A Roman arm your mocking banners lower'd,
And all your riches ruthlessly devour'd.
There with his lady lies that cross-legg'd
knight,

Sculptur'd in stone, beneath a pointed arch, From which there beams a soft and sombre light

Thro' painted glass, which Time's destroying march,

With winter tempests, have combined to blight,
And summer heats contributed to parch,
The lineal shields of stumb'ring ancestry,
Who in the silent cemetery lie.

The bright and beautiful! o'er each recess
Ye shed the lustre of your shining wings;
Return again, and with your presence bless
My lonely steps and thoughtful wanderings:
Each sordid view, each meaner thought, sup-
press;

And guide my spirit where your presence flings
The light of song, where ancient heroes sleep,
In fertile fields, beneath the woody steep.

Why tread I here with less of that delight
Which stirr'd emotion in my early days?
The splendid dream has disappear'd in flight;
And not the lake, the heath, or mountain's maze,
Can e'er restore unto this longing sight
The garb they wore-that visionary blaze-
The dreaming rapture of my rosy morn,
When on the flowers I stept, nor felt a thorn.
The bright and beautiful! where are you now?
Ye once presided o'er this quiet vale:
Deign once again your witchery to throw
Upon these meads,-yon precipices pale,
Blanch'd by the storms which on their fore-
heads blow,-

The rocky giants, heedless of the gale.
Oh! come, again my feeble lyre attune,
And shed your beams, mild as the midnight

moon.

Dec. 1st, 1825.

The Temple. Alluding to a Preceptory of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, founded by William Percy, in the reign of Henry I. This military order was commenced by nine crusaders, to defend the pilgrims from the cruelty of the Infidels. From so small a beginning they increased to such a degree, that they are said to have been at length possessed of nine thousand houses or convents, besides other great wealth. Their prosperity rendered them so insolent, and so abominably vicious, that even a Pope saw reason to suppress them.-In 1312, at the general council of Vienna, the order was abolished: next year, the grand master was burned alive, and several others were executed.-See the Rev. Jos. Jefferson's History and Antiquities of Thirsk.-The site of the above Preceptory is now occupied by the beautiful seat called Mount St. John.

ON THE BULL OF JUBILEE FOR 1825.

IN thick impenetrable gloom,
Shall frail designing priests entomb
The rapturous sweets of Eden's grove,
The soul's exhilarating love,-
That beams in every letter'd page,
Illamines youth, rejoices age?
Shall bulls of past or present year,
Shall gory sword, or dungeon drear,
With all the motley train of woes,
The dark designs of deadly foes,
Restrain, fair Book, thy wide dispread,
And hinder thee from being read?
Methinks I hear an angel's voice
Say-Fond inquirer, still rejoice;

For long as the refulgent sun
Shall vigorous through bis circuit run,
Or Luna the fair night-orb roll,
Or lamps refulgent gild the pole;
E'en long as these, the extensive globe
Of Truth in mild effulgent robe
Shall beams enliv'ning spread around,
And dress in smiles a barren ground;
Shall, parallel with God's command,
Run swiftly through a popish land,
And, by its kind entreaties, bring
E'en pompous bigots to our King;—
To dark oblivion's grave consign
Each frantic bull, each wild design;
Shalt melt to harmony and joy
Each haughty will, its bate destroy,
And o'er the mental hemisphere
Restore such concord, peace, and fear,
As shall beguile from earth the soul,
And fit it for the heavenly goal.

"Thy state,

PALESTINE.

W. MOORE.

Drew, like thine arms, superlative applause-
But ah! how low thy free-born spirit now!
Thy abject sons to haughty tyrants bow;
A false, degenerate, superstitious race,
Infest thy region, and thy name disgrace."

Falconer.

HAIL, fallen country! whose illustrious name
Has oft re-echoed through the trump of Fame;
Whose plains, alas! sad ruin dares assail,
And stalks in careless gloom thro' every vale:
Art thou the land where Heaven's anointed seer,
Prophetic Samuel, urg'd his blest career?
Art thou the land that heardst the minstrel king
His songs of praise, his holy anthems, sing?
Art thou the land where blest Elijah stay'd,
Where his great miracles were all display'd;"
Which saw the prophet Jordan's stream divide,
And then his form to heaven in triumph ride?
The land where rapt Isaiah, nobly bold,
Messiah's glorious coming oft foretold?
Where Jeremiah pour'd a wailing strain,

Wept o'er his people's woes," but wept in

vain?

eye,

And saw on Calvary's mount the Saviour die? Ah! sacred land! each tender bosom swells At all those scenes sweet Inspiration tells, How all thy heroes by celestial aid "Their thousands and their tens of thousands slay'd,"

And bounteous Heaven its choicest blessing's spread

In rich abundance on thy favour'd head.

Once happy land! thy beauties all are flown,
And wild confusion claims thee for her own:
No more thy "goodly cedars" are display'd,
No more thy palm-trees spread their genial
shade;

No grateful streams of "milk and honey" flow,
Nor "vines and fig-trees" in luxuriance grow;
No gentle bards prefer the sacred song,
For, lo! their" harps are on the willows hang;"

RETROSPECTION.

THOU'rt growing old, thy head is gray,
Life, like a spectre, glides away;
The evening shades are gathering fast,
Thy fleeting day will soon be past!
Then, on the verge of life's decline,
Be solemn recollection thine!
Review the hours for ever gone,
The march of death comes hastening on.
Ah! has improvement, conscience, say,
Kept pace with life's advancing day?
Have all the hours thou hast enjoy'd,
To the best purpose been employ'd?
How much has pass'd in airy dreams,
In idle, visionary schemes?

But though this time was spent amiss,
How much was spent much worse than this?
Has not thy breast with anger burn'd,
And ill for ill too oft return'd?
Nay, hast thou not misunderstood,
And evil oft return'd for good?

Hast thou been thankful to that Power
Which saved thy life in danger's hour-
With blessings who has crown'd thy days-
Say, what returns of grateful praise?
When he chastis'd thee, hast thou then
Submissive to his chastening been?
Say, didst thou not aloud repine,
When Heaven has cross'd some fond design?
Or, if thy speech has been restrain'd,
Has not a secret murm'ring pain'd?
Has envy ne'er thy breast annoy'd,
At good which others have enjoy'd?
Hast thou, according to thy store,
Been liberal always to the poor?
And didst thou sympathetic grieve
O'er ills which thou couldst not relieve?

Hast thou been kind to all thy friends,
Not seeking merely selfish ends;
And hast thou, from thy early youth,
Adhered to plain and simple truth?
Were all thy dealings strictly just,
And faithful always to thy trust?
Have those who watch'd thee never found
Thy footsteps on forbidden ground?
Hast thou been thankful for that light
Which Heaven has shed o'er nature's night?
Hast thou the gospel rightly prized,
And ne'er its sacred truths despised?
Say, hast thou kept thy heart from sin?
Has all been pure and right within ?
Didst thou in secret always be
As seeing Him who seeth thee?
The past, review'd with solemn care,
Will call for penitence, and prayer
To Him alone who can forgive,
And bid the penitent to live.
93.-VOL. VIII.

J. P.

THE DEATH OF CAIN.

[With regard to the final end of Cain, various conjectures have been formed; some tending to establish the opinion that he did repent previously to his death, others that he did not. Dr. Clarke says, "Notwithstanding the allusion which I suppose St. Paul to have made to the punishment of Cain, some think that he did repent and find mercy; I can only say, this was possible." Be it as it may, as the scriptures do not afford any thing conclusive on the subject, Poetry may be allowed to form that opinion most congenial to her.]

Now laps'd great Cynthus from the cloudless sky,

And lav'd th' ethereal plain in crimson dye;
Still were the forests, mute each songster bird,
And nothing save the rippling brook was heard;
A deep attention was on all around,

And young creation in suspense was drown'd;
A solemn scene that moment was descried,
It was the death-scene of the fratricide.

Long had Cain liv'd, accurst, unblest, forlorn, The hapless prey of fear, despair, and scorn; Excluded from the happy few below, Transfix'd with many a grief and many a wo: Ah! who can tell what mental pangs were his, For ever destitute of earthly bliss?

Ah! who can tell the conflicts he sustain'd,
When misery every fatal hour had stain'd?
None, none can tell them-his were all his own,
And Heaven's tremendous curse was his alone.
Moments there were when angel Hope would
deign

To soothe his mind, and mollify his pain;
Would point to Mercy, whose all-tender eye
Beams like a star bespangling yonder sky:
But all evanished as the midnight dream,
For foul Despair would blast each cheering

scheme.

Thus passions sway'd alternately his breast, And exil'd from his bosom joy and rest; While his rack'd conscience, like the troubled

sea,

Nor knew of peace, nor tasted liberty.

But now came on his final earthly hour, When Cain confess'd Death's unrelenting

power;

Him had his sons within their lowly shed
Reclined upon a leaf-constructed bed,
And stood around him with obsequious care,
And filial awe, and deep-suspended air.
Sighing, his fiery eyes to heaven he threw,-
His brother's image seem'd to meet his view
There, in the land of pure, unveil'd delight,
His brother bloom'd, a spotless saint of light.
Oh! what commingling passions on him stele,
Then was the jarring tumult of his soul:
Fain would he then for heavenly mercy ery,
But dar'd not hope the heavenly boon was
nigh:

Oh! how he rav'd and tore with sad remorse,
Though living, yet he seem'd a ghastly corse;
He turn'd, he roll'd, he sigh'd, but could not tell
How he might flee despair, that fiend of hell;
Vainly be strove to speak-his voice was still,
Again he turn'd and toss'd against his will;
At last he heav'd a hollow, mournful groan,
And thus to heaven's high court he made bis

moan:

"Oh, thou all-seeing God! who art all power, Look down upon me in this trying hour; Thy mercy grant, if mercy there should be For so deprav'd, so curs'd a wretch as me ;3 H

Ah no! there is not-all my hopes are vain, There is no mercy for a wretch like Cain!A brother's blood, a brother's blood I bear, A brother's dying cry assails my ear.

Oh! why did I thus dare to tempt my God,. And stain my conscience with a brother's blood?

Cursed, thrice cursed, be that fatal day,
Which tore affection from my soul away;
Which steel'd my heart against fraternal love,
And bore the cry of Abel's blood above;-
That cry was heard, and vengeance fix'd on me,
The wretched son of writhing agony;
Oh, yes! avenging Heaven, with awful frown,
Its execrations on my head pour'd down,
My punishment how great-a load of care,
Far heavier than my wounded soul could bear.
Offended God! to thee alone I cry-
Pity the contrite-pard'ning God, draw nigh;
Conflicting passions rend my helpless soul,
'Tis thou alone can'st make the wounded
whole;

Extend thy mercy, oh, thou God of love,
And let me now thy boundless mercy prove;
Oh! let me feel no more thy vengeful rod,
God of my father! and my brother's God!
Oh! that I could, like yonder genial orb,
Which clothes the skies in that resplendent
garb,

Sink glorious in my death-but ah! how vain,
I die a murderer, with a murderer's stain.
But chief of all, my crime is magnified,
'Twas the first murder-'twas a brother died.
Yet still there's mercy in the realms above,
Ev'n for a wretch like me-for God is love!
Shine on me, O my God! (if I may dare
To call thee mine,) and listen to my prayer.
-Thou dost illume my soul-I feel thee

near,

The pains of death I must not, will not fear; Receive my spirit, Thou who gav'st it first;Mercy has reach'd ev'n him that was accurst!"

He ceas'd-a placid smile illum'd his cheek, A heavenly vision on him seem'd to break; The tumult of his soul was quell'd-be tried To tell his joy, but speech her aid deniedYet though his visage pale shew'd what had been,

It told the peace that now was lodg'd within. An anxious look on all around he threw, Which seem'd to say th' expressive wordAdieu!

A passing brightness all his face o'erspread, And, with a gentle sigh, his spirit fled.

A mystic something seized on all who saw The dying scene-they felt a solemn awe ;They in the grave deposited their trust, To mingle silent with its kindred dust; A filial reverence did each breast inspire, And all lamented for their hapless sire. Bristol, May 18, 1826.

J. S. B. JUN.

TO MELANCHOLY.

COME, Melancholy, come, soft pensive maid, And throw around my brows thy pleasing shade;

While the majestic moon serenely glides Through heaven, and, like a maiden coy, oft hides

Behind a cloudy veil ber modest mien, Then shyly peers, yet wishes to be seen; While I, recumbent by a murmuring stream, (Whose lucid face reflects the pale moon's beam,)

Listen to Philomela's artless lay,

Or gaze with wonder on the "milky way;"
Oh come, congénial maid, and dwell with me,
Whose happiness and sole delight is thee.
Oft from my sleepless couch, at night, I've
stray'd,

To woo thee in the tall wood's gloomy shade;
Or when, upon the cliff's o'erhanging brow,
I view'd the vessels through the ocean plough,
The wild waves, on the rock's tremendous
base,

Each other with incessant roaring chase,
Still would my anxious thoughts revert to thee;
Then come, sweet maid, and bless thy votary.
February, 28th.
E. C.

WANDERING ELIZA.

LOVELY babe! why dost thou weep?
Is it for thy mother's pain,
Forc'd on dreary heaths to sleep,
Where's no shelter from the rain?

O'er the sea thy father's borne,

In a foreign land to fight; From my circling arms was torn Never more to bless my sight. Left to want and misery;

Driven from my long-lov'd home; And depriv'd of all but thee,

I a wretched outcast roam.

No kind friend to soothe me now,

Though oppress'd with anxious care; Each friend slights his former vow, Leaving me to dark despair.

Not so keen the winter wind,

Our poor bodies nipping rude; No pang more rending to the mind, Than a friend's ingratitude.

Hush, my babe! oh, do not weep!

Doth my tale disturb thy breast? Lull'd in my fond arms to sleep,

Thou'lt forget thy griefs in rest.

Hush, ye winds! let not a breath

Rudely sweep o'er my poor child! Ye swift lightnings, arm'd with death, Spare him in your fury wild!

Will none care for thee, my love,
When thy mother lies below?
Yes; there's One, who reigns above,

He will heal the orphan's wo.

Clammy sweats now o'er me steal,
Slowly beats my aching heart;
Death will soon my eyelids seal;

Soon for ever we must part.

Thou the world's frown then must bear, And the false friend's cool neglect: Gracious Heaven! hear my last pray'r; O my child, my child protect!

E. E.

TO BOASTERS OF HIGH BIRTH. (A Youth's first Visit to Parnassus.) HEAR ye, who boast of your exalted birth, Who think you are more worth than meanborn men,

Although, like theirs, your origin is earth,
To which, like them, you must return again:
Are not all men the offspring of one God,
Without distinction precious in his sight?
Did he not make all living of one blood,
Of equal value, and of equal right?
And could you trace from Adam until now,
And ascertain the line which makes you vain,
This might the folly of your boasting shew,

Perhaps all sorts of men compos'd the train. Who knows but princes, servants, lords, and slaves,

The wise, the unwise, the subdued and free, Some good, some bad, some honest, and some knaves,

Have places in your genealogy. Time changeth states-it bringeth down the high,

It robs the rich of that he hath in store; So that your children may be, by and by,

Reduced as low as any of the poor.

And should you like the poor and mean to rise,
And treat contemptibly a darling son?
But if their fathers you thro' pride despise,
Shall they not do what you yourselves have

done?

Then boast no longer under this pretence, Until some virtue in it you shall find;

Know, real glory is superior sense, And dignity is not of birth, but mind. Islington.

J. W.

sentiments happen to deviate from their preconceived opinions and creeds, or to accord with them.

The subject of these volumes appears before us in the form of a single discourse, divided and subdivided into various sections, containing the history of the true church, from the days of Daniel down to the second advent of Christ. Adverting to her conflicts, vicissitudes, depressions, and triumphs, the author takes a comprehensive survey of her numerous enemies, delineates their peculiar characters, and in bold language anticipates their final overthrow.

In prosecuting this great design, he takes his stand on the ground of prophecy, in the elucidation of which, he Occasionally half seats himself in the prophetic chair, and delivers his conclusions in the suburbs of infallibility. On subjects so momentous, so inte, resting, and involving so many topics of difficulty, on which the wisest and best of men have been divided in opinion, this assumption of dictatorial authority is rather calculated to weaken his arguments, than to add vigour to their energy, and, by diminishing confidence, to injure the cause it was intended to serve.

taker. 1826.

Few divines of the present day are more popular than the author of these volumes. His fame has spread in every direction, and his name is familiar among Christians of all denominations, from the wilds of Caledonia to the western shores of Cornwall. Residing in London, his chapel is much frequented by strangers, who, for business or pleasure, pay occasional visits to the metropolis. Ou returning to their habitations, his person, his manner, his language, his action, as well as the subject matter of his discourses, furnish topics of conversation, and elicit a due proportion of censure and applause, just as his

these writings be brought to bear upon its import and tendency. The general objections that have been urged against our expecting to understand what is still lodged in futurity, he takes into consideration, and repels with many powerful arguments. The necessity of strict examination he satisfactorily establishes; but whether his elucidations, and the events to which he applies the prophetic writings, are sufficient to produce convic, tion, must be left to the judgment of his numerous readers.

In conducting us through the process of inquiry, it cannot be denied that his views are remarkably sanguine, and, in many instances, imagination has been permitted to invade the territories of impartial investigation, and occasionally to usurp the throne of discriminating judgment. There is, however, throughout the whole, the emanation of an unshackled