E'en I, while humble zeal
Makes fancy a sad truth indite,
Insensible away do steal:

And when I'm lost in death's cold night,
Who will remember now I write?

HABINGTON.

TIMES GO BY TURNS.

THE lopped tree in time may grow again,
Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower;
The sorriest wight may find release of pain,

The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow;

She draws her favours to the lowest ebb: Her tides have equal times to come and go; Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: No joy so great but runneth to an end, No hap so hard but may in fine amend. Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring,

Not endless night, yet not eternal day: The saddest birds a season find to sing,

The roughest storm a calm may soon allay: Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. A chance may win that by mischance was lost; The net that holds no great takes little fish ; In some things all, in all things none are cross'd; Few all they need, but none have all they wish. Unmingled joys here to no man befall; Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all.

SOUTHWELL.

STANZAS.

A BEAM of tranquillity smiled in the west,
The storms of the morning pursued us no more,
And the wave,while it welcomed the moment of rest,
Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er!
Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,
Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the
dead,
[power,
And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their
As the billow the force of the gale that was fled!
I thought of the days when to pleasure alone

My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known
Was pity for those who were wiser than I!
I felt how the pure intellectual fire

In luxury loses its heavenly ray;

How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire,
The pearl of the soul may be melted away!
And I pray'd of that spirit that lighted the flame,
That pleasure no more might its purity dim;
And that sullied but little, or brightly the same,
I might give back the gem I had borrow'd of him!
The thought was ecstatic! I felt as if Heaven
Had already the wreath of eternity shown;
As if, passion all chasten'd and error forgiven,
My heart had begun to be purely its own!
I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky
Which morning had clouded was clouded no

more:

'Oh, thus,' I exclaim'd, can a heavenly eye Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before,!'

T. MOORE."

THE LEADING STRING.

GUIDE of my wayward steps, when young desire
Caught the first spark of Emulation's fire
(Whose genial power, enkindling as it ran,
Raised life to sense, to reason, and to man),
Still, still my soul in memory's inmost cell,
Where images most dear, most sacred dwell,
With willing gratitude retains, reveres
Thy faithful service to my weakest years!

Oft as my thoughts recall those early days,
Thy gentle aid deserves my warmest praise;
By thee at once directed and sustain❜d,
Unhurt I roved where countless dangers reign'd;
Where else, each petty pebble had o'erthrown
A helpless wanderer in a world unknown.

Beneath a thousand forms reflection shows Combining perils, hardships, pains, and woes: O! baneful influence, every moment spread In varied terrors o'er an infant's head; Whom still, alike unconscious, unalarm'd, The plain invited, and the desert charm'd; Whose heedless foot with equal haste had trod The fatal precipice and flowery road; Who, fondly rash, no other object knew Than what each changing trifle set to view;Tired of the present, fond of that which flies; Still prone to fall, and impotent to rise.

Even now I tremble at the' affecting scene:Be firm, my soul!-What can this transport mean? Hark! on mine ear some sound more awful breaks! 'Tis no illusion! 'tis the Muse that speaks. 'My son!' she says, 'if thus thine heart, aghast, Starts at the little snares thy childhood pass'd,

Think, think what dangers wait thee now! for Thou'rt still an infant in a world of woe: [know Still in thy way Vice, Vanity, Disgrace

Spread the broad net that will obstruct thy race; Conceal the rock that tempts with specious show Thy foot, to plunge thee in the' abyss below; Haste thee, prepare thee for the' unequal strife, And take from me the leading strings of Life.

Be Virtue first thy care, thy wish, thy aim; Her rules thy standard, her applause thy fame: To her thy steps let fair Discretion lead; Let Truth inspire thy thought and crown thy deed; Let sage Experience guide thy hand and voice; Be slow to choose, but constant in thy choice; To Mercy's dictates open all thy breast!— Be good-and Heaven will teach thee to be bless'd.

BISHOP.

THE LEAF.

We all do fade as a leaf. Isaiah lxiv. 6.

SEE the leaves around us falling,
Dry and wither'd, to the ground;
Thus to thoughtless mortals calling
In a sad and solemn sound-
Sons of Adam, once in Eden,
Blighted when like us he fell,
Hear the lecture we are reading,
'Tis, alas! the truth we tell.
Virgins, much, too much presuming
On your boasted white and red,
View us, late in beauty blooming,
Number'd now among the dead.

Griping misers, nightly waking,

See the end of all your care;
Fled on wings of our own making,
We have left our owners bare.
Sons of honour, fed on praises,
Fluttering high in fancied worth,
Lo! the fickle air, that raises,
Brings us down to parent Earth.
Learned sophs, in systems jaded,
Who for new ones daily call,
Cease, at length, by us persuaded,
Every leaf must have its fall!

Youths, though yet no losses grieve you,
Gay in health and manly grace,
Let not cloudless skies deceive you,
Summer gives to autumn place.
Venerable sires, grown hoary,
Hither turn the' unwilling eye,
Think, amid your falling glory,
Autumn tells a winter nigh.
Yearly in our course returning,
Messengers of shortest stay,
Thus we preach this truth concerning,
'Heaven and earth shall pass away.'

On the Tree of Life eternal,

Man, let all thy hope be staid, Which alone, for ever vernal,

Bears a leaf that shall not fade.

BISHOP HORNE.

VOL. I.

R R