A fair electric flame:

And so shall flash my love-charged eye
When all the heart's big ecstasy
Shoots rapid through the frame!

LINES

TO A FRIEND IN ANSWER TO A MELANCHOLY LETTER.

AWAY, those cloudy looks, that labouring sigh, The peevish offspring of a sickly hour!

Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's power, When the blind gamester throws a luckless die.

Yon setting sun flashes a mournful gleam
Behind those broken clouds, his stormy train:
To-morrow shall the many-colored main
In brightness roll beneath his orient beam!

Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of Time Flies o'er his mystic lyre: in shadowy dance The alternate groups of Joy and Grief advance Responsive to his varying strains sublime!

Bears on its wing each hour a load of Fate;

The swain, who, lulled by Seine's mild murmurs, led

His weary oxen to their nightly shed,
To-day may rule a tempest-troubled State.

Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful smile
Survey the sanguinary despot's might,
And haply hurl the pageant from his height
Unwept to wander in some savage isle.

There shiv'ring sad beneath the tempest's frown Round his tired limbs to wrap the purple vest; And mixed with nails and beads, an equal jest! Barter for food the jewels of his crown.

RELIGIOUS MUSINGS;

A DESULTORY POEM, WRITTEN ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE OF 1794.

THIS is the time, when most divine to hear,
The voice of adoration rouses me,

As with a Cherub's trump: and high upborne,
Yea, mingling with the choir, I seem to view
The vision of the heavenly multitude,

Who hymned the song of peace o'er Bethlehem's fields!

Yet thou more bright than all the angel blaze, That harbingered thy birth, Thou, Man of Woes! Despised Galilean! For the great

Invisible (by symbols only seen,)

With a peculiar and surpassing light

Shines from the visage of the oppressed good man,
When heedless of himself the scourged Saint
Mourns for the oppressor. Fair the vernal mead,
Fair the high grove, the sea, the sun, the stars;
True impress each of their creating Sire!
Yet nor high grove, nor many-coloured mead,
Nor the green Ocean with his thousand isles,
Nor the starred azure, nor the sovran Sun,

E'er with such majesty of portraiture
Imaged the supreme beauty uncreate,

As thou, meek Saviour! at the fearful hour When thy insulted anguish winged the prayer Harped by Archangels, when they sing of mercy! Which when the Almighty heard from forth his throne

Diviner light filled Heaven with ecstasy! Heaven's hymnings paused: and Hell her yawning mouth

Closed a brief moment.

Lovely was the death

Of Him whose life was Love! Holy with power He on the thought-benighted Sceptic beamed Manifest Godhead, melting into day

What floating mists of dark idolatry

Broke and misshaped the omnipresent Sire:
And first by Fear uncharmed the drowsed Soul,
Till of its nobler nature it 'gan feel

Dim recollections; and thence soared to Hope,
Strong to believe whate'er of mystic good
The Eternal dooms for his immortal sons.
From Hope and firmer Faith to perfect Love
Attracted and absorbed and centred there
God only to behold, and know, and feel,
Till by exclusive consciousness of God
All self-annihilated it shall make
God its identity: God all in all !

We and our Father one!

And blest are they,

Who in this fleshly World, the elect of Heaven,
Their strong eye darting through the deeds of men,
Adore with steadfast unpresuming gaze

Him, Nature's essence, mind, and energy!
And gazing, trembling, patiently ascend,
Treading beneath their feet all visible things
As steps, that upward to their Father's throne
Lead gradual-else nor glorified nor loved.
They nor contempt embosom nor revenge :
For they dare know of what may seem deform
The Supreme Fair sole operant: in whose sight
All things are pure, his strong controlling Love
Alike from all educing perfect good.

Theirs too celestial courage, inly armed—
Dwarfing Earth's giant brood, what time they muse
On their great Father, great beyond compare!
And marching onwards view high o'er their heads
His waving banners of Omnipotence.

Who the Creator love, created might

Dread not within their tents no terrors walk.
For they are holy things before the Lord
Aye unprofaned, though Earth should league with
Hell;

God's altar grasping with an eager hand,
Fear, the wild-visaged, pale, eye-starting wretch,
Sure-refuged hears his hot pursuing fiends.

Yell at vain distance. Soon refreshed from Heaven
He calms the throb and tempest of his heart.