When Wit thus spake her sister train:

Faith, friends, our errand is but vain Quick let us measure back the sky, These nymphs alone may well supply Wit, Innocence, and Harmony."

AN INVITATION TO

THE FEATHERED RACE.

BY THE REV. MR. GRAVES.

AGAIN the balmy Zephyr blows,

Fresh verdure decks the grove; Each bird with vernal rapture glows,

And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers ! hither fly,

And shun the noon-tide heat ; My shrubs a cooling shade supply,

My groves a safe retreat.

Hețe freely hop from spray to spray,

Or weave the mossy nest;
Here rove and sing the live-long day,

At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool translucent rill,

That trickles down the glade, Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,

And revel in the shade.

No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,

E'er shows his ruddy face,
Or twangs a bow, or hurls a stone,

In this sequester'd place.

Hither the vocal Thrush repairs,

Secure the Linnet sings,
The Goldfinch dreads no slimy snares

To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt

Yon distant woods among,
And round my friendly grotto chaunt

Thy sweetly-plaintive song.

Let not the harmless Redbreast fear,

Domestic bird, to come And seek a sure asylum here,

With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artless tribe,

Shall store of fruit preserve;
Oh, let me thus your friendship bribe!

Come, feed without reserve.

For you these cherries I protect,

To you these plums belong :
Sweet is the fruit that you have peck’d,

But sweeter far your song.

Let then this league betwixt us made

Our mutual interest guard :
Mine be the gift of fruit and shade,

Your songs be my reward.

ODE TO TRUTH.

BY MASON.

SAY, will no-white-robed son of light,

Swift darting from his heavenly height, Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;

Here wave his amberlocks ; unfold

His pinions clothed with downy gold; Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand?

And you, ye hosts of saints ! for ye have known Each dreary path in Life's perplexing maze,

Though now ye circle yon eternal throne With harpings high of inexpressive praise ; Will not your train descend in radiant state, To break with mercy's beam this gathering cloud of fate?

'Tis silence all. No son of light
Darts swiftly from his heavenly height;

No train of radiant saints descend.
“ Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,
If guilt, if fraud, has staind your mind,

Or saint to hear, or angel to defend.”
So truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound

Burst from the centre of her burning throne,
Where aye she sits with star-wreath'd lustre crown'd;
A bright sun clasps her adamantine zone.
So truth proclaims: her awful voice I hear;
With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.

Attend, ye sons of men! attend, and say, Does not enough of my refulgent ray Break thro the veil of your mortality? Say, does not reason in this form descry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass The angel's floating pomp, the seraph’s glowing grace?

Shall then your earth-born daughters vie

With me! Shall she, whose brightest eye But emulates the diamond's blaze,

Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,

Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume,
Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays,

Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form
Of elemental dross, of mouldering clay,

Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day

Shall pass, and she is gone: while I appear
Flush'd with the blooin of youth through heaven's eternal

year.

Know, mortals! know, ere first ye sprung,

Ere first these orbs in ether hung, I shone amid the heavenly throng:

These eyes beheld creation's day,

This voice began the choral lay,
And taught Archangels their triumphant song.

Pleased I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth,
Saw infant fight with kindling lustre spread,

Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flowering earth,
And ocean heave on its extended bed;
Saw the tail pine aspiring pierce the sky;
The tawny lion stalk; the rapid eagle fly.
Last, Man arose, erect in youthful grace,
Heaven's hallow'd image stamp'd upon his face,

And, as he rose, the high behest was given,

" That I, alone, of all the host of heaven, Should reign protectress of the godlike youth.” Thus the Almighty spake: he spake, and call'd me Truth.