JAMES MONTGOMERY, AUTHOR of The World before the Flood, The West Indies, Songs of Zion, and several other poems of great beauty, has also published a most interesting volume styled Prose by a Poet, and was for several years editor of a newspaper at Sheffield. The general character of Montgomery's poetry has been likened to that of Cowper. THE GRAVE. THERE is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, The storm that wrecks the winter sky I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath the soil, To slumber in that dreamless bed For Misery stole me at my birth, And cast me helpless on the wild; I perish;-O my mother earth! Take home thy child! On thy dear lap these limbs reclined Hark! a strange sound affrights mine ear, My pulse-my brain runs wild,-I rave, Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear? "I am the grave! "The grave, that never spake before, Hath found at length a tongue to chide; Oh, listen!-I will speak no more: Be silent, Pride! "Art thou a wretch of hope forlorn, "Do foul misdeeds of former times Wring with remorse thy guilty breast, And ghosts of unforgiven crimes Murder thy rest? "Lashed by the furies of the mind, From wrath and vengeance would'st thou flee; Ah! think not, hope not, fool! to find A friend in me. "By all the terrors of the tomb, Beyond the power of tongue to tell! "I charge thee, live!-repent and pray: And sin no more. "Art thou a mourner? Hast thou known The joy of innocent delights? Endearing days for ever flown, And tranquil nights? "Oh! live; and deeply cherish still "Art thou a wanderer? Hast thou seen O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark? A shipwrecked sufferer hast thou beenMisfortune's mark? "Though long of winds and waves the sport, "To friendship didst thou trust thy fame, "Live! and repine not o'er his loss, "Go seek that treasure, seldom found, "In woman hast thou placed thy bliss, And did the fair one faithless prove? "Live! 'twas a false, bewildering fire: Thrills the fond soul with sweet desire, "A nobler flame shall warm thy breast, A brighter Maiden's virtuous charins! Blessed shalt thou be, supremely blessed, In Beauty's arms. "Whate'er thou art-whoe'er thou be, "A bruised reed He will not break; "Humbled beneath his mighty hand, "Now, traveller in the vale of tears! "There is a calm for those who weep, "The soul, of origin divine, God's glorious image freed from clay, In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine, A spark of day! "The sun is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor of the sky; The soul, immortal as its Sire, THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND. A POOR wayfaring man of grief Hath often crossed me on my way, That I could never answer, "Nay." Once, when my scanty meal was spread, I gave Him all; He blessed it, brake, I spied Him, where a fountain burst Clear from the rock; his strength was gone: The heedless water mocked his thirst: He heard it, saw it hurrying on: I ran to raise the sufferer up; Thrice from the stream He drained my cup, I drank, and never thirsted more. 'Twas night; the floods were out,-it blew A winter hurricane aloof; I heard his voice abroad, and flew To bid Him welcome to my roof; I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest; |