No further seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode-
There they alike in trembling hope repose—
The bosom of his Father and his God.
A DIVINE and poet, born at Reading. He published poems on sacred subjects, and some miscellaneous pieces.
THE NUNC DIMITTIS.
'Tis enough-the hour is come:
Now within the silent tomb
Let this mortal frame decay,
Mingled with its kindred clay;
Since thy mercies, oft of old
By thy choice seers foretold,
Faithful now and steadfast prove,
God of truth, and God of love!
Since at length my aged eye
Sees the day-spring from on high!
Son of righteousness, to thee,
Lo! the nations bow the knee;
And the realms of distant kings
Own the healing of thy wings.
Those who death had overspread
With his dark and dreary shade,
Lift their eyes, and from afar
Hail the light of Jacob's Star;
Waiting till the promised ray
Turn their darkness into day.
See the beams intensely shed,
Shine o'er Sion's favour'd head!
Never may they hence remove,
God of truth, and God of love!
THE CHAMELEON.
OFT has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
With eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post;
Yet round the world the blade has been,
To see whatever could be seen.
Returning from his finished tour,
Grown ten times perter than before;
Whatever word yon chance to drop,
The travelled fool your mouth will stop:
"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-
I've seen-and sure I ought to know."-
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.
Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talked of this, and then of that;
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never lived beneath the sun:
A lizard's body lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoined;
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! and then its hue--
Who ever saw so fine a blue?"
"Hold there," the other quick replies;
""Tis green-I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warmed it in the sunny ray;
Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue;
At leisure I the beast surveyed
Extended in the cooling shade."
""Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye." "Green!" cries the other in a fury:
Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" ""Twere no great loss," the friend replies; "For if they always serve you thus, You'll find them but of little use." So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows:
When luckily came by a third;
To him the question they referred:
And begged he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.
"Sirs," cries the umpire, " 'cease your pother;
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And viewed it o'er by candlelight:
I marked it well; 'twas black as jet-
You stare-but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it.”—“ Pray, sir, do;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."
"And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."
"Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,"
Replies the man, "I'll turn him out:
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him."
He said; and full before their sight
Produced the beast, and lo!-'twas white.
Both stared; the man looked wondrous wise-
66 My children," the Chameleon cries-
Then first the creature found a tongue-
"You all are right, and all are wrong:
When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you:
Nor wonder if you find that none
Prefers your eyesight to his own."
AKENSIDE was born at Newcastle-on-Tyne in 1721, of humble but respectable origin. His parents were Dissenters, and intended him for the Church. They sent him to the divinity classes in the Edinburgh University, but his tastes not lying in that direction, he afterwards changed them for those of medicine. In Edinburgh he wrote his poem, "Hymn to Science." Akenside finished his medical education at Leyden, where he took his degree of M.D. in his twenty-third year. In the same year was published his greatest poem, "The Pleasures of Imagination," for which he received from Dodsley, the publisher, L.120 for the copyright. The work had a rapid sale, and is the basis of his fame. He afterwards published a satire and a collection of odes. He died in 1770,
(From "Pleasures of Imagination.")
FROM heaven my strains begin; from heaven descends The flame of genius to the human breast,
And love, and beauty, and poetic joy,
And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun
Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night
The moon suspended her serener lamp;
Ere mountains, woods, or streams, adorned the globe,
Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore,
Then lived the Almighty One; then deep retired
In his unfathomed essence, viewed the forms,
The forms eternal, of created things:
The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,
The mountains, woods, and streams, the rolling globe,
And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the first
Of days on them his love divine he fixed,
His admiration, till, in time complete,
What he admired and loved his vital smile
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame,
Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves,
Hence light and shade alternate, warmth and cold,
And clear autumnal skies and vernal showers,
And all the fair variety of things.
A CULTIVATED TASTE.
OH! blest of heaven, whom not the languid songs
Of Luxury, the syren! not the bribes
Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave
Those ever-blooming sweets, which, from the store
Of nature, fair Imagination culls,
To charm the enlivened soul! What though not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the heights
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 marble, and the sculptured gold,
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the Spring
Distils her dews, and from the silken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds; for him the hand
Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings;
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, unreproved: nor thence partakes
Fresh pleasure only, for the attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powers,
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 inspired delight: her tempered powers
Refine at length, and every passion wears
A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
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 weighed
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 generous powers?
Would sordid policies, the barbarous 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 the eternal Maker has ordained
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