Nature, thou beauteous frame,-
Our mansion, and our grave,-
Thou too shalt lose thy charms and name
In ruin's wave:
Farewell!-Yet once again,
Upraised I shall survey

Thy form glow with dissolving flame,
In that great day.

A FRAGMENT.

THE sun look'd through the region wide,
Robed in the majesty of morn;
Ocean impell'd his pond'rous tide,

While twinkling waves, the view to adorn,

Roll'd toward the distant shore with ceaseless chide,
Check'd by the frequent bark, high-bounding in her pride.
But 't was the landscape charm'd the sight,
Sprung beauteous from the dark of night,
As if again, "Let there be light,"

The Eternal had proclaim'd.

To Figen's mount, where clouds repose,
The kingdoms of an empire rose,
Fair as the fields where Ganges flows,
By eastern poets famed.

ALFRED'S ODE TO ST. PAUL.
"HARP of celestial themes, awake!
To solemn joys lift all thy powers;
And sweetly may thy thunders shake
The soul, as fly the swift-wing'd hours.
Touch'd by the potency of sound,

Truth shows more true, more beauteous, more profound.
The sunny scenes of life take lovelier forms;

Sublime, but musical, the storms.

Resentment breaks his brandish'd sword, subdued,
With all his wrathful train, by thy soft spell;

Infuriate with unconquerable feud,

Foul Hate flies murmuring to his native hell. With tears that smile, see, trooping to thy song,

The Virtues robed from heaven, a bright and blissful throng.

Too oft ye desecrate the lyre,

Mingling with sweetest sounds unhallow'd fire.
Behold a harp unstain'd, whose cheerful chime
Ne'er echoed to a godless rhyme.

Let but the fitful breeze salute the strings,

And God is love, and love is God,' resound, In strains responsive and sweet lingerings,

Like voices heard when Eden bloom'd around. Come, powerful Empress of the throbbing breast, What hero shall we sing, the greatest and the best ?

Shouts thus the song in Athelingay,

Isle of the noble and the good;
The courtly towers, and convent gray,
Roll back the echo to the wood.

Thone swiftly winds his destined course;
Along his flowery banks-all hostile force
Dropp'd for the gentle mood-the Warrior-band,
With noble Thanes and Prelates stand.
In greatness throned, in fame that cannot fade,
The royal Saxon sat, and doff'd his steel;
Who in the verities of faith had laid

The deep foundations of Britannia's weal.

Burning the triumphs of that faith to tell,

Like Jesse's son he seem'd, and snatch'd the sounding shell :

"In famed Cilicia's happy clime,

Where Cydnus flows through boundless plains,

The child of destiny sublime

Was nursed amid the classic fanes

Of Tarsus, city of the sage,

Where Science yet unroll'd her beaming page.

Him hoary Wisdom call'd her darling son,

And show'd the steps that must be won.

And from the hills and forests, Genius of song,

Thou wouldst, with measured pace, attend the youth

And stream upon his melting soul thy strong,

Thy soft, thy searching melody of truth.

But chiefly sacred seers kindled his joy,

And prophets throng'd to train the consecrated boy.

"The seasons fly-but time gives more
Than motion measured by the spheres ;
Draws from his deep and secret store
His magical effect of years.
He bids bright gems of lambent light

In ocean-caves dawn on their long, dark night.

Behold a cot where shepherds tune the reed,-
"Tis now imperial Rome which nations hail.
Does science flourish fair? He sow'd the seed

In early Greece, and Egypt's ancient vale.
From infancy he brings, with gradual ray,
The bright and burning noon of intellectual day.
"As eaglets fly their native rock,

Plumed for no middle heights of air,
The manly youth began to mock

The toys that took his childish care;
And, studious on the grassy sod,
Pants for the tribes and temple of his God.
Granted the wish-On Zion's sacred steep

He lifts the hymn to God mighty to save;
To Salem gives a soul rich as the deep,

Soft as the surf, and daring as the wave.
In glory's high career when shall he find

Some task of matchless strength, meet for so vast a mind?
"Amazing light! no gradual dawn-
Another sun bursts on the sky!
What waves of glory sweep the lawn!

The mountains flame their tops on high.
Hung on the wing, those lightnings stay,
Fire Syria's tower, and quench our earthly day.
Struck to the ground, roll'd on his groaning steed-

His bold compeers trembling with sore affright,— He hears a voice-he feels a power succeed,

Kindling his inmost soul with heavenly light,
Sees Truth's all-conquering sceptre brightly shine,
And whom he once despised, now worships as Divine.
"Strike loftily the answering lyre-

But what his greatness whom we sing?
Rules he the battle in his ire?

Or sits enthroned a glittering king?
Or moves he with a nobler throng-

The raptured sons of science and of song?

How mean the form that shrouds that soul sublime!
Behold, he seeks the concourse of the poor!

Mankind abhor him, as if loathsome crime

And curse lay at his miserable door!

Blind to those virtues of eternal fame

That crowd and smile around, to see him spurn the shame."

THE TWENTY-FIRST OF JUNE.

THE sun, throned high in summer-state prolongs
His annual visit to the snowy north,

Pleased with the grateful worship of sweet songs,

Which from each icy vale his beams call forth; But now its tide of light has reach'd its bound, Now ebbs, and wintry shades again shall gather round. In heaven's unfading year we too shall sing The living light of a diviner Sun;

But gorgeous summer there shall be the spring

Of richer summers-winter there is none;

No cloud, no gloom shall veil the bright, bright skies, Through that long day of rest, and loftiest enterprise.

If thence the summons thrill the good man's ear,
How ardently he greets his glorious fate!
His fleshy mantle drops, wipes his last tear,

Ascends, and, shooting through heaven's utmost gate, Where angels oft in ecstasy have roved,

Shouts, "O to see His face! to love and be beloved!"

A FRAGMENT.

I HAVE seen the blue stream at the base
Of a smooth sunny bank running by,
And the lake give the sun's bright rays
As he flash'd from an evening sky.
I have seen the green vale, and the hill

With its flocks on the skirts of a cloud,
And the plain with its tower and its mill,
And the grove with its thrush singing loud.

But here shines the broad ocean-swell,

And my soul loves to mount with the billow. Yes, wild wave! I have loved thee well, Uprolling, or droop'd like a willow.

'Tis no airy vision is seen,

Nor Beauty in smiles in her bower;

But Nature erect like a queen

Looking forth from the throne of her power.

The Isle seems to rush to the Main,
Her warrior-companion to meet;
And the bold flowing tide falls again
In the homage of waves at her feet.

Proud union of strength for the war,

And rich with the blessings of peace! Yet the huge rocks must melt, and the roar Of the waters of ages shall cease.

I have journey'd, yet what now to me

The bright scenes that have rush'd from my sight? But, O! what a flood shall I see

Stretching onward from life's latest height!

THE END.

LONDON-Printed by James Nichols, 46, Hoxton-Square.