of wicked men, who are unceasingly subject to the pain and perturbation of a troubled spirit; and above all, the ardent supplication for the Divine assistance, in order to enable him to celebrate the praises of the omnipotent Deity in a suitable manner, and in a perpetual strain of praise and adoration; all of these breathe so true and unaffected a spirit of piety, that they seem in some measure to approach the excellence of the sacred poetry. The hymn of David, which I have just mentioned, deservedly occupies the first place in this class of poems; that which comes nearest to it, as well in the conduct of the poem as in the beauty of the style, is another of the same author. See Psalm 139. LOWTH, Lect. 29. PSALM CIV.* My soul, exalt the Lord with hymns of praise, *The few poems this elegant scholar has left behind him, are distinguished by a very interesting simplicity, worthy of his pure classic taste. His Who like a curtain hast the heav'ns display'd, Whose chariots are the thickned clouds above, beautiful stanzas 66 on his mistress, the Queen of Bohemia," have always been greatly admired; the 104th psalm, which I here give, is much less known, but will, I think, be allowed to reflect great credit on him. It is the finest specimen I have met with of sacred poetry among our earlier authors, and will be highly acceptable, I doubt not, to every reader of taste. His treatise on Architecture deserves to be better known. Sir Henry Wotton was born in 1568, entered into holy orders late in life, and died provost of Eton in 1639. His life has been written by that excellent biographer Isaac Walton. He was a great traveller, and was ambassador at several courts; Cowley says of him In whatsoever land he chanc'd to come, He read the men and manners, bringing home. On the Death of Sir Henry Wotton. Who on his base the earth didst firmly found, The waves that rise, would drown the highest hill, Who hath dispos'd, but thou, the winding way Where springs down from the steepy crags do beat, At which, both foster'd beasts their thirsts allay, And the wild asses come to quench their heat; Where birds resort, and in their kind, thy praise Among the branches chant in warbling lays. The mounts are water'd from thy dwelling place, So have the fowls their sundry seats to breed, The mining conies shroud in rocky cells: Nor can the heavenly lights their course forget, Thou mak'st the night to over-vail the day, O Lord, when on thy various works we look, How richly furnish'd is the earth we tread! Where in the fair contents of nature's book We may the wonders of thy wisdom read; Nor earth alone, but lo! the sea so wide, Where great and small, a world of creatures glide. There Who hast assign'd each thing his proper food, They gather when thy gifts thou dost divide, In dust resolv'd, if thou their breath discharge: Again, when thou of life renew'st the seeds, Be ever glory'd here thy sovereign name, That thou may'st smile on all which thou hast made, Whose frown alone can shake this earthly frame, And at whose touch the hills in smoke shall vade. For me, may, while I breathe, both harp and voice In sweet inditement of thy hymns rejoice: Let sinners fail, let all profaneness cease, His praise, my soul, his praise shall be thy peace, SIR HENRY WOTTON. PSALM CIV.* Bless God, O my soul, Rejoice in his name, Thy greatness proclaim;.. * The production of a very eminent scholar, who published it some years ago, without his name, and enjoined me to follow his example. It is a name |