Erecting thrones, or crushing city-walls
With curses,-like the winds, when desert-born, Terrific, loud, with desolation wing'd!
selected from the dust of earth,
Dread oracles! whose dooming words have blanch'd
The cheek of Empires, and the rock-built domes
Of princes shatter'd when with stormy howl
The darker vision from your spirit rush❜d!—
August and lonely, sad yet all sublime
Ye lived, in sackcloth robed, in deserts housed,
Or mountain cavern ;-fated, and apart
From blinding shadows of terrestrial sway,
Ye dwelt, like portions of Almighty thought!
The gloom, the glory, and the vision came,
The Future render'd her weird secrets up,-
Like phantoms, towering from eternity,
Dim Ages rose, and answer'd to your spell!
PRAISE, AN INCENTIVE TO EMULATION,
THERE is a pleasure in a praise denied,
It feeds a folly, or protects a pride,
It teaches dulness what no wit can say,-
"I don't approve,―let no one write to-day.”
Thou narrow-
v-minded, petty pompous thing!
What lent a feather to the boldest wing
Of soaring fancy,—but a praise when due?
And would'st thou hive it for the darling few?
Though Shakspeare sang, and Milton's soul aspired,
Must Gray be scorn'd, nor Goldsmith be admired?
As well might Ocean of the Earth demand
To let no river roll, no stream expand;
As well might mountains that embrace the skies
Entreat the heav'ns to let no hills arise!-
The star of home, who in thy gentleness
On the harsh nature of usurping man
Benign enchantment, canst so deeply smile,-
Soft as a dew-fall from the brow of eve,
Or moonlight shedding beauty on the storm,-
Woman! when love has wreck'd thy trusting heart,
What port remains to shelter thee!-too fond,
Too delicately true, thy nature is,
Save for the heart's idolatry; and then,
Thy love is oft a light to virtue's path.
It dawns, and with'ring passions die away,
Low raptures fade, pure feelings blossom forth,
And that which Wisdom's philosophic beam
Could never from the wintry heart awake,
By love is smiled into celestial birth!
Thus love is Wisdom with a sweeter name.
TRUE adoration, what a voice is thine!
From earth it wanders through the Heaven of
There from the Mercy-seat itself evokes
An answer, thrilling the seraphic host
With added glory of celestial song!—
For prayer is man's omnipotence below,
A soul's companionship with Christ and God,
Communion with Eternity begun!
PLEASANT is Morning, when her radiant eye
Opes on the world, enchanting all the sky;
And Ev'ning with her balmy glow of light,
The beauteous herald of romantic night:
And pleasant oft to some poetic mind
The sound of water, and the sweep of wind;
A friend renew'd in some heart-welcom'd place,
With years of fondness rising in his face;
The tear that answers to a tale of woe,
And happy feelings in their heav'nward flow.
But sweeter far proves his revengeful lot
Whom fame hath slighted, or the world forgot,
In printed bile to let his spirit vent,
And mangle volumes to his heart's content;
Corrupt what style, create what fault he please,
Laugh o'er the truth, and lie with graceful ease!
Thus envy lives, and disappointment heals
That gangren'd wound a tortur'd mem'ry feels;
The wither'd hopes delightful vengeance wreak,
And pages thunder more than scorn could speak!
And thus with thee, whose life I now recal :
Malignant trash,-'twas thine to scorn it all!
Each reptile started from his snug review
To spit out poison,-as most reptiles do;
Oh! how they feasted on each faulty line,
And generously made their dulness thine!
From page to page they grinn'd a ghastly smile,
Yet seem'd to look so heav'nlike all the while;
Then talk'd of merit to the world unknown,—
Ah! who could doubt them, for they meant their own.
Religion too! what right had he to scan
The scheme of glory which she wove for man;
Or paint around him, whereso'er he trod,
The glowing fulness of eternal God?
Indeed 'twas hinted,-hoped it was untrue,
His heart had worn an atheistic hue;
And still religion, though its hallow'd name
Had lent a freshness to his early fame,
Had not alike both heart and head inspir'd;
In short, the world was sick, and they were tired;
And then, to prove his verse had made it vile,
They mouth'd it in their own sweet monthly style!
Next, Paternoster hired a serpent too,
To sound his rattle in a Scotch review ;*
And yet, alas! that such a menial end
Should wait on all who noble taste defend,
Though much was thought, and more divinely said,
The poet triumph'd, and the public read;
And when Abuse herself had ceas'd to pay,
The public hooted, and she slunk away!
* Vide Notes to the Appendix.
POWER AND BEAUTY OF TRUTH,
ACKNOWLEDGED BY SATAN.
AND such is Truth!-in Heaven and Hell the same.
Yea! Hate herself in agony avows,
That Virtue is triumphant, and the best :
Her glories are my tortures; but they shine
Upon me, blasting with victorious light
The envy which I bear them, when I scan
The mazes of mortality.--How kind
In men, to aid the darkness that I bring
On fallen Nature! heedful of the vile,
And damning all, I'd fain destroy. Thus Vice
In splendour will appear, while Virtue droops,
Like a lone shadow pining in the sun.
And never shall the Good the Bad exceed,
While Sin can put enchantment in her smile,
While Passions are the tyrants of the soul!
FRAIL king of dust, man loves to look around,
And think,-" for me the elements abound
With life and motion; shade and sunshine wait
In mixt attendance on my human state;
Light, sea, and air, their glorious spell maintain,
That I alone, as Lord of Earth, may reign!”
And yet, what art thou ?-but a fleeting breath,
A pulse of life that throbs away in death ?—
Myriads of creatures round thee move and die
Minute beyond the ken of mortal eye ;
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