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Tell ns—for douhtless thou canst recollect,—
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's famt?
Perhaps thou wcrt a Mason, and forhidden
By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy traderThen say, what secret melody was hidden
In Mormon's statue, which at suurise played 1 Perhaps thou wert a Priest—if so, my struggles Are vain,—for priestcraft never owns its juggles.
Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat,
if nth hoh-a-nohhed with Pharaoh, glass to glass Or dropped a halfpeuny in Homer's hat;
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass:
I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,
Has any Roman soldier manled and knuckled?
Ere Homulus and He m us had heen suckled : —
Thou-could'st develope, If that withered tongue ,
Might tell us what those sightless orhs have seen, How the world looked when it was fresh and young,
And the great Deluge still had left i1 green !— Or was it then so old that History's pages Contained no record of its early ages?
Still silent! incommunicative ctfl
Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows;
Keveal the secrets of thy prison-house;
Since first thy form was in this hox extended,
The Roman Empire has hegun and ended;
New worlds have risen,—we have lost old nations;
And countless kings have into dust heen humhled,
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumhled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head
When the great Persian Conqueror, Camhyses, Marched armies o'er thy tomh with thundering tread,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, I sis,
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
If the tomh's secrets may not he eonfess'd, * s
The nature of thy private life onfold :—
And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll'd.
Statue of flesh !—Immortal of the dead!
Imperishahle type of evanescence f
And standest undecayed within oar presence,
Why should this worthless tegument endure,
If its undying guest he lost for ever?
In living virtue, that when hoth mnst sever,
On Three Schoolfellows, who had cut their names, ahout 50 years hefore, in the hark of an Oak, a Lime, and an Ash,
What suns have shone, what storms have
Since that delicious prime,
As if to mock at Time!
Full oft did Pocock, Painter, Joy,
Along this valley dash,
His oak, his lime, his ash.
How frolic on his favorite tree
Carve letters doomed, tho' deep, to he
I hail Nick. Pocock's gnarled oak,
To find his name; hut—lo! As through its glimmering moss I poke, * irfth—/
Poh! Poh ! on Time may I retort J
Thy name young Joy !—In cruel sport
And shall I now the lime-tree search
For Painter all in vain 1
Hath left me only—Pain!
NOW AND THEN.
In distant days of wild romance,
Of magie, mist, and fahle,
When stones could argue, trees advance,
And hrutes to talk were ahle,
'Twas then, no douht, if 'twas at all,
But how ihey made each other hear
Then was a sprite of suhtle frame,
Now rested on the solid earth,
And soher was her vesture;
She seldom either grief, or mirth,
Express'd hy word or gesture: Composed, sedate, and firm she stood, And look'd industrious, calm, and good.
Then sang a wild fantastic song,
Light as the gale she flies on;
Still stretching as she sailed along,
Towards the fair horizon; Where clouds of radiance, fring'd with gold, O'er hills of em'rald heauty roll'd.
Now rarely rais'd her soher eye,
To view that golden distance;
Nor let one idle minute fly,
In hope of Then's assistance;
She ate the sweet and homely fare
And waited for the fruits and flowers,
Of future, still receding hours.
Now venturing once to ask her why,
Alas, says she, how hard you toil
Xhotp ,OVH I w»i» —*'*- *- - 'ow,—
That fairy land that looks so real,
Recedes as you pursue it;
Thus while you wait for times ideal,
I take my work, and do it: Intent to form when time is gone A pleasant Fast to look upon.
Ah well said Then, I envy not,
Your dull fatiguing lahours,
Aspiring to a hrighter lot
With thousands of my neighhours—
And e'en suppose you should, said she,
Since hope fulfill'd you mnst allow;
Turns Now to Then, and Then to Now.
The world's something higger,
But just of this figure And speckled with mountains and seas; Your heroes are overgrown schoolhoys Who scuffle for empires and toys, And kick the poor hall as they please. Now Cassar, now Pompey, gives law;
And Pharsalia's plain,
Though heaped with the slain,
Was only a game at taw.
I hATE that Drum's discordant sound,
I hate that Drum's discordant sound,
Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,
The frame thy wayward looks deride
The common Lord of all that move,
A portion of his houndless love
The sun, the moon, the stars he made
To all his creatures free; And spreads o'er earth the grassy hlade
For worms as well as thee.
Let them enjoy their little day,
Their lowly hliss receive: O! do not lightly take away
The life thon canst not give.
LINES ON A SKULL.
Behold this ruin! 'twas a skull,
Beneath this mouldering canopy,
But start not at the empty cell;
Here in this silent cavern hung,
Say, did these fingers delve the mine,
Avails it whether hare or shod.
In times like ours, 'twere wise if people
would Well scrutinize their zeal for doing good. A few plain questions might suffice, to prou' What flows from party—what from Christian
love. —Our prayers are heard—some Mussulman,
at last, Forsakes his prophet—some Hindoo hi*
caste; Accepts a Saviour, and avows the choice:— How glad we are, how much our hearts re.
The news is told and echo'd, till the tale Howe'er reviving, almost waxes stale. —A second convert Gospel grace allures— O, hut this time he was not ours hut yours; It came to pass we know not when or how; —Weil, are we quite as glad and thankful
now? Or can we scarce the rising wish suppress, That we were honour'd with the whole success?
There is an eye that marks the ways of men, With strict, impartial, analyzing ken: Our motley creeds, our cradc opinions, lie, All, all unveil'd to that omniscient eye. He sees the softest shades hy error thrown; Marks where His truth is left to shine alone; Decides with most exact, unerring skill, Wherein we differ from His word and will. No specious names nor reasonings, to His
view, The false can varnish, or deform the true; Nor yain excuses e'er avail to plead, The right of theory for the wrong of deed. Before that unemharrass'd, just survey, What heaps of refuse must he swept away 1 How must its search from every creed remove, All hut the golden grains of truth and love: Yet, with compassion for our feehle powers, For oh I His thoughts and ways are not as ours!
WORLDLY AND DIVINE WISDOM CONTRASTED.
Wisdom is humhle, says the voice of God. 'Tis proud, the world replies. Wisdom, says
God, Forgives, forhears, and suffers, not for fear Of man, hut God. Wisdom revenges, says The world, is quick and deadly of resentment, Thrusts at the very shadow of affront, And hastes, hy death, to wipe its honour
clean. Wisdom, says God, loves enemies, entreats, Solicits, hegs for peace. Wisdom, replies The world, hates enemies, will not ask peace,
Conditions spurns, and triumphs in their fall. Wisdom mistrusts itself, and leans on heaven, Says God. It trusts and leans upon itself, The world replies. Wisdom retires, says
God, And counts it hravery to hear reproach, And shame, and lowly poverty, upright; And weeps with all who have just cause to
weep. Wisdom, replies the world, struts forth to
gaze, Treads the hroad stage of life with clamorous
foot, Attracts all praises, counts it hravery Alone to wield the sword, and rush on death; And never weeps, hut for its own disgrace. Wisdom, says God, is highest when it stoops Lowest hefore the Holy Throne; throws
down Its crown, ahased ; forge's itself, admires, And hreathes adoring praise. There wisdom
stoops, Indeed, the world replies, there stoops, hecause It must, hut stoops with dignity; and thinks And meditates the while of inward worth.
MUTUAL INFLUENCE OF ERROR AND VICE.
Faults in the life hreed errorsin the hrain;
JUSTICE AND MERCY
Said Justice," Man I'd fain know what yon
weigh; If weight, I spare you, if too light, I slay," Man leap'd the scale; it mounted: "On
my word," Said Justice, "less than nothing, where's
my sword V