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YOUTH.

Justice, teach, to treat with laughter!

Virtue, scoff-at! vice pursue ! I have heard of an hereafter

And believe that it is true. But, if living, I must free

My nature from its Spring divine Father !

may

I never see
The Winter of an age like thine !

Copied from the Wall of the Room in BRISTOL NEWGATE,

where SAVAGE died,

Here Savage linger'd long and here expired!
The mean--the proud--the censured--the admired!

If, wandering o'er misfortune's sad retreat
Stranger ! these lines arrest thy passing feet,
And recollection urge the deeds of shame,
That tarnish'd once an unblest Poet's fame ;
Judge not another till thyself art free,
And hear the gentle voice of Charity.

No Friend receiv'd him, and “ no Mother's care “ Shelter'd his infant innocence with prayer ; “No Father's guardian hand his Youth maintain'd, “ Callid forth his virtues or from vice restrain’d."

6

Reader ! hadst thou been to neglect consign'd
And cast upon the mercy of mankind,

Through the wide world like Savage forced to stray,
And find like him, one long and stormy day ;
Objects less noble might thy soul have fired,
Or deeper crimes thine orphan breast inspired.
Whilst poring o'er another's mad career,
Drop for thyself the penitential tear :
Tho' prized by friends and nurst in innocence
How oft has folly wrong'd thy better sense ?
But if some virtues in thy breast there be
Ask if they sprang from circumstance or thee!
And ever to thy heart, the precept bear,
When thine own conscience smites, a wayward brother

spare!

Extrait from an unfinished poem. or

MOUNT's-BAY.

By HUMPHRY DAVY.

Mild blows the Zephyr o'er the ocean dark
The Zephyr wafting the grey twilight clouds
Across the waves to drink the solar rays
And blush with purple.

By the orient gleam
Whitening the foam of the blue wave that breaks
Around his granite feet; but dimly seen
Majestic Michael rises. He whose brow
Is crown'd with castles, and whose rocky sides
Are clad with dusky ivy. He whose base
Beat by the storms of ages stands unmoved
Amidst the wreck of things, the change of time.
That base encircled by the azure waves
Was once with verdure clad; the tow'ring oaks
There waved their branches green, the sacred oaks
Whose awful shades among, the Druids stray'd
To cut the hallow'd miseltoe, and hold
High converse with their Gods.

On yon rough craig
Where the wild Tamarisk whistles to the sea blast
The Druid's harp was heard, swept by the breeze
To softest music, or to grander tones
Awakened by the awful master's hand.
Those tones shall sound no more! The rushing waves,
Raised from the vast Atlantic have o'erwhelm'd
The sacred groves.

And deep the Druids lie
In the dark mist-clad sea of former time.
Ages had pass'd away, the stony altar
Was white with moss, when on its rugged base
Dire Superstition raised the gothic fane
And monks and priests existed.

On the sea
The sunbeams tremble : and the purple light
Illumes the dark Bolerium* seat of storms.
High are his granite rocks. His frowning brow
Hangs o'er the smiling ocean.

In his caves
The Atlantic breezes murmur.

In his caves Where sleep the haggard Spirits of the storm Wild dreary are the shistinet rocks around

* The Land's End in Cornwall.

+ The granite in Cornwall, is generally found incumbent on primitive shistus. This is the case in many of the cliffs at

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