With their wild and awful roll
Deep communes his lifted soul.
Now let the sudden tempest come
From its cloudy Eastern home;
Let the thunder's fearful shocks
Break among the dark rough rocks,
And lightning, as the waves aspire,
Crown them with a wreath of fire ;
Let the wind with sullen breath

Seem to breathe a dirge of death :
Thou may'st feel thy cheek turn pale;
But he that looks within the veil,

The Bard, high priest at Nature's shrine,
Trembles with a warmth divine.

His heaving breast, his kindling eye,
His brow's expanding majesty,

Show that the spirit of his thought

Hath Nature's inspiration caught.

Now place him in a gentle scene,
'Neath an autumn sky serene ;
Let some hamlet skirt his way,
Gleaming in the fading day;
Let him hear the distant low
Of the herds that homeward go;
Let him catch, as o'er it floats,
The music of the robin's notes,

As softly sinks upon its nest

He, of birds the kindliest ;

Let him catch from yonder nook

The murmur of the minstrel brook ;
The stones that fain would check its way
It leapeth o'er with purpose gay,
Or only lingers for a time,

To draw from them a merrier chime;
E'en as a gay and gentle mind,
Though rough breaks in life it find,
Passeth by as 'twere not so,

Or draws sweet uses out of woe;
The scene doth on his soul impress
Its glory and its loveliness.

Now place him in some festal hall,
The merry band of minstrels call,
Banish sorrow, pain, and care,

Let graceful sprightly youth be there,
Beauty, with her jewelled zone

And sparkling drapery round her thrown,

Beauty, who surest aims her glance,

When the free motion of the dance

All her varied charms hath stirred,
As the plumage of a bird

Shows brightest when in air he springs,
Spreading forth his sunny wings.
Place the bard in scenes like this,

E'en here he knows no common bliss.

Beauty, mirth, and music twined

Shed bland witchery o'er his mind.
Yet not alone these charm his eyes,
In fancy other sights he spies;
The ancient feats of chivalry,

Of war's and beauty's rivalry.

That hall becomes an open space,
Where knights contend for ladies' grace.
He sees a creature far more fair
Than any forms around him are;
One love-glance of her radiant eyes,
The boon for which the valiant dies.
He sees the armored knights advance,
He hears the shiver of the lance,
And then the shot when tourney's done
That greets the conquering champion,
While, kneeling at his lady's feet,
The victor's heart doth scarcely beat,
As, blushing like a new-born rose,
His chosen Queen the prize bestows.

But would you know the season when,
He triumphs most o'er other men,
See him when heart, pulse, and brain,
Are bound in Love's mysterious chain.

Behold him then beside the maid;

There's not one curl hath thrown its shade In vain upon that bosom's swell.

All are secrets of the spell
That holds the visionary boy
Breathless in his trance of joy.
And yet no definite desire

Does that strong sob of bliss inspire;
But sweetly vague and undefined

The feeling that enthralls his mind,
An indistinct deep dream of heaven
Her melting shadowy eye hath given.

These the Poet's pleasures are,
These the dull world cannot share,
These make fame so poor a prize
In his Heaven-enlightened eyes.
What is poetry but this?

A glimpse of our lost state of bliss ;

A noble reaching of the mind

For that for which it was designed,
A sign to lofty spirits given,

To show them they were born for Heaven;
Light from above, quenched when it falls
Where the gross earth with darkness palls
The fallen soul content to be

Wed to its sad degeneracy;

But when, like light on crystal streams,
On a pure mind its effluence beams,

How brightly in such spirit lies

An image of the far off skies!

29

VARIETY OF OPINIONS ON RELIGION.

From the Minute Philosopher.*

BY BISHOP BERKELEY.†

THE variety of opinions about religion is a resting stone to a lazy and superficial mind. But one of more spirit and a juster way of thinking, makes it a step whence he looks about, and proceeds to examine, and compare the differing institutions of religion. He will observe, which of these is the most sublime and rational in its doctrines, most venerable in its mysteries, most useful in its precepts, most decent in its worship? Which createth the noblest hopes, and most worthy views? He will consider their rise and progress, which oweth least to human arts or arms? Which flatters the senses and gross inclinations of men? Which adorns and improves the most excellent part of our nature?

Which hath

* Modern Free-thinkers are the very same with those Cicero called Minute Philosophers, which name admirably suits them, they being a sect which diminish all the most valuable things, the thoughts, views, and hopes of men: human nature they contract and degrade to the narrow, low standard of animal life and assign us only a small pittance of time, instead of immortality.

†Note 1.-See Appendix.

[Minute Philosopher, Dialogue I.