There ponder o'er some mystic lay,
Till the wild tale had all its sway,
And in the bittern's distant shriek,
I heard unearthly voices speak,

And thought the Wizard Priest was come,
To claim again his ancient home!
And bade my busy fancy range,

To frame him fitting shape and strange,
Till from the task my brow I cleared,
And smile to think that I had feared.

But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life,
(Though but escape from fortune's strife,)
Something most matchless, good, and wise,
A great and grateful sacrifice;

And deem each hour, to musing given,
A step upon the road to heaven.

Contentment, parent of delight,
So much a stranger to our sight,
Say, goddess, in what happy place,
Mortals behold thy blooming face;
Thy gracious auspices impart,
And for thy temple choose my heart.
They whom thou deignest to inspire,
Thy science learn, to bound desire;
By happy alchymy of mind,
They turn to pleasure all they find.

Green.

CONTENT IS HAPPINESS.

BY HAVARD.

WHAT art thou, Happiness, so sought by all, So greatly envied, yet so seldom found? Of what strange nature is thy composition, When gold and grandeur sue to thee in vain? The prince who leads embattled thousands forth, And with a nod commands the universe, Knows not the language to make thee obey; Though he with armies strews the hostile plain, And hews out avenues of death, he still Loses his way to thee, because content Appears not on the road, to light them to thee.Content and happiness are then the same; And they are seldom found, but in the bed Where unmolested innocence resides.

Cellars and granaries in vain we fill
With all the bounteous summer's store,
If the mind thirst and hunger still:
The poor rich man's emphatically poor.
Slaves to the things we too much prize,
We masters grow of all that we despise.

Cowley.

RETIREMENT.

BY BEATTIE.

WHEN in the crimson cloud of even
The lingering light decays,
And Hesper on the front of heaven
His glittering gem displays;
Deep in the silent vale, unseen,
Beside a lulling stream,

A pensive youth, of placid mien, ·
Indulged this tender theme:

"Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled
High o'er the glimmering dale;
Ye woods, along, whose windings wild
Murmurs the solemn gale:
Where Melancholy strays forlorn,
And Wo retires to weep,

What time the wan Moon's yellow horn
Gleams on the western deep:

"To you, ye waste, whose artless charms Ne'er drew ambition's eye,

'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms,

To your retreats I fly.

Deep in your most sequestered bower

Let me at last recline,

Where Solitude, mild, modest power,

Leans on her ivied shrine.

"How shall I woo thee, matchless fair! Thy heavenly smile how win!

Thy smile, that smooths the brow of Care, And stills the storm within.

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove

Thine ardent votary bring,

And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene, on silent wing?

"Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind
With dreams of former days,
When in the lap of Peace reclined,

He framed his infant lay;

When Fancy roved at large, nor Care
Nor cold Distrust alarmed,

Nor envy with malignant glare
His simple youth hath harmed.

"'Twas then, O Solitude! to thee His early vows were paid,

From heart sincere, and warm and free,

Devoted to the shade.

Ah, why did Fate his steps decoy

In stormy paths to roam,

Remote from all congenial joy !

O take the wanderer home.

Thy shades, thy silence now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme;

My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream;
Whence the scared owl on pinions gray
Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.

"O, while to thee the woodland pours Its wildly warbling song,

And balmy from the bank of flowers
The zephyr breathes along;
Let no rude sound invade from far,
No vagrant foot be nigh,

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car
Flash on the startled eye.

"But if some pilgrim through the glade
Thy hallowed bowers explore,
O guard from harm his hoary head,
And listen to his lore;

For he of joys divine shall tell,

That wean from earthly wo, And triumph o'er the mighty spell That chains his heart below.

"For me no more the path invites Ambition loves to tread :

No more I climb those toilsome heights, By guileful Hope misled;