1 Dale, champaign, grove, and hill; And Wisdom hides her skill. Tell them, I AM, JEHOVAH said Lines written in the Church-yard of Richmond, METHINKS it is good to be here, If thou wilt let us build; but for whom? But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, Shall we build to Ambition? Oh, no! Affrighted he shrinketh away; For see, they would pin him below, In a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, To Beauty? Ah, no! She forgets Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, Shall we build to the purple of Pride,The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside; And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd, But the long winding sheet, and the fringe of the shroud. To Riches? Alas, 'tis in vain ; The treasures are squandered again. And here in the grave are all metals forbid, To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, Ah! here is a plentiful board; But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here. Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah, no! they have withered and died, Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side, Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve: Ah, sweetly they slumber; nor hope, love, nor fear; Peace, peace, is the watch-word, the only one here. Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? Ah, no; for his empire is known; And here there are trophies enow. Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone, Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown. The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfill'd; And the third to the LAMB of the great sacrifice, Who bequeath'd us them both, when He rose to the skies. FROM THE GERMAN OF KLIEST. How rich the splendors of the western skies, In purple tints and glowing crimson bright! Where varying forms and shadowy landscapes rise, Mountains of gold, and flaming waves of light. The sweetest fragrance scents the evening gale, And o'er reposing nature silence reigns; Save where the flute breathes softly thro' the vale, The streams, low murmuring, glide along the plains, Or Night's sad songstress chants her long-drawn plaintive strains. O Thou! my guide divine! whose sacred power And ye! than wealth more priz'd, than fame more dear, Ye friends for ever lov'd, ye chosen few! With generous hand the veil of friendship drew! In trembling transport rais'd to glorious scenes on. high! THEODORE AND ROSETTA, OR THE DAY FLY. Bp. Kenn. Theo. Where had you those sweet flowers, Ros. O Theodore, I got them by the way. Stood at the door its beauties to descry, When a kind maid, who of the flow'rs took care, At parting, she, her neighbour to endear, Theo. Shew it. Ros. I dare not; it away will fly, And I shall lose the darling of my eye. My heart misgives me. Theo. Open by degrees; may Ros. I little thought, dear Theodore, that I Brought you a preacher, when I brought a fly. Theo. You have, for me and for Rosetta too; The same it teaches me, it teaches you. Ros. What Theodore esteems a teacher fit, But tell me what and how this fly can teach,- Theo. Once more, my dear, the amiable mold The Lilies which great Solomon outvie, Bright various colour'd rays his wings adorn ; 1 |