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Beneath the palm, which he was wont to make
His prop in slumber; there his relics lay
Longer than life itself had dwelt within them.
Bees in the ample hollow of his skull

Pil'd their wax-citadels, and stor'd their honey;
Thence sallied forth to forage through the fields,
And swarm'd in emigrating legions thence:
There, little burrowing animals threw up
Hillocks beneath the overarching ribs;
While birds, within the spinal labyrinth,
Contriv'd their nests;-so wandering Arabs pitch'
Their tents amidst Palmyra's palaces;

So Greek and Roman peasants build their huts
Beneath the shadow of the Parthenon,
Or on the ruins of the Capitol.

J. Montgomery.


EARTH has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:

This city now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare;
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields and to the sky;
All bright and glitt'ring in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
To me the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!



Lo! Slumber's balm on yonder Infant lies,
Stills its soft voice, and seals its clear blue eyes;
That brow, in fairness, rivals mountain snow;
Beside its cheeks how dim the ruby's glow!
Lovely as doves' soft plumes, or violet-stains,
Are those white arms, and azure wand'ring veins.
Its breath, from parted lip of coral hue,
Steals soft as twilight air, and fragrant too.
The Infant wakes-it sees its mother nigh,
And gleams of fondness sparkle in its eye;
Now in wild frolic danc'd upon her knee,
It spreads its arms, as wing'd with ecstacy;
Shakes, like bright lily-wreaths, its auburn curls,
And shows, in rosy mouth, the growing pearls.
Bright diamond! ris'n from being's teeming mine;
Fair star! just form'd in virtue's heav'n to shine;
Flower full of innocence, and joyous bloom,
Gathering each hour more beauty and perfume;
Alas! that Time should dim thy fairy ray!
That guileless moments pass so soon away!



TURN, turn, thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless Worm;
The frame thy wayward looks deride,
Requir'd a God to form.

The common Lord of all that move,
From whom thy being flow'd,
A portion of his boundless love
On that poor Worm bestow'd.

The sun, the moon, the stars, he made
To all his creatures free;

And spread o'er earth the grassy blade
For worms as well as thee.

Let them enjoy their little day,
Their lowly bliss receive;
Oh! do not lightly take away

The life thou canst not give.


SWEET Sabbath morn! from childhood's dimpled prime,

I've lov'd to hail thy calm-renewing time:
Soft steal thy bells upon the pensive mind,
In mingling murmurs floating on the wind,
Telling of friends and times long wing'd away,
And blissful hopes, harmonious with the day.
On thy still dawn, while holy music peals,
And far around the ling'ring echo steals,
What heart communes not with the day's repose,
And, lapp'd in angel dreams, forgets its woes?
Who, in His temple, gives to God a prayer,
Nor feels the Majesty of heaven is there?
The sacred stillness of the vaulted pile,

Where gather'd hearts their homage breathe awhile;
The mingled burst of penitential sighs,
The choral anthem pealing to the skies,
Exalt the soul to energies sublime,

Chain the wild thought, and solemnize the time.

Emblem of peace! upon the village plain,
Thou dawn'st a blessing to the toil-worn swain;

Soon as thy smiles upon the upland play,
His bosom gladdens with the bright'ning day;
Humble and happy, to his lot resign'd,
He owns the inward sabbath of the mind.

And when, with bending knee and hallow'd tone,
His vows are breath'd unto Jehovah's throne,
Serene the thoughts that o'er his bosom steal,
When homeward winding for the Sabbath meal:
There shall kind Plenty wear her sweetest smiles,
There shall his rosy children play their wiles;
And there the meek-ey'd mother muse and joy,
And court with frequent kiss her infant boy.
At noon, a ramble round the burial-ground,
A moral tear on some lamented mound,
Or breezy walk along the green expanse,
Where summer beauty charms the ling'ring glance-
These are the wonted blessings of the day,
That all his weekly toils and woes repay:
And when aërial Night hath veil'd the view,
And star-gleams twinkle on the meadow dew,
Some elder boy beside his father's knee,
Shall stand and read the Holy History;
Or peaceful prayer, or chanted hymn shall close
The hour that wooes him to a sweet repose.

R. Montgomery.


CITY of idol temples, and of shrines,

Where folly kneels to falsehood.-How the pride Of our humanity is here rebuk❜d!

Man, that aspires to rule the very wind,

And make the sea confess his majesty;

Whose intellect can fill a little scroll
With words that are immortal; who can build
Cities, the mighty and the beautiful:

Yet man, this glorious creature, can debase
His spirit down, to worship wood and stone,
And hold the very beasts which bear his yoke,
And tremble at his eye, for sacred things.
With what unutterable humility

We should bow down, most blessed Lord, to Thee!
Seeing our vanity and foolishness,

When, to our own devices left, we frame

A shameful creed of craft and cruelty!

Miss Landon.


Is she not beautiful? reposing there

On her own shadow, with her white wings furl'd; Moveless, as in the sleepy sunny air,

Rests the meek swan in her own quiet world. Is she not beautiful? her graceless bow

Triumphant rising o'er the enamoured tides;
That, glitt'ring in the noonday sunbeam, now
Just leap and die along her polish'd sides.

A thousand eyes are on her; for she floats
Confess'd a queen upon the subject main ;
And, hark! as from her decks delicious notes
Breathe, softly breathe, a soul-entrancing strain.
Music upon the waters! pouring soft

From shore to shore along the charmed wave;
The seaman's dreariest toils beguiling oft,
And kindling high the ardour of the brave.

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