Tears the destroying sithe, with surer blow
To sweep the works of Glory from their base;
Till Desolation o'er the grass grown street
Expands his raven wings, and up the wall,
Where senates once the pride of monarchs doom'd,
Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weeds,
That clasp the mould'ring column thus defa d,
Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrilis-
Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear
Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm
In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove,
To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow;
Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ;-
Say, does thy secret soul repine to taste
The big distress? Or wouldst thou then exchange
Those heart ennobling sorrows, for the lot.
Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd
Of mute barbarians bending to his nod,
And bears aloft his gold invested front,
And says within himself, "I am a king,
"And wherefore should the clam'rous voice of We
"Intrude upon mine ear?"-The baleful dregs
Of these late ages, this inglorious draught.
Of servitude and folly, have not yet,
-Blest be th' Eternal Ruler of the world!
Defil'd to such a depth of sordid shame
The native honours of the human soul,
Nor so effac'd, the image of it's sire.
SAY, what is Taste, but the internal pow'rs
Active and strong, and feelingly alive
To each five impulse? a discerning sense
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust
From things defoi m❜d, or disarrang'd, or gress
In species? This nor gems, nor stores of gold,
Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow;
But God alone. when first his active hand
Imprints the sacred bias of the soul.
He, mighty parent! wise and just in all,
Free as the vital breeze or light of heav'n,
Reveals the charms of nature. Ask the swain
Who journeys homeward from a summer day's
Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils
And due repose, he loiters to behold
The sunshine gleaming as thro' amber clouds
O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween,
His rude expression and untutor'd airs,
Beyond the power of language, will unfold
The form of beauty smiling at his heart,
How lovely! how commanding! but tho' heav'n
In every breast hath sown these early seeds
Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
Without enlivening suns, and genial show'rs,
And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope
The tender plant should rear its blooming nead,
Or yield the harvest promis'd in its spring,
Nor yet will every soil with equal stores
Repay the tiller's labour; or attend
His will, obsequious, whether to produce
The olive or the laurel. Different minds
Incline to diff'rent objects: one pursues
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild;
Another sighs for harmony and grace,
And gentlust Beauty. Hence when lightning fires
The arch of heav'n, and thunders rock the ground;
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky :
Amid the mighty uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad
From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys,
The elemental war. But aller longs,
All on the margin of some
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool
Of plantain shades, and to the list'ning deer'
The tale of slighted vows and Love's disdain
Resounds, soft warbling, all the livelong day :
Consenting Zepner sighs; the weeping rill
Joins in this paint, melodious; mute the groves;
And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.
Such and so various are the tastes of men.
THE PLEASURES ARISING FROM A CULTIVATED IMAGINATION.
BLEST of Heav'n, whom not the languid songs
Of Luxury, the siren! not the bribes
Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave
Those everblooming sweets, which from the store
Of Nature fair Imagination culls,
To charm th' enliven'd soul! What though not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the height
Of envied life; though only few possess
Patrician treasures, or imperial state:
Yet Nature's care to all her children just,
With richer treasures and an ampler state
Endows at large whatever happy man
Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp,
The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns
The princely dome, the column and the arch,
The breathing maibles, and the sculptur'd gold,
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the Spring
Distils her dews, and from the silken gem
It's lucid leaves unfolds; for him the hand
Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.
Each passing hour she's tribute from her wing;
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor then partakes
Fresh pleasure only for th' attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powr's
Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of sacred Order, soon she seeks at home
To find a kindred Order to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,
This fair inspir'd delight: her temper'd pow'rs
Refine at length, and every passion wears
A chaster, milder, more attractive mein.
But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze
On nature's form, where, negligent of all
These lesser graces, she assumes the port
Of that eternal majesty that weigh'd
The world's foundations; if to these the mind
Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far
Will be the change, and nobler.
Would the forms
Of servile custom cramp her gen'rous pow'rs?
Would sordid policies, the barb'rous growth
Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear?
Lo! she appeals to Nature, to the winds
And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course,
The elements and seasons: all declare,
For what th' eternal Maker has ordain'd
The pow'rs of man: we feel within ourselves
His energy divine he tells the heart,
He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being; to be great like him,
Beneficent and active. Thus the men
Whom Nature's works can charm, with Gon himself
Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day,
With his eonceptions, act upon his plan;
And form to his the relish of their souls.
QUESTION. WHETHER Anger ought to be suppres sed entirely, or only to be confined within the
THOSE who maintain that resentment is blameable only in the excess, support their opinion with such arguments as these :
Since Anger is natural and useful to man, entirely to banish it from our breast, would be an equally foolish and vain attempt: for as it is difficult, and next to impossible to oppose nature with success; so it were imprudent, if we had it in our power, to cast away the weapons with which she has furnished us for our defence. The best armour against injustice is a proper degree of spirit, to repel the wrongs that are done, or designed against us: but if we divest ourselves of all resentment, we shall perhaps prove too irresolute and languid, both in resisting the attacks of injustice, and inflicting punishments upon those who have committed it. We shall therefore sink into contempt, and by the tameness of our spirit, shall invite the malicious to abuse and affront us. Nor. will others fail to deny us the regard which is due from them, if once they think us incapable of resentment. To remain unmoved at gross in juries, has the appearance of stupidity, and will
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