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The wicked from transgression are represt-
They cease from troubling, and the weary rest;

The small and great are here ; no lordling's breath
Molests the strict democracy of Death.
An awful hour it is, when danger's nigh,
Stern expectation in the breast beats high;
When the waked bosom, troubled and perplex’d,
Loses the present moment in the next;
All thought suspended-every wish confined,
And horror only regnant in the mind.

Why is a terror, so peculiar, shed
O’er human hearts, conversing with the dead ?
How can these moulder'd hands such tumults weave?
Why do the disbelieving here believe?
And why, as if by Heaven's peculiar doom,
Is no man Atheist leaning on a tomb ?

He comes not-though the appointed hour is o'er; He comes not-lives not-I shall wait no more. Long have I forced these trembling limbs to stay, Midst damps and silence, sorrow and dismay ; The moon in lustre mild, in glory still, Shines westward of the brow of heaven's blue hill; The hour is past. Let me forsake this gloom, Nor trust the faithless jugglers of the tomb.

My doubts are all confirm’d—when breath retires
The mental lamp goes out with all its fires ;
Soon as we reach these beds of lasting peace,
Our schemes, our hopes, our very beings, cease.
This boasted man—this child of Heaven's decree,
This sage—this reasoning angel-what is he?
A future worm--the victim of a shroud ;
A streak of glory fading from a cloud.

Thus some bright window, ere the day is done,
Shines deeply crimson'd in the setting sun;
The mansion seems involved in streams of fire,
Ali faces brighten, and all eyes admire ;
But as the sun withdraws his final ray,
The visionary splendours fade away ;
And nought remains, these transient glories past,
But the cold night-fog, or the whistling blast.

In tender youth, to take, we are inclined,
Whate'er the nurse infixes on the mind.
Some louder rattle next is jingled near,
In sound more specious, though in sense less clear;
But as improvement's road we longer ride,
Toy after toy is boldly thrown aside.
These toys adhere, some loosely, some more fast ;
We quit the nurse's first—the priest's the last.

If ONE, all perfect, garnish'd yonder skies, And bade our rolling globe from nothing rise ; If power and wisdom in his breast combine; His own perfection in his work must shine. So kind his character, his love so bland, The world must bear the impress of his hand; Each stream of influence must its channel keep;

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No foot must deviate, and no eye must weep ;
We know the Sun's refulgence by his beams;
Pellucid fountains pour pellucid streams.
If sin or error shade this earthy sod,
The shadow reaches to the throne of God.

What is the truth : Does pleasure harbour here?
Does wisdom waking happiness appear?
We find, whene'er our system is survey'd,
Mankind for tribulation only made.
The few frail joys that mitigate his doom,
Appear like plants that in the desert bloom;
Alone and pale, they only serve to throw
A deeper contrast on surrounding woe.
For him the Fates ollected ills prepare,
Shame, guilt, remorse, delusion, and despair.
Imagination, in a fragrant load
Of boughs and blossoms, hides the reptile toad;
Presents to man each image of delight,
And drives the ghosts of trouble from the sight
Our minds are strangely form’d to entertain
Each blissful prospect, and revolt from pain.

Yes, life, i know how bright thy prospects shine;
These fine delusions have been often mine :-
O when mild evening made the meadows still,
Save the lone warblings of the whip-poor will;
When down the forest sunk the crimson day,
And even the darkness to my heart was gay ;
Beneath some dancing bough at ease reclined,
What blissful visions burst upon the mind !
'Twas mine, 'midst clouds of enterprise to soar,
Some book to write, some country to explore,
To solve some mystery with angelic ken;
And be whate'er immortal minds have been,

Alas! inflated dreams—they all are past;
Reason's first hour was airy pleasure's last.
On every cloud, where once a rainbow shone,
An arch of triumph o'er a youthful throne,
I see with deep surprise, and hopeless pain,
That rainbow vanish, but that cloud remain.

Nothing is clear; as billows rise and fall,
All is confused, and man the most of all.
The seeming truths which rasher minds descry,
Are not in nature, but the cheated eye.
We hear and trust; we reason and deplore ;
The tales once trusted, we can trust no more.

Yet still the lonely mind looks round for aid,
Asks—hopes--aspires believes, tho' much afraid.
Whatever doubts vain reasoning may descry,
Some inward feeling gives those doubts the lie.
Even I, the wretch, that here concluding stand,
Myself the product of no heavenly hand;
Even I, the icy space so bravely pass'd,
Take every step but-shrink to take the last.
Of truth the bound'ries are already cross'd

When human wants in human pride are løsť.
1826-No.1

The brightest ray that is to man allow'd
Is but a pencil trembling thro’ a cloud.
The light is partial, but in spite of pride,
Through every shade, sufficient still to guide ;
When guilt depresses, when with ills we cope,
Without supreme conviction, man may hope.

Death, great intsructer of the human race,
With eye unfaltering let me view thy face ;
And ask, what visions will disturb this heart,
When thou triumphant shakest thy dreadful dart !
Thy torch, tho' pale, is said to glare within,
And show to man his innocence, or sin :
O tell without disguise, tremendous Power,
What views will meet me in the final hour.

When I look back on moments ever fed, And see the paths through which it.y feet were led; How have 1 stepp'd from inward peace aside, All duties slighted, and all truth denied ! A prodigal was l_whose sullen mind, Left the fair mansion of my sire behind , And pleased awhile on Pleasure's car to shine, Sunk to the very husks which nourish swine. All my vain reasonings were on passion built; The shades engender'd by the fumes of guilt, Ambition lured me, when from truth I strayed ; I disbelieved the laws I disobey’d.

In vain is truth to devious mortals shown,
If sinful bias hold the mental throne ;
The heart expels the light the mind has won,
As rising vapours intercept the sun.
Ingenious minds, where fiery pleasures sway,
Are but ingenious to be led astray :
Hence the proud reasoner must from truth recede,
When headlong passion forms his wretched creed.

Suspecting then the heart, its powerful throes
Suppress'd, and sinking into s ft repose;
Willing without one cloud the light to see,
Howe'er it humbles, or debases me;
The awful theme, let me revolve once more,
And justify my reasonings, or deplore.

And o! Thou Source of Knowledge hid in shade,
Hear the first prayer thy suppliant ever made.
If, ʼmidst the streams of joy that round thee shine,
Thine ear can listen to a voice like mine;
If, ʼmidst the rolling orbs that rule the sky,
A floating atom can attract thine eye;
If Infinite can look on folly weak;
If dust and ashes may presume to speak :
Impart one ray from thine Eternal Sun,
And teach me--truth and happiness are one.

Behold the skies ; amidst her starry train, The Queen of Heaven looks down on bill and plain ; Eternal harmony is found above, And every planet seems to twinkle love ; Deeper and deeper in the blue profound, New seas arise ; new systems circle round;

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Worlds behind worlds, in vast profusion spread,
Where not a tear, perhaps, was ever shed;
The scene with glorious proof is sprinkled o'erm
There is a God—iet trembling worlds adore.

Behold our earth-how wonderfully made !
Sweet interchange appears, of light and shade;
Here the tall cliff collects the aerial rain,
There the bright river murmurs thro' the plain
Here the proud cedar spreads its massy arms;
There the frail lily hides its humbler charms.
First, Spring, in robes of green, leads on the year ;
Then melting Summer's ripening fruits appear :--
What sights and sounds of bliss are pour'd around !
The frisking lamb, the linnet's morning sound ;
The labourer happy when his task is done ;
The insect cohorts wheeling in the sun.
Even Autumn's yellow leaf, and Winter loud,
Present their mercy in the storm and cloud:
We witness changing greens and snows embossid,
And hardly own that Paradise is lost.

Why then, when forms material smile around,
In mortal hearts is bliss so rarely found ?
Why utters man such melancholy tones ?
Why make his Eden echo but to groans ?
From pools of brimming pleasure wherefore run,
Impatient to be wretched and undone ?

O book of books, in thy celestial laws,
I trace, without disguise, the real cause.
For bliss created, man has gone astray;
Despised his guide, and lost the narrow way,
On error are bis hungry cravings built;
And every sorrow points to human guilt.

Explore the world—from infancy to age,
What proofs repulsive crowd the dreadful page !
War-peace-domestic life-love-hatred, show,
That man to man has been the direst foe.

See to yon destined plain, in proud array, The rival legions slowly win their way! In front, besprinkled round, videttes appear; While creaking wagons lumber in the rear. Host after host, with solemn tread they come, To the shrill fife and thought-suppressing drum, Whilst high in air their crimson banners float, The braying trumpet mingles in its note. They form the silent line ; in youthful pride From rank to rank commission'd heralds ride : 'Tis done—they are prepared—the signal given, Along the varying wave of war is driven. Forth from the park incessant flashes shine, And rattling muakets crack along the lin: ; The field presents, 'midst growing noise and ire, One cloud of smoke, one burning sheet of fire ; At length, inspired in closer strife to mix, On their hot guns their glittering points they fix

Here the fresh tides of vital carnage flow,
They form the wedge and charge the trembling foe;
Compacted close, through parted ranks they burst,
Stabbing and stabb’d, cursing their foes and it sed ;
On purple ground, on bleeding hearts they tread,
The faltering living stumble on the dead:-
And on the field where sanguine rivers ran
A stern inscription rises this is man.

In softer life, where gentier mimers reign,
How oft is pleasure bought by giving pain!
When wealth around us foids her silver wings,
How careless are we whence the treasure springs ?
For what poor pittance is our virtue cross'd ?
And for a coin, how oft the soul is lost!

But there's a deeper crime ; all hearts must own!
One cord should bind us to Jehovah's throne;
• That cord, susceptive of each moral stroke,
By sin's avulsions is entirely broke.

True, man may smile, and social life appear
Like yonder river undisturbd and clear ;
But yonder river, though its waters flow,
Unruffled like the cloudless skies below;
Can meet the ocean in an angry form,
Oppose its billows, and augment the storm.
Survey, ye proud, ye opulently great,
Survey of suffering man the real state.
For useful knowledge seldom glimmers where
Vain Seculation fills her idle chair;
Behold him cast abroad on natures wild,
Of hopeless sin, the immolated child;
If ignorant, by darkness ledl astray ;
If wise, bedazzled by superfluous day.
Born to inquire and doubt, collect and crave,
A span just parts his cradle from his grave;
And never sure, in all his reasonings vain,
But temporal guilt may bring eternal pain.

In this condition, where aillictions roll,
Religion is an impulse of the soul
'Tis closely grafted on chastised desire;
Our wants impress it-even our sins inspire;
And skeptic reasoning is a vain employ,
Like reasoning down our anguish or our joy.
Here then I rest; this lacerated mind
From all its wanderings here repose may find;
As when Columbus left th' Iberian shore,
To plough those waters never plough'd before,
Still as the day to night her throne resign d,
A deeper darkness rested on his mind;
More angry tempests drove the midnight clouds,
And strange-voiced demons shriek?d around his shrouds;
Far darker billows seem'd in ranks to roll,
And even the treacherous needle left the pole;
Oft, oft look d out the eye, but nothing ken d,
*And none could gather where the voyage could end ;