Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral Muse,
A blooming Eden in his life reviews!
So rich the culture, though so small the space,
Its scanty limits he forgets to trace.

But the fond fool, when evening shades the sky,
Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh! (24)
The weary waste, that lengthen'd as he ran,
Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span!

Ah! who can tell the triumphs of the mind,
By truth illumined, and by taste refined?

And, with a brother's warmth, a brother's smile,
The stranger greets each native of his isle;
So scenes of life, when present and confest,
Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;
Yet not an image, when remotely view'd,
However trivial, and however rude,
But wins the heart, and wakes the social sigh,
With every claim of close affinity!

But these pure joys the world can never know;
In gentler climes their silver currents flow.

When age has quench'd the eye, and closed the ear, Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day,

Still nerved for action in her native sphere,
Oft will she rise-with searching glance pursue
Some long-loved image vanish'd from her view;
Dart through the deep recesses of the past,
O'er dusky forms in chains of slumber cast;
With giant-grasp fling back the folds of night,
And snatch the faithless fugitive to light.

So through the grove the impatient mother flies,
Each sunless glade, each secret pathway tries;
Till the thin leaves the truant boy disclose,
Long on the wood-moss stretch'd in sweet repose.
Nor yet to pleasing objects are confined
The silent feasts of the reflecting mind;
Danger and death a dread delight inspire,
And the bald veteran glows with wonted fire,
When, richly bronzed by many a summer-sun,
He counts his scars, and tells what deeds were done.
Go, with old Thames, view Chelsea's glorious pile;
And ask the shatter'd hero, whence his smile?
Go, view the splendid domes of Greenwich-go,
And own what raptures from Reflection flow.

Hail, noblest structures imaged in the wave!
A nation's grateful tribute to the brave!
Hail, blest retreats from war and shipwreck, hail!
That oft arrest the wondering stranger's sail.
Long have ye heard the narratives of age,
The battle's havoc, and the tempest's rage;
Long have ye known Reflection's genial ray
Gild the calm close of Valor's various day.

Time's sombrous touches soon correct the piece,
Mellow each tint, and bid each discord cease:
A softer tone of light pervades the whole,
And steals a pensive languor o'er the soul.
Hast thou through Eden's wild-wood vales pur-
sued (25)

Each mountain scene, majestically rude;
To note the sweet simplicity of life,
Far from the din of Folly's idle strife;
Nor there awhile, with lifted eye, revered
That modest stone which pious Pembroke rear'd;
Which still records, beyond the pencil's power,
The silent sorrows of a parting hour;
Still to the musing pilgrim points the place,
Her sainted spirit most delights to trace?

Thus, with the manly glow of honest pride,
O'er his dead son the gallant Ormond sigh'd. (26)
Thus, through the gloom of Shenstone's fairy-grove,
Maria's urn still breathes the voice of love.

As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower
Awes us less deeply in its morning-hour,
Than when the shades of Time serenely fall
On every broken arch and ivied wall;
The tender images we love to trace,
Steal from each year a melancholy grace!
And as the sparks of social love expand,
As the heart opens in a foreign land,

When the hush'd grove has sung his parting lay;
When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car,
Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star;
Above, below, aërial murmurs swell,
From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell!
A thousand nameless riis, that shun the light,
Stealing soft music on the ear of night.

So oft the finer movements of the soul,
That shun the sphere of Pleasure's gay control,
In the still shades of calm Seclusion rise,
And breathe their sweet, seraphic harmonies!

Once, and domestic annals tell the time,
(Preserved in Cumbria's rude, romantic clime)
When Nature smiled, and o'er the landscape throw
Her richest fragrance, and her brightest hue,
Those loftier scenes Salvator's soul adored ;
A blithe and blooming Forester explored
The rocky pass half-hung with shaggy wood,
And the cleft oak flung boldly o'er the flood;
Nor shunn'd the track, unknown to human tread,
That downward to the night of caverns led;
Some ancient cataract's deserted bed.

High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose (27)
And blew his shrill blast o'er perennial snows;
Ere the rapt youth, recoiling from the roar,
Gazed on the tumbling tide of dread Lodoar;
And through the rifted cliffs, that scaled the sky,
Derwent's clear mirror (28) charm'd his dazzled eye,
Each osier isle, inverted on the wave,

Through morn's grey mist its melting colors gave;
And o'er the cygnet's haunt, the mantling grove
Its emerald arch with wild luxuriance wove.

Light as the breeze that brush'd the orient dew,
From rock to rock the young Adventurer flew;
And day's last sunshine slept along the shore,
When lo, a path the smile of welcome wore.
Imbowering shrubs with verdure veil'd the sky.
And on the musk-rose shed a deeper dye;
Save when a bright and momentary gleam
Glanced from the white foam of some shelter'd stream.
O'er the still lake the bell of evening toli'd,
And on the moor the shepherd penn'd his fold;
And on the green hill's side the meteor play'd,
When, hark! a voice sung sweetly through the shade.
It ceased-yet still in Florio's fancy sung,
Still on each note his captive spirit hung;
Till o'er the mead a cool, sequester'd grot
From its rich roof a sparry lustre shot.
A crystal water cross'd the pebbled floor,
And on the front these simple lines it bore:

Hence away, nor dare intrude!
In this secret, shadowy cell
Musing MEMORY loves to dwell.
With her sister Solitude.

Far from the busy world she flics,
To taste that peace the world denies.
Entranced she sits; from youth to age,
Reviewing Life's eventful page;
And noting, ere they fade away,
The little lines of yesterday.

Florio had gain'd a rude and rocky seat,
When lo, the Genius of this still retreat!
Fair was her form-but who can hope to trace
The pensive softness of her angel-face?
Can Virgil's verse, can Raphael's touch, impart
Those finer features of the feeling heart,
Those tend'rer tints that shun the careless eye,
And in the world's contagious climate die?

She left the cave, nor mark'd the stranger there;
Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air
Had breathed a soft enchantment o'er his soul!
In every nerve he felt her blest control!
What pure and white-wing'd agents of the sky,
Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy,
Inform congenial spirits when they meet?
Sweet is their office, as their natures sweet!

Florio, with fearful joy, pursued the maid,
Till through a vista's moonlight-chequer'd shade,
Where the bat circled, and the rooks reposed,
(Their wars suspended, and their councils closed)
An antique mansion burst in awful state,
A rich vine clustering round the Gothic gate.
Nor paused he there. The master of the scene
Saw his light step imprint the dewy green;
And, slow advancing, hail'd him as his guest,
Won by the honest warmth his looks express'd.
He wore the rustic manners of a 'Squire;
Age had not quench'd one spark of manly fire;
But giant Gout had bound him in her chain,
And his heart panted for the chase in vain.

Yet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing Power!
Wing'd with delight Confinement's lingering hour.
The fox's brush still emulous to wear,

He scour'd the county in his elbow-chair;
And, with view-halloo, roused the dreaming hound,
That rung, by starts, his deep-toned music round.
Long by the paddock's humble pale confined,
His aged hunters coursed the viewless wind:
And each, with glowing energy portray'd,
The far-famed triumphs of the field display'd;
Usurp'd the canvas of the crowded hall,
And chased a line of heroes from the wall.
There slept the horn each jocund echo knew,
And many a smile and many a story drew!
High o'er the hearth his forest-trophies hung,
And their fantastic branches wildly flung.
How would he dwell on the vast antlers there!
These dash'd the wave, those fann'd the mountain-air.
All, as they frown'd, unwritten records bore
Of gallant feats and festivals of yore.

But why the tale prolong?-His only child,
His darling Julia on the stranger smil'd.
Her little arts a fretful sire to please,
Her gentle gaiety, and native ease

Had won his soul; and rapturous Fancy shed
ller golden lights, and tints of rosy red.

But ah! few days had pass'd, ere the bright vision fled!
When evening tinged the lake's ethereal blue,
And her deep shades irregularly threw;

Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove,
Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove; (29)
Whence erst the chanted hymn, the taper'd rite
Amused the fisher's solitary night:

And still the mitred window, richly wreathed,
A sacred calm through the brown foliage breathed.
The wild deer, starting through the silent glade,
With fearful gaze their various course survey'd.
High hung in air the hoary goat reclined,
His streaming beard the sport of every wind;
And, while the coot her jet-wing loved to lave,
Rock'd on the bosom of the sleepless wave;
The cagle rush'd from Skiddaw's purple crest,
A cloud still brooding o'er her giant-nest.

And now the moon had dimm'd with dewy ray
The few fine flushes of departing day.
O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung,
And her broad lights on every mountain flung;
When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew, (30)
And to the surge consign'd the little crew.
All, all escaped-but ere the lover bore
His faint and faded Julia to the shore,
Her sense had fled!-Exhausted by the storm,
A fatal trance hung o'er her pallid form;
Her closing eye a trembling lustre fired;
'Twas life's last spark-it flutter'd and expired!

The father strew'd his white hairs in the wind,
Call'd on his child-nor linger'd long behind:
And Florio lived to see the willow wave,
With many an evening-whisper, o'er their grave.
Yes, Florio lived-and, still of each possess'd,
The father cherish'd, and the maid caress'd!
For ever would the fond enthusiast rove,
With Julia's spirit, through the shadowy grove;
Gaze with delight on every scene she plann'd,
Kiss every flow'ret planted by her hand.

Ah! still he traced her steps along the glade,
When hazy hues and glimmering lights betray'd
Half-viewless forms; still listen'd as the breeze
Heaved its deep sobs among the aged trees;
And at each pause her melting accents caught,
In sweet delirium of romantic thought!
Dear was the grot that shunn'd the blaze of day;
She gave its spars to shoot a trembling ray.
The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell,
Murmur'd of Julia's virtues as it fell;

And o'er the dripping moss, the fretted stone,
In Florio's ear breathed language not its own,
Her charm around the enchantress MEMORY threw
A charm that soothes the mind, and sweetens too!
But is Her magic only felt below?
Say, through what brighter realms she bids it flow
To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere, (31)
She yields delight but faintly imaged here:
All that till now their rapt researches knew;
Not call'd in slow succession to review,
But, as a landscape meets the eye of day,
At once presented to their glad survey!

Each scene of bliss reveal'd, since chaos fled,
And dawning light its dazzling glories spread;
Each chain of wonders that sublimely glow'd,
Since first Creation's choral anthem flow'd;
Each ready flight, at Mercy's call divine,
To distant worlds that undiscover'd shine;
Full on her tablet flings its living rays,
And all, combined, with blest effulgence blaze.

Note 9, page 3, col. 2.

chateau at Richelieu, he sacrificed its symmetry to preserve the room in which he was born.-Mém. de Mlle de Montpensier, i, 27.

An attachment of this nature is generally the char acteristic of a benevolent mind; and a long acquaintance with the world cannot always extinguish it. "To a friend," says John, Duke of Buckingham,

And hence the charm historic scenes impart: Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future, predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and far from my friends be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which "I will expose my weakness: I am oftener missing has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. a pretty gallery in the old house I pulled down, than That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism pleased with a saloon which I built in its stead, would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or though a thousand times better in all respects."-See whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins his Letter to the D. of Sh.

of Iona-JOHNSON.

Note 10, page 3, col. 2.

And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell.

The Paraclete, founded by Abelard, in Champagne.

Note 11, page 3, col. 2.

"T was ever thus. As now at Virgil's tomb.

Vows and pilgrimages are not peculiar to the religious enthusiast. Silius Italicus performed annual ceremonies on the mountain of Posilipo; and it was there that Boccaccio, quasi da un divino estro inspirato, resolved to dedicate his life to the Muses.

Note 12, page 3, col. 2.

So Tully paused amid the wrecks of Time.
When Cicero was quæstor in Sicily, he discovered
the tomb of Archimedes by its mathematical inscrip-
Lon-Tusc. Quæst. v. 3.

Note 13, page 3, col. 2.

Say why the pensive widow loves to weep.

The influence of the associating principle is finely exemplified in the faithful Penelope, when she sheds tears over the bow of Ulysses.-Od. xxi, 55.

Note 14, page 3, col. 2.

If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild. The celebrated Ranz des Vaches; "cet air si chéri des Suisses qu'il fut défendu sous peine de mort de le jouer dans leurs troupes, parce qu'il faisoit fondre en larmes, déserter ou mourir ceux qui l'entendoient, tant il excitoit en cux l'ardent désir de revoir leur patrie."-ROUSSEAU.

The maladie de pays is as old as the human heart. JUVENAL'S little cup-bearer

Suspirat longo non visam tempore matrem, Et casulam, et notos tristis desiderat hædos. And the Argive, in the heat of battle, Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.

Note 15, page 4, col. 2.

Say why Vespasian loved his Sabine farm. This emperor, according to Suetonius, constantly passed the summer in a small villa near Reate, where he was born, and to which he would never add any embellishment, ne quid scilicet oculorum consuetudini deperiret SUET. in Vit. Vesp. cap. ii.

This is the language of the heart; and will remind the reader of that good-humored remark in one of Pope's letters s-"I should hardly care to have an old post pulled up, that I remembered ever since I was a child."

Nor did the Poet feel the charm more forcibly than his Editor. See HURD's Life of Warburton, 51, 99. The Author of Telemachus has illustrated this

subject, with equal fancy and feeling, in the story of Alibée, Persan.

Note 16, page 4, col. 1.

Why great Navarre, etc.

That amiable and accomplished monarch, Henry the Fourth of France, made an excursion from his camp, during the long siege of Laon, to dine at a house in the forest of Folambray; where he had often been regaled, when a boy, with fruit, milk, and new cheese; and in revisiting which he promised himself great pleasure.-Mém. de Sully.

Note 17, page 4, col. 1.

When Diocletian's self-corrected mind. Diocletian retired into his native province, and there amused himself with building, planting, and gardening. His answer to Maximian is deservedly celebrated. He was solicited by that restless old man to reassume the reins of government, and the Imperial purple. He rejected the temptation with a smile of pity, calmly observing, "that if he could show Maximian the cabbages which he had planted with his own hands at Salona, he should no longer be urged to relinquish the enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of power."-GIBBON.

Note 18, page 4, col. 1.

Say, when contentious Charles renounced a throne. When the emperor Charles V. had executed his memorable resolution, and had set out for the monastery of St. Justus, he stopped a few days at Ghent, says his historian, to indulge that tender and pleas ant melancholy, which arises in the mind of every man in the decline of life, on visiting the place of his nativity, and viewing the scenes and objects familiar to him in his early youth.-ROBERTSON. Note 19, page 4, col. 1.

Then did his horse the homeward track descry. The memory of the horse forms the groundwork of a pleasing little romance of the twelfth century, entitled, "Lai du Palefroy vair."-See Fabliaux du XII. siècle.

A similar instance occurs in the life of the venerable Pertinax, as related by J. Capitolinus. Posteaquam Ariosto likewise introduces it in a passage full of in Liguriam venit, multis agris coemptis, tabernam truth and nature. When Bayardo meets Angelica in paternam, manente formà priore, infinitis ædificiis cir- the forest, cumdedit-Hist. August. 54.

And it is said of Cardinal Richelieu, that, when he

built his magnificent palace on the site of the old family

*

*

*

Va mansueto alla Donzella,
Che in Albracca il servia già di sua mano.
Orlando Furioso, canto i. 75.

She tells of time misspent, of comfort lost,
of fair occasions gone for ever by ;
Of hopes too fondly nursed, too rudely cross'd,
Of many a cause to wish, yet fear to die;
For what, except th' instinctive fear
Lest she survive, detains me here,
When "all the life of life" is fled ?-

What, but the deep inherent dread,
Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign,
And realize the hell that priests and beldams feign?
Note 25, page 6, col. 1.

Hast thou through Eden's wild-wood vales pursued.
there stands a small pillar with this inscription:
On the road-side, between Penrith and Appleby,

"This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann Countess-Dowager of Pembroke, etc. for a memorial of her last parting, in this place, with her good and pious mother, Margaret, Countess-Dowager of Cum

This little animal, from the extreme convexity of berland, on the 2d of April, 1616; in memory whereher eye, cannot see many inches before her.

Note 22, page 5, col. 1.

These still exist, etc.

of she hath left an annuity of 41. to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every 2d day of April for ever, upon the stone-table placed hard by. Laus Deo!"

The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, and rises in the wildest part of Westmoreland. Note 26, page 6, col. 1.

There is a future Existence even in this world, an Existence in the hearts and minds of those who shall live after us. It is in reserve for every man, however obscure; and his portion, if he be diligent, must be equal to his desires. For in whose remembrance can we wish to hold a place, but such as know, and are known by us? These are within the sphere of though he ever retained a pleasing, however melanour influence, and among these and their descend-choly, sense of the signal merit of Ossory. "I would not exchange my dead son," said he, "for any living ants we may live evermore.

O'er his dead son the gallant Ormond sigh'd. Ormond bore the loss with patience and dignity:

It is a state of rewards and punishments; and, like son in Christendom."-HUME. that revealed to us in the Gospel, has the happiest influence on our lives. The latter excites us to gain

The same sentiment is inscribed on Miss Dolman's urn at the Leasowes.

Heu, quanto minus est cum

the favor of GOD, the former to gain the love and reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse!"

esteem of wise and good men; and both lead to the same end; for, in framing our conceptions of the Deity, we only ascribe to Him exalted degrees of Wisdom and Goodness.

Note 23, page 5, col. 2.

Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art! The astronomer chalking his figures on the wall, in Hogarth's view of Bedlam, is an admirable exemplification of this idea.-See the Rake's Progress, plate 8.

Note 24, page 6, col. 1.

Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh!

The following stanzas are said to have been written on a blank leaf of this Poem. They present so affecting a reverse of the picture, that I cannot resist the opportunity of introducing them here.

Pleasures of Memory!-oh! supremely blest,
And justly proud beyond a Poet's praise:
If the pure confines of thy tranquil breast
Contain, indeed, the subject of thy lays!
By me how envied!-for to me,
The herald still of misery,
Memory makes her influence known
By sighs, and tears, and grief alone:

I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong

The vulture's ravening beak, the raven's funeral song.

Note 27, page 6, col. 2.

High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose. This bird is remarkable for his exultation during the spring.

Note 28, page 6, col. 2.

Derwent's clear mirror.

Keswick-Lake in Cumberland.

Note 29, page 7, col. 2.

Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove.

A small island covered with trees, among which were formerly the ruins of a religious house.

Note 30, page 7, col. 2.

When lo a sudden blast the vessel blew.

In a lake surrounded with mountains, the agitations are often violent and momentary. The winds blow in gusts and eddies; and the water no sooner swells, than it subsides.-See BOURN's Hist. of Westmoreland.

Note 31, page 7, col. 2.

To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere. The several degrees of angels may probably have larger views, and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain together, and constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past knowledge at once.-LOCKE.