Ye that keep watch in heav'n', | as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye constella'tions, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. I
Great source of day! best image here below,
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,

From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On Nature write with ev'ry beam', his praise. |

Ye thunders, roll'; [ be hush'd the prostrate world, |
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Į
Bleat out afresh, ye hills'; ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound; the broad responsive low,

Ye valleys, raise for the Great Shepherd reigns; |
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. |
Ye woodlands," all, awake'! | a boundless song
Burst from the groves、; | and, when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, |
Sweetest of birds', | sweet Philomela, | charm
The listening shades, and teach the night' his praise. |
Ye chief, for whom the whole crea'tion smiles, |
At once the head', the heart', the tongue of all, |
Crown' the great hymn. In swarming cities vast, |
Assembled men, to the deep organ, join

The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass; |
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour, rise to heaven. |
Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, |
And find a fane in ev'ry sacred grove,
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting ser'aph, and the poet's lyre, |
Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. I

For me, when I forget the darling theme, |
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray
Russets the plain', | inspiring autumn gleams', |

a

Wůd'land; not wood'luns.

b Deep organ; not dee-por'gan.

'Or winter rises in the black'ning east, |
"Be my tongue mute', | my fancy paint no more, |
And, dead to joy, | forget my heart to beat! |

Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth',a | to distant barb'rous climes |
Rivers unknown to song, where first the sun
Gilds Indian moun'tains, or his setting beam
Flames on the Atlantic isles, | 't is nought to me, |
Since God is ever present, | ever felt,

In the void waste | as in the city full; |

And where he vital breathes, there must be joy. I

When e'en at last the solemn hour shall come, [
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, |
I cheerful will obey; there, with new pow'rs |
Will rising wonders sing: I cannot go ||
Where Universal Love smiles not around, I
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; |
From seeming evil still educing good`, |
And better thence again, and better still', |
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable! |

Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise. |

THE MARINER'S DREAM.

(DIMOND.)

In slumbers of mid night, the sailor-boy lay; |
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind`; [
But, watch-worn, and weary, his cares flew away'; |
And visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind. |

He dream'd of his home, of his dear native bowers, |
And pleasures that waited on life's' merry morn
While Memory stood sidewise, half cover'd with flowers,
And restor❜d ev'ry rose', but secreted its thorn. |
b Yon orbs; not yon-norbs.

* Green earth; not gree-nearth'.

Then Fancy, her magical pinions spread wide, |
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise
Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide'; }
And the cot of his forefathers, blesses his eyes. [

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch; |
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch' ; |
And the voices of lov'd' ones reply to his call. I

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight'; |
His cheek is impearl'd with a mother's warm tear、; |
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss, unite' |

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear,./

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast; |
Joy quickens his pulse - all hardships seem o'er. ; |
|
And a murmur of happiness steals through his resť — ¡
Kind Fate, thou hast bless'd me-I ask for no more.

Ah! | what is that flame which now bursts on his eye.? |
Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear'? |
"T is the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! |
'Tis the crashing of thun'ders, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his ham mock-he flies to the deck'-
Amazement confronts him with images dire
Wild winds, and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck-
The masts fly in splin'ters- the shrouds are on fire! |

Like moun'tains the billows tremendously swell-
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save'; |
Unseen hands of spirits, are ringing his knell [:]
And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the
wave! |

O sailor-boy! wo to thy dream of delight! |

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss'. | Where now is the picture that Fancy touch'd bright', | Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss.?

O sailor-boy! sai'lor-boy! | never again', |

Shall home', love', or kin'dred, thy wishes repay; | Unbless'd, and unhonour'd, down deep in the main', | Full many a score fath`om, thy frame shall decay.. | No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee', | Or redeem form', or frame' from the merciless surge. ; | But the white foam of waves, shall thy winding-sheet be', And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge, !| On beds of green sea'-flowers, thy limbs shall be laid; | Around thy white bones, the red coral shall grow;| Of thy fair yellow locks, threads of amber be made; | And ev'ry part suit to thy mansion below. | Days,, months', years', and a'ges shall circle away; | And still the vast waters above thee shall roll I Earth loses thy pattern for ever, and aye: -1 O sailor-boy ! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul! |

GOD.

[From the Russian Anthology.]

(DERZHAVIN.)

O THOU eternal One! | whose presence bright' |
All space doth occupy, all motion guide; |
Unchang'd through time's all-devastating flight; |
Thou only God! | There is no God beside! |
Being above all' beings! | Mighty One! |
Whom none can comprehend, and none explore'; |
Who fill'st existence with thyself alone. :|
Embracing all support'ing | ruling o'er — |
Being whom we call God..
and know no more! Į

In its sublime research, philosophy

May measure out the o'cean-deep may count
The sands, or the sun's rays'- but, God! | for thee
There is no weight, nor measure: none can mount
Up to thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark, |

Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try
To trace thy counsels, infinite, and dark. ; |
And thought is lost | ere thought can soar so high', |
E'en like past moments in eternity. |

Thou from primeval nothingness, | didst call' |
First chaos, then existence
Eternity had its foundation:- all
|

:—

| Lord, on thee

Sprung forth from thee of light, joy', | harmony,
- |
Sole origin: all life', all beauty, thine. |
Thy word created all, and doth' create; ¦

Thy splendour fills all

space with rays divine. Į Thou art, and wert', and shalt be! Glorious! | Great!

Life-giving, life-sustaining Potentatea! |

Thy chains the unmeasur'd universe surround: |
Upheld by thee, by thee inspir'd with breath, : |
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, |
And beautifully mingled life, and death!!
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze', |
So suns' are born; | so worlds spring forth from thee:|
And, as the spangles in the sunny rays

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantryb
Of heaven's bright army, glitters in thy praise. |

A million torches, lighted by thy hand, |
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss. :|
They own thy power, accomplish thy command', |
All gay
with life, all eloquent with bliss. |

a Po'tên-tate; not po'tn-tåte.

"The force of this simile," says Bowring, in his Specimens of the Russian Poets, "can hardly be imagined by those who have never witnessed the sun shining, with unclouded splendour, in a cold of twenty or thirty degrees of Reaumur. A thousand, and ten thousand sparkling stars of ice, brighter than the brightest diamond, play on the surface of the frozen snow; and the slightest breeze sets myriads of icy atoms in motion, whose glancing light, and beautiful rainbow hues, dazzle and weary the eye."