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He threw his blood stain'd sword in thunder down,
And with a withering look,

The war, denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo;

And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat;

And though, sometimes each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity at his side

Her soul subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild, nalter'd mein,

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While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd,

Sad proof of thy distressful state,

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd,
And now it courted love, now raving cail'd on hatër
With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd,

Pale Melancholy sat retired,

And from her wild, sequester'd seat,

In notes more distant made more sweet,

Pou'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul;

And dashing soft from rocks around.

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole.

Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,

Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs died away.

But O, how Iter'd was its sprightlier tone;

When cheerfulnes, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulders flung,

Her buskins gem'd with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung

The hunter's call to fawn and dryad known;

The oak-crown'd sisters and their chaste-ey'd queen,

Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,

Peeping forth from alleys green;
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

And sport leapt up, and seiz'd the beachen spear.
Last came, Joy's ecstatic trial,

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd,

But soon he saw the brisk awaking viol,

Whose sweet advancing voice he lov'd the best.

They would have who heard the strain

They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids.
Amid the festal sounding shades

To some unwearied minstrel dancing,
While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram❜d with mirth, a gay fantastic round,
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,
And he amid his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,

Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

On Cruelty to Animals.-a Tale.-BY COWPER.

Where England stretch'd towards the setting sun,
Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave,

Dwelt young Misagathus. A scorner he,
Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent,
Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce.
He journey'd, and his chance was, as he went,
To join a trav❜ller of far diff'rent note,
Evander, fam❜d for piety, for years
Deserving honour, but for wisdom more.
Fame had not left the venerable man,
A stranger to the manners of the youth,
Whose face too was familiar to his view.
Their way was on the margin of the land,

O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base
Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high.
The charity that warm'd his heart was mov'd

At sight of the man-monster.

With a smile,
Gentle, and affable, and full of grace,
As fearful of offending whom he wish'd
Much to persuade, he ply'd his ear with truths,
Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd,
But like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet.
And dost thou dream, the impenetrable man
Exclaim'd, that me, the lullabies of age,
And fantasies of dotards, such as thou,
Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me?
Mark now the proof I give thee that the brave
Need no such aids as superstition lends,

To steel their hearts against the dread of death.
He spoke, and to the precipice at hand,
Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks,
And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought
Of such a gulph, as he design'd his grave.
But though the felon on his back could dare
The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed
Declin'd the death, and wheeling swiftly round,

Or ere his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge,
Baffled his rider, sav'd against his will.
The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd,
By med cine well applied, but without grace,
The heart's insanity admits no cure.

Enrag'd the more, by what might have reform'd
His horrible intent; again, he sought
Destruction, with zeal to be destroy'd,
With sounding whip, and rowels dy'd in blood.
But still in vain. The providence that meant
A longer date to the far nobler beast,

Spar'd yet again th' ignobler for his sake.
And now, his prowess prov'd, and his sincere
Incurable obduracy evinc'd,

His rage grew cool; and pleas'd, perhaps, t' have earn'd

So cheaply, the renown of that attempt,

With looks, of some complacence, he resum'd
His road, deriding much the blank amaze
Of good Evander, still where he was left,
Fixt motionless, and petrified with dread.
So on they far'd; discourse on other themes
Ensuing, seem'd to obliterate the past,
And tamer far for so much fury shown,
(As is the course of rash and fiery men)
The rude companion smil'd, as if transform'd.
But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near,,

An unsuspected storm. His hour was come.
The impious challenger of pow'r divine

Was now to learn, that heaven, though slow to wrath,
Is never with impunity defy'd.

His horse, as he had caught his master's mood,
Snorting, and starting into sudden rage,
Unbidden, and not now to be control'd,
Rush'd to the cliff, and having reach'd it, stood.
At once the shock unseated him. He flew
Sheer o'er the craggy barrier, and immers'd
Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not,
The death he had deserv'd, and dy'd alone.
So God wrought double justice made the fool
The victim of his own tremendous choice,
And taught a brute the way to safe revenge.

Address to Messiah.BY COWPER.

Come then, and added to thy many crowns, Recieve yet one, the crown of all the earth.

Thou who alone art worthy! it was thine
By ancient cov'nant, ere nature's birth,
And thou hast made it thine by purchase since,
And overpaid its value with thy blood.

Thy saints proclaim thee King; and in their hearts,
Thy title is engraven with a pen

Dipt in the fountain of eternal love.

Thy saints proclaim thee King; and thy delay

Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see
The dawn of thy last advent long desir'd,
Would creep into the bowels of the hills,
And flee for safety to the falling rocks.
The very spirit of the world is tir'd

Of its own taunting question ask'd so long,
"Where is the promise of your Lord's approach?"
The infidel has shot his bolts away,

Till his exhausted quiver yielding none,

He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil'd,
And aims them at the shield of truth again.
The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands,
That hides divinity from mortal eyes,
And all the mysteries to faith proposed
Insulted and traduc'd, are cast aside
As useless, to the moles, and to the bats.

They now are deem'd the faithful, and are prais'd,
Who constant only in rejectng thee,

Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal,

And quit their office for their error's sake.

Blind, and in love with darkness! yet even these,
Worthy, compar'd with sycophants, who kneel,
Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man.
So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare,
The world takes little thought; who will may preach,
And what they will. All pastors are alike

To wand'ring sheep, resolv'd to follow none.
Two gods divide them all, Pleasure and Gain.
For these they live, they sacrifice to these,
And in their service wage perpetual war

With conscience, and with thee. Lust in their hearts,
And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth
Το

prey upon each other; stubborn, fierce,

High minded, foaming out their own disgrace.
Thy prophets speak of such; and noting down
The features of the last degenerate times,
Exhibit ev'ry lineament of these.

Come then, and added to thy many crowns,
Receive yet one, as radient as the rest,
Due to thy last, and most effectual work,
Thy word fulfill'd, the conquest of a world.

On the Power and Influence of an Individual.

BY PRESIDENT NOTT.

Thus the impulse given either to virtue or to vice, by a single individual, may be immeasurably extended, even to distant nations, and communicated through succeeding ages to the remotest generations.

Voltaire, Rosseau, and their infidel coadjutors, collected their materials and laid a train which produced that fatai explosion, which shook the civi, ` lized world to its centre. Governments were dismembered; monarchies were overthrown; institutions were swept away; society was flung into confusion; human life was endangered. Years have elapsed, the face of Europe is yet covered with wrecks and desolations! and how long before the world will recover from the disastrous shock their conspiracy occasioned, God only knows. And yet Voltaire, Rosseau and their infidel coadjutors were individuals.

Did not Cyrus sway the opinions, awe the fears, and direct the energies of the world at Babylon? Did not Cæsar do this at Rome, and Constantine at Byzantium? and yet Cyrus, Cæsar and Constantine, were individuals-But they were fortunate; they lived at critical conjunctures, and in fields of blood gathered immortally. And is it at critical conjunctures and in fields of blood only, that immortally can be gathered?

Where then is Howard, that saint of illustrious memory, who traversed his native country, exploring the jail and the prison-ship and taking the dimensions of that misery which these caverns of vice, of disease and of death had so long concealed-Whose heroic deeds of charity, the dungeons alike of Europe and of Asia witnessed, and whose bones now consecrate the confines of distant Tartary, where he fell a martyr to his zeal, when like an angel of peace, he was engaged in conveying through the cold, damp, pestilential cells of Russian Crimea, the lamp of hope and the cup of consolation to the incarcerated slave, who languished unknown, unpitied, and forgotten there.

Where is Grenville Sharp, the negro's advocate, whose disinterested efforts, whose seraphic eloquence, extorted from a court tinctured with the remains of feudal tyranny, that memorable decision of lord Mansfield, which placed an eternal shield between the oppressor, and the oppressed; which raised a legal barrier around the very person of the enslaved African, and rendered liberty thereafter, inseparable from the soil of the seagirt isles of Britain. It was this splendid triumph of reason over passion, of justice over prejudice, that called from the Irish orator, that burst of ingenuous feeling, at the trial of Rowan, when he said-" I speak in the spirit of the British law, which proclaims even to the stranger and the sojourner, the moment he sets his foot on British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy. No matter in what language, his doom may have been pronounced;-No matter what complexion incompatible with freedom; an Indian, or an African sun may have burnt upon him;-No matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been cloven down; -No matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery; the first moment he touches the sacred son of Britain, the altar, and the God sink together in the dust; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, emancipated, dis-enthralled, by irresistable genius of universal emancipation."

Where is Clarkson, who has been so triumphantly successful in wiping away the reproach of slavery from one quarter of the globe, and in restor

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