He lingers-looks-and fain he would-
Then strains his neck to reach the food.

Oft as his plaintive looks I see,
A brother's bowels yearn in me.
What rocks and tempests yet await
Both him and me, we leave to fate:
We know, by past experience taught,
That innocence availeth nought:
I feel, and 'tis my proudest boast,
That conscience is itself a host:
While this inspires my swelling breast,
Let all forsake me-I'm at rest;
Ten thousand deaths, in every nerve,
I'd rather SUFFER than DESERVE.

But yonder comes the victim's wife, A dappled doe, all fire and life: She trips along with gallant pace, Her limbs alert, her motion grace: Soft as the moonlight fairies bound, Her footsteps scarcely kiss the ground; Gently she lifts her fair brown head, And licks my hand, and begs for bread: I pat her forehead, stroke her neck, She starts and gives a timid squeak; Then, while her eye with brilliance burns, The fawning animal returns; Pricks her bob-tail, and waves her ears, And happier than a queen appears : Poor beast! from fell ambition free, And all the woes of LIBERTY; Born in a gaol, a prisoner bred,

No dreams of hunting rack thine head;
Ah! mayst thou never pass these bounds
To see the world-and feel the hounds!
Still all her beauty, all her art,

Have fail'd to win her husband's heart:
Her lambent eyes, and lovely chest ;
Her swan-white neck, and ermine breast;
Her taper legs, and spotty hide,
So softly, delicately pied,

Soon comes a turnkey with "Good night, sir!"
And bolts the door with all his might, sir:
Then leisurely to bed I creep,
And sometimes wake- and sometimes sleep.

These are the joys that reign in prison; And if I'm happy, 'tis with reason: Yet still this prospect o'er the rest Makes every blessing doubly blest, —— That soon these pleasures will be vanish'd, And I from all these comforts banish'd!

June 14. 1796.

THE BRAMIN.

EXTRACT FROM CANTO I.

ONCE, on the mountain's balmy lap reclined,
The sage unlock'd the treasures of his mind:
Pure from his lips sublime instruction came,
As the blest altar breathes celestial flame;
A band of youths and virgins round him press'd,
Whom thus the prophet and the sage address'd:-

66

Through the wide universe's boundless range, All that exist decay, revive, and change: No atom torpid or inactive lies;

A being, once created, never dies.

The waning moon, when quench'd in shades of night,
Renews her youth with all the charms of light:
The flowery beauties of the blooming year
Shrink from the shivering blast, and disappear;
Yet, warm'd with quickening showers of genial rain,
Spring from their graves, and purple all the plain.
As day the night, and night succeeds the day,
So death re-animates, so lives decay :
Like billows on the undulating main,
The swelling fall, the falling swell again;
Thus on the tide of time, inconstant, roll
The dying body and the living soul.

Fills, with fresh energy, another form,
And towers an elephant, or glides a worm;
The awful lion's royal shape assumes;
The fox's subtlety, or peacock's plumes;
Swims, like an eagle, in the eye of noon,

Or wails, a screech-owl, to the deaf cold moon; Haunts the dread brakes where serpents hiss and glare,

Or hums, a glittering insect in the air.

The illustrious souls of great and virtuous men,
In noble animals revive again;

But base and vicious spirits wind their way

In scorpions, vultures, sharks, and beasts of prey.
The fair, the gay, the witty, and the brave,
The fool, the coward, courtier, tyrant, slave,
Each, in congenial animals, shall find

A home and kindred for his wandering mind.

“Even the cold body, when enshrined in earth, Rises again in vegetable birth :

From the vile ashes of the bad, proceeds
A baneful harvest of pernicious weeds;
The relics of the good, awaked by showers,
Peep from the lap of death, and live in flowers,
Sweet modest flowers, that blush along the vale,
Whose fragrant lips embalm the passing gale."

EXTRACT FROM CANTO II.

"Now, mark the words these dying lips impart,
And wear this grand memorial round your heart :
All that inhabit ocean, air, or earth,
From ONE ETERNAL SIRE derive their birth.
The Hand that built the palace of the sky
Form'd the light wings that decorate a fly;
The Power that wheels the circling planets round
Rears every infant floweret on the ground;
That Bounty which the mightiest beings share
Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air.
Thus all the wild inhabitants of woods,
Children of air, and tenants of the floods,-
All, all aro equal, independent, free,
And all the heirs of immortality!

For all that live and breathe have once been men,
And, in succession, will be such again :

Even you, in turn, that human shape must change, And through ten thousand forms of being range.

"Ah! then, refrain your brethren's blood to spill, And, till you can create, forbear to kill!

Oft as a guiltless fellow-creature dies,

The blood of innocence for vengeance cries:

Even grim rapacious savages of prey,

Presume not, save in self-defence, to slay ;
What though to Heaven their forfeit lives they owe,
Hath Heaven commission'd thee to deal the blow?
Crush not the feeble, inoffensive worm,
Thy sister's spirit wears that humble form!
Why should thy cruel arrow smite yon bird?
In him thy brother's plaintive song is heard.
When the poor harmless kid, all trembling, lies,
And begs his little life with infant cries,
Think, ere you take the throbbing victim's breath,
You doom a dear, an only, child to death.
When at the ring the beauteous heifer stands,
Stay, monster! stay those parricidal hands;
Canst thou not, in that mild dejected face,
The sacred features of thy mother trace?
When to the stake the generous bull you lead,
Tremble-ah! tremble-lest your father bleed.
Let not your anger on your dog descend,
The faithful animal was once your friend;
The friend whose courage snatch'd you from the

grave,

When wrapp'd in flames or sinking in the wave.
Rash, impious youth! renounce that horrid knife;
Spare the sweet antelope!—ah, spare-thy wife!
In the meek victim's tear-illumined eyes
See the soft image of thy consort rise;
Such as she is when by romantic streams
Her spirit greets thee in delightful dreams;—
Not as she look'd when blighted in her bloom;
Not as she lies all pale in yonder tomb :
That mournful tomb, where all thy joys repose!
That hallow'd tomb, where all thy griefs shall close.

"While yet I sing, the weary king of light Resigns his sceptre to the queen of night; Unnumber'd orbs of living fire appear, And roll in glittering grandeur o'er the sphere. Perhaps the soul, released from earthly ties, A thousand ages hence may mount the skies; Through suns and planets, stars and systems, range, In each new forms assume, relinquish, change; From age to age, from world to world, aspire, And climb the scale of being higher and higher : But who these awful mysteries dare explore? Pause, O my soul! and tremble and adore.

"There is a Power, all other powers above,
Whose name is Goodness, and His nature Love;
Who call'd the infant universe to light,
From central nothing and circumfluent night.
On His great providence all worlds depend,
As trembling atoms to their centre tend;
In nature's face His glory shines confess'd,
She wears His sacred image on her breast;
His spirit breathes in every living soul;

His bounty feeds, His presence fills, the whole :
Though seen, invisible-though felt, unknown;
All that exist, exist in Him alone.

But who the wonders of His hand can trace
Through the dread ocean of unfathom'd space?
When from the shore we lift our fainting eyes,
Where boundless scenes of Godlike grandeur rise,
Like sparkling atoms in the noontide rays,
Worlds, stars, and suns, and universes, blaze:
Yet these transcendent monuments that shine,
Eternal miracles of skill divine,

These, and ten thousand more, are only still
The shadow of His power, the transcript of His will."
April 14. 1796.

A TALE TOO TRUE:

Being a Supplement to the "PRISON AMUSEMENTS," originally published under the name of Paul Positive, in which many of the Author's Juvenile Verses were composed. The following were written at Scarborough, whither he had retired, on being liberated from York Castle, for the recovery of his health, before he returned home. They are dated July 23. 1796, and were literally a summer-day's labour.

ONE beautiful morning, when Paul was a child,
And went with a satchel to school,

The rogue play'd the truant, which shows he was wild,

And, though little, a very great fool.

He came to a cottage that grew on the moor,
No mushroom was ever so strong;
"Twas snug as a mouse-trap; and close by the door
A river ran rippling along.

The cot was embosom'd in rook-nested trees, The chestnut, the elm, and the oak;