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Farewell Eliza! sacred be thy rest

May flow'rs around thee shed their sweet perfume;
And the green turf lie softly on thy breast,

And friends, and willows weep around thy tomb.

PHILANDER.

On returning "a series of discourses on the christian revelation received in connexion with the modern astronomy, by Thomas Chalmers, minister of the Trin. Church, Glasgow."

On the bright beam of a resplendant sun*
Chalmers his course, his daring course begun;
Rose like a meteor, travers'd worlds unknown,
And boldly link'd their wonders with his own..
Noble his motive!-to sustain that cause,
Which gives to man, life, liberty, and laws→→
His much lov'd friend, great Newton, must delight
(If from his glory he beholds the sight)

To see this champion wrest his fav'rite theme,
From skeptick followers, who but sleep and dream;
Apply its glories to illume the way,
That leads frail man to everlasting day.

Hail blest astronomy!-by thee we rise,
To higher wonder, and to distant skies-
See worlds, o'er worlds in ponderous order move,
And starry splendours deck the space above.

But from this height of telescopick range,
The mind fatigued, would gladly seek a change,
Withdraw its survey of those worlds of light,
To inspect these atoms which elude the sigh.
But sight is powerless-atoms are too small,
For eye, unaided to inspect at all.
Direct its glance thro' microscopick tube,
No longer atoms can its powers elude;
But worlds in atoms wheel their giddy round!
What vast extremes th' Almighty doth controul-
But large or small, his power directs the whole.

*Newton's system.

This the grand aim of Chalmers to impressNo pow'r so large-but God preserves the less.

PHILANDER.

The Spring-or force of Supersiition.

I never pass yon spring so gay,

And skirted round with flowers so fair,

But what I start and go away,

As if some ghost stood sentry there,

And strange it is, this self same spring
Is fair and beautiful to see;
The sportive red-breast oft will sing

His anthem from some neighboring tree.

And it is pleasant to sit down

Beside the margin of the stream, And see the chimnies of the town

Pour forth their smoke to morning's beam

A curious concert 'tis to hear

The chariot o'er the pavement rattle,
The milk-maid singing loud and clear,
The lowing of the distant cattle.

And could I but give up my creed,
Were I an heathen, I should think
That every grace that haunts the mead,
Would dwell beside its verdant brink.

Now wherefore should you fear to be
Beside a spring so very fair?

O stranger, I will tell to thee,

And call me coward if you dare.
When I was young, a little thing,

And laugh'd and cried, I knew not why,
My nurse would take me to the spring
And with the prospect cheer mine eye.
There would I view with much regard-
How often did it raise my mirth!
The negro Pismire toiling hard
Around his thimble-full of earth.

My infant bosom did not know
What since experience renders sure,
That the poor ant that pleas'd me so
Was only man in miniature.

Whene'er I storm'd in childish wrath,
That parents strove in vain to still;
They'd cry-here take the boy to Bath,
If that wont cure him nothing will.
From hence I learn'd to be a guest
And on the sunny bank to lie---
No bird when absent from the nest
Felt more inquietude than I.
And Betty, when condemn'd to take
Her hourly journey to the spring,
Her household duty to forsake

And back the truant urchin bring--

Bethought her now of every tale
To freeze the blood or raise the hair,
(Such as will infant minds assail)
And station'd every demon there.
For this none more expert than she-
Her brain was superstitions den;
Like good man Lewis she would be
More conversant with ghosts than men.
She told me of the witch in grey,
With long white nails, whose only joy
Was to search out and catch for prey
Each idle truant straggling boy.

Once by the spring, I saw her sit

I knew her, 'twas the very same;

I heard her in a raving fit

Mutter strange things and call your name.

And since though reason makes me stout
When e'er I to the spring repair,

I see the old witch peeping out

From every bush and bramble there.

Attend ye mothers to my verse,
Note well the moral it conveys-

The tales of many an idle nurse
Make children cowards all their days.

END OF VOL. V.

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