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BY THE REV. MR. HUDSON.
Let who will climb the towery steep
Of sovereignty, with slippery strides,
Below, the pitchy pinnace rides :
Waves ghastly ; and a sable crew
Mine be the low and level way,
Amid the quiet vale to stray. Safe in some sylvan lodge to dwell,
And lull'd by the clear stream that speeds
By shallow fords to rustling reeds,
There sits the calm, the rural sage,
With nature's volume fair in view;
Replete with wonders ever new:
In emerald groves, and shadowy glades,
Truth, in her liquid glass serene,
To him explains each moral scene : Oft, in the downward skies, a train
Of tinsel insect he surveys,
Or glow-worm, with fallacious blaze, Just emblem of court greatness, frail and vain.
Oft in his woodland walk he stops to mark
The spirited and youthful lark,
Lift his melodious flight thro’ upper air ;
Now sings unrivall’d in his radiant sphere. The pondering Hermit then sees Merit roam, Above the nurslings of the courtly dome, On Glory's sparkling wheels, rais'd from its hum
First of the families of fame,
That Rome's imperial city grace, From rural huts and hamlets came
The Fabia and Fabrician race;
Which braves Oppression's wintry breath,
The leafless Alock, that Fortune dooms
To wither, with returning spring
(While the glad focks of Freedom sing) Profuse of promis'd sweets, with double vigour
Hark! hark! 'tis Brutus' name I hear,
Join'd with his fair, heroic bride ;
Along the favourable tide ;
Blow, every kind and gentle gale
High on a fleecy couch reclin’d,
Of white and amber clouds confin'd, Rome's genius lifts his august head;
Now slow descending nearer draws,
Hail'd with the popular applause,
In awful march a num'rous train compose,
As Cybelé thro' Phrygian cities goes, Majestic, and with golden turrets crown'd: A hundred gods her gorgeous car surround, A thousand tongues acclaim; the clanging cym.
BY R. SHEPHERD, D. D.
Expatiate long in nice debate,
With learn'd Lucretius stray
In mazy mystic play.
Some vain hypothesis admit,
And daringly deny
An All-wise Deity.
The clearest evidence contest,
Since Time was taught to roll ;
Remote, as pole from pole.
So shuts the moping bird of night
That glads the cheerful day ;
She wings her dubious way.
The cloud that nimbly rides,
Who there supreme resides.
Whose influence they obey :
At whose command decay.
Say ye, on down, or mountain steep,
And aerial throng,
Or sustenance or song:
Who, in the ocean's waste domain,
With liberal hand supplies ?