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BY JAMES BEATTIE, L. L. D.
When in the crimson cloud of Even
The lingering light decays,
His glittering gem displays;
Beside a lulling stream,
Indulged this tender theme.
Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur pil'd
High o'er the glimmering dale; Ye woods, along whose windings wild
Murmurs the solemn gale ; Where Melancholy strays forlorn,
And Woe retires to weep, What time the wan moon's yellow horn
Gleams on the western deep :
To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,
To your retreats I fly.
Deep in your most sequester'd bower
Let me at last recline,
Leans on her ivy'd shrine.
How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair!
Thy heavenly smile how win!
And stills the storm within.
Thine ardent votary bring,
Serene, on silent wing!
Oft let remembrance sooth his mind
With dreams of former days,
He fram’d his infant lays ;
Nor cold Distrust alarm’d,
His simple youth had harm’d.
'Twas then, O Solitude, to thee
His early vows were paid,
Devoted to the shade.
In stormy paths to roam,
Remote from all congenial joy !
O take the wanderer home.
Thy shades, thy silence now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream, Whence the scar'd owl on pinions grey
Breaks from the rustling boughs, And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.
O while to thee the woodland pours
Its wildly warbling song,
The zephyr breathes along;
No vagrant foot be nigh,
Flash on the startled eye.
But if some pilgrim through the glade
Thy hallow'd bowers explore,
And listen to his lore;
That wean from earthly woe,
That chains this heart below.
For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread ; No more I climb those toilsome heights
By guileful Hope misled; Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Mirth's enlivening strain; For present pleasure soon is o'er,
And all the past is vain.
BY THE REV. THOMAS PENROSE.
Mildly beam'd the queen of night,
Sailing thro' the grey serene :
But faintly shone the solitary scene,
High on a cliffy steep, o'erspread
With many an oak, whose ancient head
Did in its neighbour's top itself inwreath, And cast an umbered gloom and solemn awe beneath.
High on a cliffy steep a Hermit sat,
Weighing in his weaned mind
The various woes of human kind;