I love to feel the balmy air
Captive the willing sense,

Mantling in haze the prospect fair
With clouds of frankincense-
But more I love, when heats arise,
The fresh'ning breath of Paradise!

Nature has loveliest charms, when bright
She glistens in the beam,
Shedding afar her silvery light
In one refulgent stream-
But Zion's rays are lovelier still,
When pour'd on Tabor's holy hill!

Where'er I gaze, around, below,
Rich worlds of beauty lie-
A balsam for the heart of woe,
Light for the fading eye:
Yet this alone can dry the tear,
To find and feel the Saviour near!

'Tis well to love His earth,

Decked in her robes of state,

To mark her, when renewed in birth,
Upon His bounty wait,

To cast the gladdened eye around,

And feel that all is holy ground.

But if He disappears,

And veils his look of love,

The gayest scene is dimmed by tears,
The thoughts bewildered rove―
Vain the bright sea, and brighter skies,
Vain Man's supremest harmonies.

The spirit turns away—

It cannot, will not rest! Oh for a mild, celestial ray,

To glad the gloomy breast!

Absent from Him, earth's smiles but seem

The mockery of some golden dream!

Would He light up the land

With an approving smile,
Command the creatures of his hand
Each anxious care beguile,

The rudest wilds the desert knows,
Would blossom gay as Sharon's rose!

May thus the morn's bright wings
Some covenant-blessing bear,
While the wrapt spirit upward springs,
With an anointed prayer-

Saviour! I bow before Thy throne,

Not for Thy works, but Thee alone!

CAPRI.1

ALL IS VANITY AND VEXATION OF SPIRIT.--ECCL. I. 14.

Он what can curb the mind of man,
His fevered thirst allay-

The world, too bounded for his span ;
Too brief, life's little day!

Like captive bird he flutters round,
With bright and quivering plume;
Yet still his feet, by fetters bound,
Their wonted perch resume.

Here, where the double-crested isle
Springs from the deep-blue sea,
The King of nations sought the smile
Of ceaseless revelry.

1 The favourite retreat of the Emperor Tiberius.

He swept within its narrow bound,
Whate'er could lure the sense,

Planted his throne, and scattered round
A world's magnificence.

He asked the heav'ns-and high they spread
Their canopy abroad:

He asked the earth-she strewed a bed,
With flowers and fruitage stored.

He asked the sea-she wrought a cave,
Scooped in the secret rock;

And bade him trust her azure wave,
Nor fear the tempest's shock.1

He asked of man-and lordly halls
Shot up the hills among,

While danced around the festive walls
Pleasure's gay, laughing throng.

But Oh! how vain the wealth of earth,
The smiles of sea and sky!

Who moulded is in human birth,

By human death must die!

1 La Grotta Azurra.

The vine still climbs yon shadowy rocks

Still rolls the azure wave

Man's works survive the earthquake's shocksBut where the Imperial slave?

Little thought he, in Pleasure's bower,

Weaving a summer-lay,

While basking in life's pride and power,
How sped that life away!

But Time hath rung full many a knell,
And many an age hath fled;

Yet not a voice the tale may tell—
How sleep the mighty dead!

One word-one little word alone,
Records the lowly lot

Of him, who claimed the world his own

He was and he is not !

Then let man check each fond desire,

To its due bound confined; Mortal delights awhile may fire, They cannot fill the mind.

Earth's fond pursuits no more his aim,
Let Heav'n command his gaze;

Sin's loud applause, his deepest shame-
Its scorn, his highest praise.