But lately I marked, when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her
blaze.

Rc!l on,
thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendor again!
But man's faded glory what change shall renew?
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

""Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for

you;

For Morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew:

Nor yet for the ravage of Winter I mourn,-
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save:
But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn?
O, when shall it dawn on the night of the
grave?"

'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,

That leads, to bewilder, and dazzles, to blind,My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind; —

"O, pity, great Father of Light," then I cried, 66 Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee!

Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:

From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free!"

And darkness and doubt are now flying away,-
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn:
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,

The bright and the balmy effulgence of Morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending,

And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are

blending,

And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.

Beattie.

THE HAPPY MAN.

WHOSE life e'en now

Shows somewhat of that happier life to come; Who, doomed to an obscure and tranquil state, Is pleased with it; and, were he free to choose, Would make his fate his choice.

Cowper.

LINES ON THE POOR BLIND MAN OF SALISBURY CATHEDRAL

THERE is a poor blind man, who, every day, Through frost and snow, in sunshine and in rain,

Duly as tolls the bell, to the high fane

Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way,
To kneel before his Maker, and to hear
The solemn service chanted full and clear.

Ask why, alone, in the same spot he kneels Through the long year? O, the wide world is cold

And dark to him! but here no more he feels

His sad bereavement: Faith and Hope uphold His heart, amid the tumult of mankind

He droops no longer : lone, and poor, and blind,
His soul is in the choirs above the skies,
And songs, far off, of angel harmonies.
O, happy if the vain, the rich, the proud-
The pageant actors of life's motley crowd-
Would drop the mask, the moral prospect scan,
And learn one lesson from a poor blind man

Bowles.