefs of the fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,

Let your look and manner be expreffive of great dread and awe.

"

The bursting earth unveils the shades!

All flow, and wan, and wrapp'd with fhrouds,

They rife in vifionary crowds;

And all, with fober accent, cry,

"Think, mortal, what it is to die.”

The laft line peculiarly folemn.

Now, from yon black and funeral yew,
That bathes the charnel-house with dew,
Methinks I hear a voice begin;

(Ye ravens, ceafe your croaking din,
Ye tolling clocks, no time refound
O'er the long lake and midnight ground)
It fends a peal of hollow groans,
Thus fpeaking from among the bones:

Be awfully grand in all this and what follows.

"When

"When men my scythe and darts supply, "How great a king of fears am I!

"They view me like the laft of things;

"They make, and then they dread, my ftings.
"Fools! if you lefs provok'd your fears,
"No more my spectre-form appears.
"Death's but a path that must be trod,
"If man would ever pass to God:
"A port of calms, a state of ease,

"From the rough rage of fwelling feas.

"Why, then, thy flowing fable ftoles, "Deep pendant Cyprefs, mourning poles, "Loofe fcarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, "Long palls, drawn hearfes, cover'd fteeds, "And plumes of black, that, as they tread, "Nod o'er the 'fcutcheons of the dead? "Nor can the parted body know, "Nor wants the foul, thefe forms of woe; "As men who long in prifon dwell, "With lamps that glimmer round the cell, "Whene'er their fuff'ring years are run, "Spring forth to greet the glitt'ring fun, "Such joy, tho' far tranfcending fense, "Have pious fouls at parting hence. "On earth, and in the body plac'd, "A few, and evil years, they waste : "But, when their chains are cast aside, * See the glad scene unfolding wide; "Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away, "And mingle with the blaze of day.”. H S

A great

A great deal may be made of this poem, if placed in the hands of a judicious and difcriminating reader. We know but few in the language that can imprefs the hearer with fo much real awe and folemnity, if read with its proper effect.

If the scholar be addicted to the abominable practice of dragging out his words in a heavy, drawling manner, we would, in that cafe, advise him to perufe the following pleafing poem by Dyer. It is, of all others with which we are acquainted, the best adapted to cure him of that defect, as he cannot, we think, hardly prevent himself (were he inclined to the contrary) from reading it in that eafy, flippant method fo effential to the fpirit of it, and fo appropriate to the Short, tripping measure of the verfe. Few ears fo inharmonious but what must discover, ere twenty lines are read, the abfolute neceffity of adapting a light flippancy of utterance in the perusal.

GRONGAR HILL.

By DYER.

SILENT Nymph! with curious eye,
Who, the purple evening, lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noife of bufy man,