Soothest of heavenly powers! with opiate touch Even Love, beneath thy placid reign, [bestows: In sweet delirium sinks to rest,

Calms the wild tumult of his breast, [chain.
And in thy silken bonds foregoes his ruthless

Say, Sleep, whence o'er the mind
Dost thou such potency derive,
To bid the hosts of Thought,
That with the light of day
In chill oblivion died away,
Again on Memory's plain revive?
That with thy subtle magic fraught,
In many a glittering rank combined,
Reflect the splendours of the mental ray,
And agitate the soul, or tranquillize ;
Now with sublimest objects fill,
With Pity touch, with Horror thrill,
And wake respondent sympathies.
Thy colourings, Sleep, deceive
Deliciously the throb of pain,
Bid us live o'er the day again;

With gildings soft the scene relieve,

And heighten into bliss Life's dull realities.

By necromantic groves that glance

Their umbrage dusk to the Phoebean beam,
Where, hung with many a dream,

The twinkling boughs to rosy zephyrs dance;

By darksome rocks that lour

O'er the wild brook that bubbles by,

O, often meet my ear

In echoes soft and clear,

Of fairy harps unseen and solemn minstrelsy;

And o'er my soul thy mystic visions pour,
Pure, intellectual; such as, fed

By happiest presage of better days,
Round modest Merit's drooping head
Beam the clear sunshine of ingenuous praise:
Such as the wounded bosom cheer,
Whene'er by cold Neglect depress'd,
Or held by Obloquy in thrall,

Or steep'd in Envy's venom'd gall:

Then, Sleep, thy healing influence bring,

Soft slumbers waft on downy wing,

And breathe the balm divine of visionary rest.

Thus, Sleep, oft let me lie

Beneath thy grateful shadowings: Call around
Every magic sight and sound;

Shifting swift from grave to gay,
Mingling shade or flashing day,
Glance with fairy footsteps by,
And lull each sense in ecstasy!
Oft let the friend of former days
Meet in sweet colloquial talk,

And midst thy moonlight scenes delighted walk,
While on each others face we gaze,

And with congenial warmth our bosoms burn
Of sacred amity; overjoy'd to live
The spring time of our youth again,
To taste the pleasure or the pain,
And with remembrance bland survive
The solitary urn!

Thus, Sleep, oft find me, at thy soft return,
While Philomela pours her minstrelsy;

And to my sight in colours faint

Those future scenes of Beauty paint

Which oft, with foretaste kind, await
On Virtue, in this transient state,
Exhibiting, in vision high,

A weak but rapturous glance of Immortality!

REV. J. WHITEHOUSE.

MADNESS.

SWELL the clarion, sweep the string,
Blow into rage the Muse's fires!
All thy answers, Echo, bring,

Let wood and dale, let rock and valley ring: 'Tis Madness' self inspires.

Hail, awful Madness, hail!

Thy realm extends, thy powers prevail, Far as the voyager spreads his venturous sail. Nor best nor wisest are exempt from thee; Folly-Folly's only free.

Hark! to the astonish'd ear

The gale conveys a strange tumultuous sound. They now approach, they now appear,Frenzy leads her chorus near,

And demons dance around.

Pride-Ambition idly vain,

Revenge and Malice swell her train,—
Devotion warp'd-Affection cross'd-
Hope in disappointment lost-

And injured Merit with a downcast eye
(Hurt by neglect) slow stalking heedless by.

Loud the shouts of Madness rise,
Various voices, various cries,

Mirth unmeaning-causeless moans,
Bursts of laughter-heartfelt groans—
All seem to pierce the skies.-

Rough as the wintry wave that roars
On Thule's desert shores,

Wild raving to the' unfeeling air,

The fetter'd Maniac foams along

(Rage the burden of his jarring song), [hair. In rage he grinds his teeth, and rends his streaming No pleasing memory left-forgotten quite All former scenes of dear delight; Connubial love-parental joy—

No sympathies like these his soul employ,But all is dark within, all furious black despair.

Not so the lovelorn Maid,

By too much tenderness betray'd;

Her gentle breast no angry passion fires,
But slighted vows possess, and fainting soft desires.

She yet retains her wonted flame,
All-but in reason, still the same:
Streaming eyes,

Incessant sighs,

Dim haggard looks, and clouded o'er with care,
Point out to Pity's tears the poor distracted fair.
Dead to the world-her fondest wishes cross'd,
She mourns herself thus early lost.—

Now, sadly gay, of sorrows past she sings,
Now, pensive, ruminates unutterable things:
She starts-she flies-who dares so rude
On her sequester'd steps intrude !—

'Tis he-the Momus of the flighty train-
Merry mischief fills his brain.
Blanket-robed, and antic-crown'd,
The mimic monarch skips around;
Big with conceit of dignity he smiles,

And plots his frolics quaint and unsuspected wiles.

Laughter was there-but mark that groan,
Drawn from the inmost soul!

'Give the knife, demons, or the poison'd bowl,
To finish miseries equal to your own.'-

Who's this wretch, with horror wild?-
-'Tis Devotion's ruin'd child:

Sunk in the emphasis of grief,

Nor can he feel, nor dares he ask relief.—
Thou, fair Religion, wast design'd,
Duteous daughter of the skies,

To warm and cheer the human mind,
To make men happy, good, and wise:

To point where sits, in love array'd,
Attentive to each suppliant call,
The God of universal aid,

The God, the Father of us all!

First shown by thee, thus glow'd the gracious Till Superstition, fiend of woe,

Bade doubts to rise, and tears to flow,

[scene,

And spread deep shades our view and Heaven

between.

Drawn by her pencil the Creator stands

(His beams of mercy thrown aside),

With thunder arming his uplifted hands,
And hurling vengeance wide: