"SONG SHOULD OPEN THE MIND TO DUTY, NERVE THE WEAK, AND STIR THE STRONG;

"WE LOVE, AND MEET THE WORLD'S SHARP SCORN;-(CORNWALL)

With such sharp pain as human hearts
May feel, the drooping thing departs

Unto the dark wild wood;

And there, where the place is thick with weeds,
He hideth his remorse, and feeds

No more on blood.

And in that weedy brake he lies,
And pines and pines, until he dies;
And, when all's o'er,-

What follows?—Nought! his brothers slake
Their thirst in blood in that same brake,
Fierce as before!

---So fable flows!-But would you find
Its moral wrought in humankind,

Its tale made worse;

Turn straight to Man, and in his fame
And forehead read the harpy's name;
But no remorse!

[From "English Songs," Moxon's edition.]

WE LOVE, TO DIE SOME COMMON MORN."-BARRY CORNWALL.

EVERY DEED OF TRUTH AND BEAUTY SHOULD BE CROWNED BY STARRY SONG!"-CORNWALL.

"WHAT DIFFERENT SPHERES TO HUMAN BLISS ASSIGNED!

WHAT SLOW GRADATIONS IN THE SCALE OF MIND!-(ROGERS)

SURVEY THE GLOBE, EACH UNDER-REALM EXPLORE ;-(Rogers)

[SAMUEL ROGERS was born at Stoke Newington, near London, on the 30th of July 1763. His father was a London banker; and he himself, after a complete and unusually careful education, entered the same establishment, and continued a partner up to the day of his death. Thus freed from all pecuniary anxieties, and those worldly necessities which too often cripple the poet's energies, he was able to devote his leisure to literary pursuits and artistic studies, with ample means and opportunities for the gratification of a refined taste. Hence a certain dilettantism of character, which makes itself felt in all his poems. The polish is so brilliant and the ornamentation so rich that it is sometimes difficult to tell whether it is of true metal or base that the work has been wrought.

His first production was an "Ode to Superstition, and Other Poems
a thin quarto pamphlet, published in 1786, which the public took no notice
of. It was different with his "Pleasures of Memory" (1792), which at
once secured the applause of the critics and the ear of the reading world,
and, despite of its excessive elaboration and frigidity, has taken its place
among our standard English classics. It cost the poet, as he himself has
recorded, nine years of labour, and we must admit the result to be not un-
worthy of so protracted a conception.

In 1798 he published his "Epistle to a Friend;" in 1812, "Columbus,"
the least satisfactory of his works; in 1814, the tale of "Jacqueline" (in
conjunction with Byron's "Lara"); in 1819, his beautiful didactic and
descriptive poem of "Human Life;" and in 1822, after sixteen years' ela-
boration, his "Italy"-a chef-d'œuvre of faultless writing and felicitous
landscape-painting. This was his last production. The centre of an ad-
miring circle, with a world-wide reputation for a courtesy that was never
failing, a wit that was frequently cynical, a taste that was exquisitely
refined, and an hospitality as generous as it was unostentatious,-Rogers
enjoyed a life of singular ease and contentment, stretched far beyond the
Psalmist's limit of threescore years and ten. He died by slow decay, and
without any suffering, December 18, 1855.]

MEMORY.

THEREAL power! who at the noon of night
Recall'st the far-fled spirit of delight;
From whom that musing, melancholy mood
Which charms the wise, and elevates the good,

FROM REASON'S FAINTEST RAY TO NEWTON SOAR."-ROGers.

YET MARK IN EACH THESE MYSTIC WONDERS WROUGHT; OH, MARK THE SLEEPLESS ENERGIES OF THOUGHT!"-ROGERS.

AND HENCE THE CHARM HISTORIC SCENES IMPART; HENCE TIBER AWES, AND AVON MELTS THE HEART;

KINDRED OBJECTS KINDred thoughts inspire,

Blest Memory, hail! Oh, grant the grateful Muse,
Her pencil dipt in Nature's living hues,

To paint the clouds that round thy empire roll,
And trace its airy precincts in the soul.

Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain,
Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain.
Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise!
Each stamps its image as the other flies.
Each, as the various avenues of sense

Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense,
Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art,
Control the latent fibres of the heart.

As studious Prospero's mysterious spell
Drew every subject spirit to his cell;
Each, at thy call, advances or retires,

As judgment dictates or the scene inspires,
Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source
Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course,
And through the frame invisibly convey
The subtle, quick vibrations as they play;
Man's little universe at once o'ercast,
At once illumined when the cloud is past.
Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore;
From Reason's faintest ray to Newton soar.
What different spheres to human bliss assigned !
What slow gradations in the scale of mind!
Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought;
Oh, mark the sleepless energies of thought!
The adventurous boy, that asks his little share,
And hies from home with many a gossip's prayer,
Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see
The dear abode of peace and privacy;

And as he turns, that thatch among the trees,
The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with the breeze,

AS SUMMER-CLOUDS FLASH FORTH ELECTRIC FIRE:

AERIAL FORMS IN TEMPE'S CLASSIC VALE GLANCE THROUGH THE GLOOM AND WHISPER IN THE GALE."-ROGERS.

WHEN AGE HAS QUENCHED THE EYE AND CLOSED THE EAR, STILL NERVED FOR ACTION IN HER NATIVE SPHERE,

"OH! WHO CAN TELL THE TRIUMPHS OF THE MIND,

MEMORY.

357

OFT WILL SHE RISE, WITH SEARCHING GLANCE PURSUE SOME LONG-LOVED IMAGE VANISHED FROM HER VIEW."-ROGERS.

["The churchyard yews round which his fathers sleep."]

The village common spotted white with sheep,
The churchyard yews round which his fathers sleep,-
All rouse Reflection's sadly-pleasing train,

And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again.

[From the "Pleasures of Memory," part i.-"a poem exquisite in conception and execution, combining a fine feeling of nature and a high tone of morality, with elegant scholarship, and a nicety of taste approaching to fastidiousness."]

BY TRUTH ILLUMINED AND BY TASTE REFINED?

ABOVE, BELOW, AËRIAL MURMURS SWELL, FROM HANGING WOOD, BROWN HEATH, AND BUSHY DELL!-(ROGERS)

358

WHEN PENSIVE TWILIGHT, IN HER DUSKY CAR,

SAMUEL ROGERS.

THE NEW WORLD.

JONG on the deep the mists of morning lay, *

Then rose, revealing, as they rolled away,
Half-circling hills, whose everlasting woods
Sweep with their sable skirts the shadowy floods:
And say, when all to holy transport given,

Embraced and wept as at the gates of Heaven,
When one and all of us, repentant, ran,
And, on our faces, blessed the wondrous man ;
Say, was I then deceived, or from the skies
Burst on my ear seraphic harmonies?

'Glory to God!" unnumbered voices sung,
'Glory to God!" the vales and mountains rung,
Voices that hailed Creation's primal morn,
And to the shepherds sung a Saviour born.
Slowly, bare-headed, through the surf we bore
The sacred cross, and, kneeling, kissed the shore.
But what a scene was there! Nymphs of romance,
Youths graceful as the fawn, with eager glance,
Sprung from the glades, and down the valleys peep,
Then headlong rush, bounding from steep to steep,
And clap their hands, exclaiming as they run,
"Come and behold the Children of the Sun!"
When, hark! a signal-shot. The voice, it came
Over the sea in darkness and in flame!
They saw, they heard; and up the highest hill,
As in a picture, all at once were still!
Creatures so fair, in garments strangely wrought,
From citadels, with heaven's own thunder fraught,

* The first land in the New World was discovered by Columbus on Friday, October 12, 1492. It was Guanahani, now called San Salvador,

one of the Bahama group of islands.

COMES SLOWLY ON TO MEET THE EVENING STAR;

A THOUSAND NAMELESS RILLS THAT SHUN THE LIGHT, STEALING SOFT MUSIC ON THE EAR OF NIGHT."-ROGERS.