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"But let untender thoughts afar be driven;
Nor venture to arraign the dread decree.
For know, to man, as candidate for Heaven,
The voice of the Eternal said, 'Be free:
And this divine prerogative to thee

Does virtue, happiness, and Heaven convey;
For virtue is the child of liberty,

And happiness of virtue; nor can they

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Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray. Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent,

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"Hail, sacred Polity, by Freedom rear'd!
Hail, sacred Freedom, when by law restrain'd!
Without you, what were man? A grovelling herd
In darkness, wretchedness, and want, enchain'd.
Sublim'd by you, the Greek and Roman reign'd
In arts unrival'd: O, to latest days,

In Albion may your influence, unprofan'd,
To godlike worth the generous bosom raise,

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"Twas from Philosophy man learn'd to tame
The soil by plenty to intemperance fed.
Lo, from the echoing ax, and thundering flame,
Poison and plague and yelling rage are fled!
The waters, bursting from their slimy bed,
Bring health and melody to every vale :

And, from the breezy main, and mountain's head,
Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale,

And prompt the sage's lore, and fire the poet's lays! To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale

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But now let other themes our care engage.

For lo, with modest yet majestic grace,

To curb Imagination's lawless rage,

And from within the cherish'd heart tp brace,
Philosophy appears! The gloomy race
By indolence and moping Fancy bred,
Fear, Discontent, Solicitude, give place,

And Hope and Courage brighten in their stead,
While on the kindling soul her vital beams are shed.

Then waken from long lethargy to life

The seeds of happiness, and powers of thought;
Then jarring appetites forego their strife,
A strife by ignorance to madness wrought.
Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought
With fell revenge, lust that defies control,
With gluttony and death. The mind untaught
Is a dark waste, where fiends and tempests howl;
As Phoebus to the world, is science to the soul.

And Reason now through number, time and space,
Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye,
And learns, from facts compar'd, the laws to trace,
Whose long progression leads to Deity.
Can mortal strength presume to soar so high?
Can mortal sight, so oft bedimm'd with tears,

Such glory bear?-for lo! the shadows fly
From Nature's face; confusion disappears,

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What cannot Art and Industry perform,
When Science plans the progress of their toil!
They smile at penury, disease, and storm;
And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil,
When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil
A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage
Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,

And order charms the eye, and harmony the ears! Deep-vers'd in man the philosophic sage

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But she who set on fire his infant heart,
And all his dreams, and all his wanderings, shar'd
And bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art,
Still claim'd the enthusiast's fond and first regard.
From Nature's beauties variously compar'd
And variously combin'd, he learns to frame
Those forms of bright perfection, which the bard,
While boundless hopes and boundless views in-
flame,

Enamour'd, consecrates to never-dying fame.

Of late, with cumbersome, though pompous show,
Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface,
Through ardor to adorn; but Nature now
To his experienc'd eye a modest grace
Presents, where ornament the second place
Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design
Subservient still. Simplicity apace
Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine,
And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th'
unwieldy line.

Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)
What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole,
When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains
His deep majestic melody 'gan roll:
Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his soul,
How the red current throbb'd his veins along,
When, like Pelides, bold beyond control,
Without art graceful, without effort strong,
Homer rais'd high to heaven the loud, the im-
petuous song.

And how his lyre, though rude her first essays,
Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain,
Warbling at will through each harmonious maze,
Was taught to moderate the artful strain,

I fain would sing :-but ah! I strive in vain. Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound, With trembling step, to join yon weeping train, I haste, where gleams funereal glare around, And mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound.

Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn,
The soft amusement of the vacant mind!
He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn,
He, whom each virtue fir'd, each grace refin'd,
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind!
He sleeps in dust. Ah! how shall I pursue
My theme! To heart-consuming grief resign'd,
Here on his recent grave I fix my view,
And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu.

Art thou, my GREGORY, for ever fled!
And am I left to unavailing woe!
When fortune's storms assail this weary head,
Where cares long since have shed untimely snow!
Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go!
No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers.
Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.
'Tis meet that I should mourn: flow forth afresh,
my tears.

THE HERMIT.

Ar the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the

grove,

'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit

began ;

No more with himself or with Nature at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man:

"Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe, Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,

And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. But, if.pity inspire thee, renew the sad layMourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn!

Oh soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away!

Full quickly they pass-but they never return.

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ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD.

ANNA LETITIA AIKIN was born at Kilworth Harcourt, Leicestershire, June 20, 1743. Her father, Dr. John Aikin, superintendent of the dissenting academy at Warrington, taught her Latin and Greek, and through her acquaintance with Drs. Priestley and Enfield her education was carried beyond the usual limits of learned women of her day. In 1773 she published a volume of poems, which went through four editions in a year. In 1774 she married Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, a dissenting minister, and went to live at Palgrave, Suffolk, where they opened a boarding-school. In 1775 she published a compilation of devotional pieces, in 1778 "Lessons for Children," and in 1781 "Hymns in Prose, for Children." The two latter were translated into French. In 1785, the

school being given up, Mrs. Barbauld travelled with her husband on the Continent, and on their return they resided at Hampstead. There she wrote various political pamphlets. In 1802 they removed to Stoke Newington. In 1804 she published selections from the Spectator," "Tatler," ," "Guardian," and "Freeholder," with a critical introductory essay. In 1808 Mr. Barbauld died. In 1810 Mrs. Barbauld published an edition of the British novelists, with biographical and critical notices, and in the following year a collection called "The Female Spectator," and her last poem, entitled "Eighteen Hundred and Eleven." She died on March 9, 1825, and in that year her works were published in two octavo volumes, with a memoir by Lucy Aikin.

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All that liberal Autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores:
These to thee, my God, we owe;
Source whence all our blessing flow;
And for these my soul shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.

Yet should rising whirlwinds tear
From its stem the ripening ear;
Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot
Drop her green untimely fruit;

Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store;
Though the sickening flocks should fall,
And the herds desert the stall;

Should thine altered hand restrain
The early and the latter rain ;
Blast each opening bud of joy
And the rising year destroy:

Yet to thee my soul should raise
Grateful vows, and solemn praise;
And, when every blessing's flown,
Love thee for thyself alone.

TO-MORROW.

SEE where the falling day

In silence steals away,

Behind the western hills withdrawn:
Her fires are quenched, her beauty fled,
While blushes all her face o'erspread,
As conscious she had ill fulfilled
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.

HYMN.

PRAISE to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous source of every joy,
Let thy praise our tongues employ;

For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use;

Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain;
Clouds that drop their fattening dews,
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse;

All that Spring with bounteous hand Scatters o'er the smiling land;

LIFE.

LIFE, I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,

I own to me 's a secret yet.

Life, we've been long together,

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not Good-Night, but in some brighter clime Bid me Good-Morning.

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