Imatges de pàgina
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They see not what the wise might see,
(Lost wanderers in the storm 1)
How far above mortality,
As man above the worm,
Is He whose awful glory seems
Impalpable to earthly dreams.

Yet man to mournful blindness given
Would pierce the mystic veil of heaven,
And with delirious boldness scan
His unseen Maker's secret plan;
Forgetful that he could not part
The curtain of his own proud heart |



THE moon was shrouded; cold, continuous rain
Fell on the grove with melancholy sound;
The jackal's distant cry, the voice profound
Of Gunga's rolling wave, like moans of pain,
Came on the midnight blast! Hill, vale, and plain
Lay in impenetrable gloom o'ercast,
Save when the fitful meteor glimmered past,
Or the blue lightning lit the drear domain l—
Lo what a glorious change | The rising sun
Spreads wide his living light ! The fragrant bower
Ringing with morning hymns—the stately tower—
The shepherd's simple home, alike have won
The cheerful smile of heaven. Fair Nature’s dower

Of beauty is restored, and Care's brief reign is done !

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- I.
THE fair smile of morning,
The glory of noon,
The bright stars adorning
The path of the moon;
The sky-mingled mountain,
The valley and plain,
The lake and the fountain,
The river and main ;
Their magic refining,
And raising the soul,
Its care and repining,
Illume and controul.


The timid Spring stealing

Through light and perfume,
The Summer revealing

His beauty and bloom;
The rich Autumn glowing

With fruit-treasures crowned,
The pale Winter throwing

His snow-wreaths around;
All widely diffusing

A charm on the earth,
Wake loftiest musing,

And holiest mirth.

2 E

There is not a sorrow
That hath not a balm,
From Nature to borrow,
In tempest or calm ;
There is not a season,
There is not a scene,
But Fancy and Reason
May hail it serene,
And own its possessing
A zest for the glad,
A beauty or blessing
To solace the sad

SONG. A GLoRIOUs fate is thine, fair Maid 1 The green earth and the sky Nor bear an ill, nor cast a shade

To dim thine azure eye.

Thy soul is flashing o'er thy face,
Where bright emotions play,
As waves o'er breezy rivers race

Beneath the morning ray.

My path was lone, and all around
The ruthless storm had been,

And life had not a sight or sound
To cheer the clouded scene.

But now my darker dreams depart,
Thy form and voice are near,

A light is on my raptured heart,
And music in my ear !




The finest comic characters that human genius has yet fami

liarized to the imagination of mankind, are Sir John Falstaff,

Don Quixote, Sir Roger de Coverley, and My Uncle Toby. He

who has once become acquainted with these unrivalled intellectual creations, (as substantial as flesh and blood,) has increased the number of his associates with four delightful beings, who will never leave him while he breathes the breath of life. These comic personages are not like the slight and vulgar sketches of ordinary nature or of mere manners, that we generally meet with in the page of fiction, and which

“Come like shadows, so depart.”

The majority of modern novelists perplex us with shadowy

shapes that leave no trace behind them, but these four characters

are as distinct to our apprehension as living creatures, and have an individuality founded upon general nature that renders them equally intelligible and pleasing to all times and nations. It is strange that no critic has yet thought of bringing into

contact and comparison these masterpieces of comic genius. In

the hope that some writer who has more ability for the task,

may be induced to pursue the subject further, we venture to offer the following very imperfect remarks and illustrations. It is interesting to remember, that Shakespeare and Cervantes

were contemporaries, and that they finished their mortal career

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