Spring up on freshen'd wing, ambrosial gales !
The favour'd good man in his lonely walk
Perceives them, and his silent spirit drinks
Strange bliss which he shall recognise in
heaven.

And such delights, such strange beatitudes,
Seize on my young anticipating heart

When that blest future rushes on my view!
For in His own and in His Father's might
The Saviour comes! While as the thousand
years 1

Lead up their mystic dance, the desert shouts !
Old ocean claps his hands! The mighty dead
Rise to new life, whoe'er from earliest time
With conscious zeal had urged love's wondrous
plan,

Coadjutors of God. To Milton's trump
The high groves of the renovated earth
Unbosom their glad echoes: inly hush'd,
Adoring Newton his serener eye

2

Raises to heaven: and he of mortal kind Wisest, he first who mark'd the ideal tribes Up the fine fibres through the sentient brain.

1 The thousand years.] The Millenium-in which I suppose that man will continue to enjoy the highest glory, of which his human nature is capable; that all who in past ages have endeavoured to ameliorate the state of man, will rise and enjoy the fruits and flowers, the imperceptible seeds of which they had sown in their former life; and that the wicked will during the same period be suffering the remedies adapted to their several bad habits. I suppose that this period will be followed by the passing away of this Earth, and by our entering the state of pure intellect; when all Creation shall rest from its labours. -C.

2 He first.] David Hartley.-C.

Lo! Priestley there, patriot, and saint, and

sage,

Him, full of years, from his loved native land Statesmen blood-stain'd and priests idolatrous By dark lies maddening the blind multitude Drove with wain hate. Calm, pitying he retired,

And mused expectant on these promised years.

O years! the blest pre-eminence of saints!
Ye sweep athwart my gaze, so heavenly bright,
The wings that veil the adoring Seraphs' eyes,
What time they bend before the jasper throne,1
Reflect no lovelier hues! Yet ye depart,
And all beyond is darkness! Heights most
strange,

Whence Fancy falls, fluttering her idle wing.
For who of woman born may paint the hour,
When seized in his mid course, the sun shall

wane,

Making noon ghastly! Who of woman born May image in the workings of his thought, How the black-visaged, red-eyed fiend outstretch'd

2

Beneath the unsteady feet of Nature groans,
In feverous slumbers-destined then to wake,
When fiery whirlwinds thunder his dread name
And Angels shout, destruction! How his arm

1 Throne.] Rev. chap. iv. v. 2 and 3:- "And immediately I was in the Spirit: and, behold, a Throne was set in Heaven, and One sat on the Throne. And He that sat was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine stone," &c.-C. The final destruction impersonated.

2 How the, &c.] -C.

The last great Spirit lifting high in air
Shall swear by Him, the ever-living One,
Time is no more!

Believe thou, O my soul,

Life is a vision shadowy of truth;

And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave, Shapes of a dream! The veiling clouds retire, And lo! the throne of the redeeming God Forth flashing unimaginable day

Wraps in one blaze earth, heaven, and deepest hell.1

Contemplant Spirits! ye that hover o'er
With untired gaze the immeasurable fount
Ebullient with creative Deity!

And ye of plastic power, that interfused
Roll through the grosser and material mass
In organizing surge! Holies of God!

(And what if Monads of the infinite mind?)
I haply journeying my immortal course
Shall sometime join your mystic choir. Till

then

I discipline my young and novice 2 thought
In ministeries of heart-stirring song,
And aye on meditation's heavenward wing
Soaring aloft I breathe the empyreal air
Of Love, omnific, omnipresent Love,

1 Wraps, &c.] This paragraph is intelligible to those, who, like the Author, believe and feel the sublime system of Berkeley; and the doctrine of the final happiness of all men.-C.

2 And novice.] "novitiate."-Edition of 1796.

Whose day-spring rises glorious in my soul
As the great sun, when he his influence
Sheds on the frost-bound waters-The glad
stream

Flows to the ray, and warbles as it flows.

LINES

COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF

BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE,

MAY, 1795.

ITH many a pause and oft reverted eye

I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet

songsters near

Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Far off the unvarying cuckoo soothes my ear.
Up scour the startling stragglers of the flock
That on green plots o'er precipices browse:
From the deep fissures of the naked rock
The yew tree bursts! Beneath its dark green
boughs

(Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white)

Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,

I rest-and now have gain'd the topmost site. Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets

My gaze! Proud towers, and cots more dear

to me,

Elm-shadow'd fields, and prospect-bounding

sea!

Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tear: Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here!

LINES

IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.

PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love

To rest thine head beneath an olive

tree,

I would that from the pinions of thy dove
One quill withouten pain ypluck'd might be !
For O! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee,
And fain to her some soothing song would
write,

Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,

Who vow'd to meet her ere the morning

light,

But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant wight!

Last night as I my weary head did pillow, With thoughts of my dissever'd Fair engrost, Chill Fancy droop'd wreathing herself with willow,

As though my breast entomb'd a pining ghost.