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Sons of honour, fed on praises,
Learned sophs, in systems jaded,
Who for new ones daily call,
Youths, tho' yet no losses grieve you,
Gay in health and manly grace,
Hither turn th' unwilling eye,
Yearly in our course returning,
On the tree of life eternal,
Bears a leaf that shall not fade.
In the Porch of Binstead Church, in the Isle of Wight.
FAREWELL, Sweet Binstead! take a long farewell From one unused to sight of woods and seas; Amid the strife of cities doomed to dwell,
Yet roused to ecstacy by sights like these ; Who could for ever sit beneath thy trees,
Inhaling perfume from the flowery dell, Or, list'ning to the murmur of the breeze,
Gaze with delight on ocean's awful swell. Once more, adieu ! nor deem that I profane Thy sacred porch, for while the sabbath strain May fail to turn the sinner from his ways, These are impressions none can feel in vain ;
These are the wonders that perforce must raise The soul to GOD, in silent faith and praise!
THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN.-Grigg.
No longer lies Nature asleep in the root;
While planted I am in this garden below,
Oh! how shall I bloom, and what fruit shall I bear? In the Planter's own garden, beneath His own eye, My leaf shall not wither, my fruit shall not die; By that Fountain of Life I shall flourishing stand, Which ever shall flow at the Planter's right hand.
ON VISITING THE RUINS OF DUNKSWELL ABBEY.
BLEST be the power, by Heaven's own flame inspired,
That first through shades monastic poured the light;
Where, with unsocial Indolence retired, Fell Superstition reigned in tenfold night; Where, long sequestered from the vulgar sight, Religion fettered lay, her form unknown, 'Mid direful gloom and many a secret rite; Till now released, she claims her native throne, And gilds th' awakening world with radiance all
O sacred source of sweet celestial peace!
And the Great Cause of all with purer rites adores.
How oft, confined within this narrow grate, With souls aspiring to a world's applause, Have free-born spirits mourned their hapless fate! Some hero, ardent in his country's cause, Some patriot, formed to give a nation laws, Or in life's milder scenes with honour share; When each fond hope a father's hand withdraws, And dooms his child, from ev'ry prospect fair, To long unvarying years of lonely deep despair.
When darkness now with silence reigns around, As the faint sun withdraws his glimm'ring
(Save when, to render horror more profound, On the rough grate the pale moon quiv'ring
And thro' the length'ning aisle the owlet screams) Then, lulled by Fancy's visionary train, His long lost friends frequent his blissful dreams; He spends his days of childhood o’er again, Till sounds the midnight bell, and proves the
Yet let the hand of désolating Time
These sinking towers and mould'ring walks
For not with useless pride they rose sublime:
On ev'ry plain the barbarous bands appear,
Though now in ruined majesty they lie,
For, as the thoughtful mind these scenes surveys,
WAGES of sin is death: The day is come,
Into the easy total of one story.
The brows that sweat for kingdoms and renown, To glorify their temples with a crown,