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O! for that clime my pinions let me plume—
Fade fast, thou world of sorrowing and gloom!
Ye lovely, lonely watchers of the night!
Soon far heyond ye may I wing my flight,
And find, exchang'd for all earth's hitttr woes,
A home of joy, of refuge and repose.

-This is the joy, young Isadore I helieve,

More than the minstrel in his verse can weave ;—
More than the poet, as his raptur'd eye
Dwells ou the earth, the ocean, or the sky,
Can ever feel—joy for the deepest gloom,
Strewing with flowers our pathway to the tomh!



I Saw them in white raiment crown'd with

flowers, On the fair hanks of that resplendent river, Whose streams make glad the city of our

God— Waters of life as clear as crystal, welling Forth from the throne itself, and visiting Fields of a Paradise that ne'er was lost, Where yet the tree of life immortal grows, And hears its monthly fruits, twelve kinds

of fruit Each in its season, food of Saints and Angels, Whose leaves are for the healing of the


Beneath the shadow of its hlessed houghs I marked those rescued Infants, in their

schools By spirits of just men made perfect, taught The glorious lessons of Almighty Love, Which hrought them thither hy the readiest

path, From the world's wilderness of dire temptations, Securing thus their everlasting weal.

Yea in the rapture of that hour, tho* songs Of Cheruhim to golden lyres and trumpets, And the redeemed upon the sea of glass With voices like the sound of many waters,

Came in mine ear, whose secret cells were

opened To entertain celestial harmonies ;— The small sweet accents of those little children Pouring out all the gladness of their souls In love, joy,gratitude,and praise to Him;— Him who had lov'd and wash'd them in his

hlood, These were to me the most transporting

strains Amidst the hallelujahs of all Heaven.

Tho' lost awhile in that amazing chorus Around the throne—at happy intervals The shrill hosannas of the infant quire Singing in that Eternal Temple, hrought Teats to mine eye, which seraphs had heen

glad To weep, could they have felt the sympathy That melted all my soul, when I heheld How condescending Deity thus deigned Out of the mouths of hahes and sucklings

here To perfect his high praise. The harp of

Heaven Had iack'd its least, hut not its meanest string Had children not heen taught to play upon it, And sing from feelings all their own, what

men Nor angels can conceive of creatures, horn Under the curse, yet from the curse redeem'd, And placed at once heyond the power to fall. — Safety which men nor angels ever knew, Till ranks of these, and all of those had fallen.


T. MOOre.

Go, wing thy flight from star to star,
From world to luminous world as far
As the Universe spreads its flaming wall:
Take all the pleasures of all the spheres,
And multiply each through endless years,
One minute of Heav'n is worth them all.




The year has seen Its round of seasons, has fulfilled its course, Ahsolved its destined period, and is horne, Silent and swift, to that devouring gulf, Their womh and grave, where seasons, months, and years, Revolving periods of uncounted time, All merge, and are forgotten.—Thou alone, In thy deep hosom hurying all the past, Still art; and still from thine exhaustless store New periods spring, Eternity.—Thy name Or glad, or fearful, we pronounce, as thoughts Wandering in darkness shape thee. Thou strange heing, Which art and must he, yet which contradict'st All sense, all reasoning,—thou who never wast Less than thyself, and who still art thyself Entire, though the deep draught which Time has taken Equals thy present store.—No line can reach To thy unfalhomed depths. The reasoning sage Who can dissect a sunheam, count the stars, And measure worlds, is here a child, And, humhled, drops his calculating pen. On, and still onward flows the ceaseless tide, And wrecks of empires and of worlds are horne Like atoms on its hosom.—Still thou art And He who does inhahit thee.



Since trifles make the sum of human things, And half our misery from our foihles springs: Since life's hest joys consist in peace and

ease, And few can save, or serve, hut all can

please: Oh I let th' ungentle spiritlearn from hence, A small unkindness is a great offence: Large hounties to hestow, we wish in vain, But all may shun the guilt of giving pain. To hless mankind with tides of flowing

wealth, With power to grace them, or to crown with

health, Our little lot denies; hut Heav'n decrees, To all the gift, of minist'ring to ease: The gentle offices of patient love, Beyond all flatt'ry, and all praise ahove; The mild forbearance of another's fault; The taunting word suppress'd as soon as

thought; On these Heaven hade the sweets of life

depend; And crush'd ill-fortune when she gave a

friend. A solitary hlessing few can fmd; Our joys with those we love are intertwined; And he whose wakeful tenderness removes Th" ohstructing thorn which wounds the

hreast he loves,

Soothes not another's rugged path alone,
But scatters roses to adorn his own.
Small slights, contempt, neglect, uumixed

with hate, Make up in numher what they want in

weight: These, and a thousand griefs minute as these, Corrode our comforts, and destroy our peace.





Noele the mountain-stream, Bursting in grandenr from its vantageground; Clory is in its gleam Of hrightness;—thunder in its deafening sound!

Mark, how its foamy spray, Ting'd hy the sun-heams with reflected dyes,

Mimics the how of day Arching in majesty the vaulted skies ;—

Thence, in a summer-shower, Steeping the rocks around;—Oh tell me where

Could majesty and power Be cluth'd in forms more heautifully fair?

Yet lovelier, in my view,
The streamlet fluffing, silently serene;

Traced hy the hrighter hue,
And livelier growth it gives ;—itself unseen!

It flows through flowery meads, Gladdening the herds which on its margin hrowse; Its quiet heauty feeds The alders that o'ershade it with their houghs.

Gently it murmurs hy The Village Church-yard;—its low, plaintive tone,

A dirge-like melody For worth, and heauty modest as its own.

More gaily now it sweeps By the small School-house, in the sunshine, hright:

And o'er the pehhles leaps, Like happy hearts hy holiday made light.

May not its course express, In characters which they who run may read,

The charm of gentleness, Were hut its still small voice Jallow'd to plead 1

What are the trophies gain'd By power alone, with all its noise and strife,

To that meek wreath unstain'd,
Won hy the charities that gladden life?

Niagara's streams might fail,
And human happiness he undisturh'd:

But Egypt would turn pale, Were her still Nile's o'erflowing hounty curh'd I



In days of yore, as Gothic fahle tells, When learning dimly gleam'd from grated

cells, When wild Astrology's distorted eye Mhuiiiw the fair field of true philosophy,

And wand'ring thro* the depths of mental

night, Sought dark predictions 'mid the worlds of

light :— When curious Alchymy, with puzzled hrow, Attempted things that Science laughs at now, Losing the useful purpose she consults, In vain chimeras and unknown results;— In those grey times there lived a reverend

sage, Whose wisdom shed its lnstre on the age. A monk he was, immured in cloister'd walls, Where now the ivy'd ruin crumhling falls. 'Twas a profound seclusion that he chose; The noisy world disturh'd not that repose: The flow of murmuring waters, day hy day, And whistling winds, that forced their laniy

way Thro' reverend trees, of ages' growth, that

made, Around the holy pite a deep monastic shade; The chanted psalm, or solitary prayer,— Such were the sounds that hroke the silence


# * # • • •

'Twas here when his rites sacerdotal were

o'er, In the depth of his cell with its stone-covered

floor, Resigning to thought his chimerical hrain, He formed the contrivance we now shall

explain: But whether hy magic or alchymy's power* We know not, indeed 'tis no husiness of ours: Perhaps it was only hy patience and care, At last that he hrought his invention to hear. In youth 'twas projected; hut years stole

away, And ere 'twas complete he was wrinkled

and grey; But success is secure unless energy fails; And at length he produced The Philosophtr't


What were they?—you ask: you sfciB

presently see; These scales were not made to weigh sopt

and tea; O no;—for such properties wondrous had

they, That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they

could weigh;

Together with articles small or immense, -Yom mountains or planet.*, to atoms of sense: Nought was there so hulky ,hut there it could

lay; And nought so ethereal hut there it would

stay; \nd nought so reluctant hut in it must go; Ml which some examples more clearly will


The first thing he tried was the head of

Voltaire, Which retain'd all the wit that had ever

heen there; As a weight, he threw in a torn scrap of a

leaf, Containing the prayer of the penitent thief; When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a

spell, As to hound like a hall, on the roof of the cell.

Next time he put in Alexander the Great, With a garment that Dorcas had made—

for a weight; And tho' clad in armour from sandals to

crown, The hero rose up, and the garment went


A long row of alms houses, amply endow'd By a well-esteem'd pharisee, husy and proud, Now loaded one scale, while the other was

prest By those mites the poor widow dropp'd into

the chest;— Up flew the endowment, not weighing an

onnee, And down, down, the farthing's worth came

with a honnce.

Again, he performed an experiment rare: A monk, with austerities hleeding and hare, Climhed into his scale; in the other was laid The heart of our Howard, now partly decayed; When he found, with surprise that the

whole of his hrother Weigh'd less, hy some pounds, than this hit of the other.

By further experiments, (no matter how) He found that ten chariots weigh'd less than one plough.

A sword, with gilt trappings, rose up in the

scale, Though halanced hy only a ten-penny nail. A shield and a helmet, a huckler and spear Weighed less than a widow's uncrystallized

tear. A lord and a lady went up at full sail, When a hee chanced to light on the opposite scale. Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one

earl, Ten counsellors' wigs, full of powder and

curl, All heaped in one halance, and swinging

from thence, Weigh'd less than some atoms of candour

and sense ;— A first-water diamond, with hrilliants hegirt, Than one good potato just washed from the

dirt; Vet, not mountains of silver and gold would

suffice, One pearl to outweigh,—'twas the " pearl

of great price."

At last the whole world was howl'd in at

the grate; With the soul of a heggar to serve for a

weight; When the former sprang up with so strong

a rehuff', That it made a vast rent and escaped at the

roof; Whence, halanced in air, it ascended on

high, And sail'd up aloft—a halloon in the sky: While the scale with the soul in, so mightily

fell, That it jerk'd the philosopher out of his cell.

Dear reader, if e'er self-deception prevails, We pray you to try The Philosopher's scales: But if they are lost in the ruins around, Perhaps a good suhstitute thus may he

found :— Let judgment and conscience in circles he

cat, To which strings of thought may he carefully put:

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