And finds delighted, in the peaceful dome,
A better parent, and a happier home.

Far to the right, where Mersey duteous pours
To the broad main his tributary stores;
Tinged with the radiance of the golden beam,
Sparkle the quivering waves: and 'midst the gleam
In different hues, as sweeps the changeful ray,
Pacific fleets their guiltless pomp display:
Fair to the sight, they spread the floating sail,
Catch the light breeze, and skim before the gale;
Till lessening gradual on the stretching view,
Obscure they mingle in the distant blue;
Where in soft tints the sky with ocean blends,

And on the weakened sight, the long, long prospect ends.

Where wild Tornadoes sweep along the sky,
And o'er the climate gleamy lightnings fly;
Where poisonous groves exhale their noxious breath,
And crested serpents swell with secret death;
Or where bleak hills perpetual snow sustain,
And the faint sun scarce liquidates the main;
For these dread climes their native shores they leave,
And dare the secret rock, and maddening wave.
-Those native shores, their eyes no more may view,
If big with horror angry fate pursue;

Though now in grim repose the tempests sleep,
Soon may they howl along the shivering deep;
Dash the proud vessel o'er the blackened brine,
Crush the strong mast, and break the friendly line:

Till on the beach an hapless wreck she lies,
And human savages secure the prize:

Stab the faint wretch, if any such remain,
Explore the bark, and share the glittering gain.

But should kind Heaven her course in safety keep, Calm the strong gale, and still the boiling deep, Then 'midst the friendly port, with joyful pride, Laden with western riches shall she ride; And COMMERCE, smiling on the busy strand, Shall fondly hail her favourite sons to land.

Yet lovelier scenes the varied prospect cheer,
Where CESTRIA's plains in long extent appear.
There shine the yellow fields with corn o'erspread;
There lifts BRITANNIA'S oak its towering head:
Swells the brown hill, the sloping vales retire,
And o'er the woodland peeps the rural spire;
Above the rest the CAMBRIAN mountains rise,
Close the long view, and mingle with the skies.

Can GALLIA's vine-crowned hills with these compare? Though there the peasant breathes a milder air; Or can IBERIA's loveliest landscapes show So rich a prospect, or so bright a glow? There suns all sultry parch the cracking soil, The hardening meadow mocks the peasant's toil; The spirits droop beneath the noon-tide blaze, And all the roseate bloom of health decays:

But here she loves her choicest gifts to pour,
Breathes in each gale, and melts in every shower;
Sheds joy, and gladness, o'er the temperate plain,
And crowns the cottage of the labouring swain :
'Midst the thronged vale, as she imparts her smile,
Care smoothes her front, and Labour scorns his toil;
And Love, his dewy locks with roses bound,
Trips o'er the lawn, and meditates the wound.

At distance far from frowns tyrannic fled,
Here sacred FREEDOM rears her awful head;
Queen of each liberal art! O may thy smile
Still bless Britannia's ever-grateful Isle !
-Soon shall proud Greece her envied name resign,
And future poets, patriots, heroes shine;
Then shall the Muse expand a stronger wing,
And other MILTONS Strike the sounding string;
To future ages give the warrior's name,
Whose breast expansive owned thy generous flame,
Who at thy sacred shrine resigned his breath,
And sternly grasped thy lovely form in death.

Far on the view-at softened distance seen,
Whilst rolls the stream its copious waves between,
There-long deserted by the sable band,
A lonely abbey glooms upon the strand: *
When once the towering arch, in Gothic state

Rose high; and frowned recluse the iron grate :

* The Abbey or Priory of Birkenhead, or Birkett; built on the opposite shore of the River Mersey, in the Reign of Henry II.

But shook by time, the lofty columns fall,

The wide roof drops, and sinks the mouldering wall;
The hollow gale through every cavern flies,
And the dull owl repeats her midnight cries.

Here Superstition once assumed her reign;
Religion sickened in her weighty chain :
And all obscured beneath the dreary gloom,
The social Graces lost their lovely bloom.
—No casual Virtue marked the passing day,
Whilst slept the Monks the circling years away;
Dead to those nobler passions, whence proceed
The liberal sentiment and generous deed,
That prompt to general good the selfish mind,
And wake the ardent wish to bless mankind:
The ills of life no longer claimed a care,
But every Virtue centred in—a Prayer.

So stands some lake amidst the sheltering vale,
Its waves unruffled by the rising gale;
On the green surge are poisonous insects found,
And putrid vapours spread black mists around:
Whilst the clear rill gives sweetness, as it flows,
To every flower that on its margin grows.

Ah! brand them not in one promiscuous throng, (Thus candour would restrain the rigid song,) For some perhaps, amidst the numerous crew, A nobler motive to the mansion drew:

-Long travelled through the thorny paths of life,
Long labouring to maintain the unequal strife,
To misery lent the little fortune gave,

The storm approaching, and no friend to save;
Or from each fond connection early torn,
Abandoned, hopeless, destitute, forlorn;
To every thought of earthly pleasure dead,
Some Sorrower here might rest his weary head;
And oft, as kindred woes approached his ear,
Bestow the secret tribute of a tear:

Or from these varying scenes avert his eyes,
Scorn every transient ill, and gain the skies;
Till o'er his path, hope beamed her brightest ray,
And peace celestial strewed with flowers the way.

Now sober evening, wet with pearly dews, Slow o'er the mead, the lingering gleam pursues; A pleasing stillness through the air extends, Save when the murmur from the Town ascends; Or when, at intervals, the red-breast's throat Pours the clear warblings of his closing note, Which, floating pensive on the breathing wind, Leave soft impressions on the vacant mind.

O still, at evening's milder hour, be mine To trace with raptured eye the dear decline! Catch the pure gale as from the main it springs, Salubrious freshness dropping from its wings;

-Then, cares forgot, and sorrow soothed to rest, Each ruder passion banished from the breast,