XXXIX.

AFFLICTIONS OF ENGLAND.

HARP! could'st thou venture, on thy boldest string, The faintest note to echo which the blast

Caught from the hand of Moses as it past

O'er Sinai's top, or from the Shepherd King,
Early awake, by Siloa's brook, to sing

Of dread Jehovah; then, should wood and waste
Hear also of that name, and mercy cast

Off to the mountains, like a covering

Of which the Lord was weary. Weep, oh! weep,
Weep with the good, beholding King and Priest
Despised by that stern God to whom they raise
Their suppliant hands; but holy is the feast
He keepeth; like the firmament his ways
His statutes like the chambers of the deep.

ECCLESIASTICAL

SKETCHES.

PART IIL

FROM THE RESTORATION TO THE PRESENT TIMES.

I.

I SAW the figure of a lovely Maid

Seated alone beneath a darksome Tree,
Whose fondly overhanging canopy

Set off her brightness with a pleasing shade.
Substance she seemed (and that my heart betrayed,
For she was one I loved exceedingly ;)

But while I gazed in tender reverie

(Or was it sleep that with my Fancy played?)
The bright corporeal presence, form, and face,
Remaining still distinct, grew thin and rare,
Like sunny mist; at length the golden hair,
Shape, limbs, and heavenly features, keeping pace
Each with the other, in a lingering race

Of dissolution, melted into air.