430. 
Kind Nature mourns with sympathetic woe, 
‘The deepen’d shades a darker gloom bestow ; 
No more with cheerful notes the woods resound, 
But mournful turtles breathe their plaints around; 
Sad and forlorn, I listen to their moan, 
And count the griefs of others by my own; _ 
Condemn’d to prove a joyless, suffering state, 
From happier ays, the sad reverse of fate! 
But hark! from yonder dusky grove draws near 
A voice melodious, pleasing fo mi ears f 
Religion culls,—thrice welcome, heavenly maid,— 
In accents mild rejoicing to persuade. 
Cease, cease, mistaken mortal, to complain! 
The Sovereign Good inflicts no woe in vain; 
Ungrateful pay! repay’st his bounteous loye, 
Whom most he favours he delights to prove, 
And teaches by dispensing good and ill, 
A due swhoniission to His righteous will. 
Thro’ all His works the same wise counsel runs; 
Her fruits earth yields, not by unclonded suns, 
But the swift seasons’ ever-varviug race 
With flowers and fruit adorns fair Nature’s face; 
From hence instruction learn, each thought compose, 
And reap, resigu’d, the harvest of thy woes. 
« Ue 
—<z>—— 
VERSES 
FOUND INSCRIBED ON A SKULL IN A 
CHNURCH-YARD, 
By Dr. T, FORSTER. 
O empry vault of former glory! 
_ Whate’er thou wert in time of old, 
Thy surface tells thy living story, 
Tho’ now so holiow, dead, and cold; 
For in thy form is yet descried 
The traces left of young Desire, 
The Painter's art, the Statesman’s pride, 
The Muse’s song, the Poet’s fire; 
But these, forsooth, now seem to be 
Mere lumps on thy periphery. 
Dear Nature, constant in her laws, 
Hath mark’d each mental operation, 
She ev'ry fecling’s limit draws 
On all the heads throughout the nation, 
That there might no deception be ; 
_And he who kens her tokens well, 
Hears tongues which everywhere agree 
In language that no lies can tell— 
Yourage— Deceit— Destruction—Theft— 
Have traces on the skuleap left. 
But throngh all Nature’s constancy 
An awful change of form is seen, 
Two forms are not which quite agree, 
None is replaced that once hath been; 
Endless variety in all, 
From Fly to Man, Creation’s pride, 
Each shows his proper form—to fall 
Eftsoons in Time’s o'erwhelming tide, 
And mutability goes on 
With-ceaseless combination. 
‘ 
*Tis thine to teach, with magic power, 
Those who still bend lite’s fragile stem, 
To suck the sweets of ev’ry flower, 
Before the sun shall set to them ; 
Original Poetry. 
| 
[Dec. 1, 
Calm the contending passions dire,” 
Which on thy surface I descry, 
Like water struggling with the fire 
In combat, which of them shall die: 
Thus is the soul, in Fury’s car, 
A type of hell’s intestine war. 
Old wall of Man’s most noble part, 
While now I trace with trembling hand 
Thy sentiments, how oft I start, 
Dismay’d at such a jarring band!, 
Man, with discordant frenzy fraught, 
Seems either madman, fool, or knave ; 
To try to live is all he’s tanght— 
To’scape her foot who nought dothsave 
In life’s proud race; (anknown our goal) 
To strive against a kindred soul. 
These various organs show the place — 
Where Friendship lov'd, where Passion 
glow’d, 
Where Veneration grew in grace, 
Where Justice sway’d, where Man was 
proud ; 
Whence Wit its slippery sallies threw 
On Vanity, thereby defeated ; 
Where Hope’s imaginary view — 
Of things to come (fond fool) is seated ; 
Where Circumspection made us fear, 
Mid gleams of joy, some danger near, 
Here fair Benevolence doth grow 
In forehead high; here Imitation 
Adorns the stage, where on the Brow 
Are Sound, and Colour’s legislation. 
Here doth Appropriation try, 
By help of Secrecy, to gain 
A store of wealth against we die, 
For heirs to dissipate again, 
Cause and Comparison here show 
The use of every thing we know. 
But here that fiend of fiends doth dwell, 
Wild Ideality, unshaken é 
By facts or theory, whose spell 
Maddens the soul and fires our beacon, 
Whom Memory tortures, Love deludes, 
Whom Circumspection fills with dread, 
On every organ he obtrudes, _ 
Until Destruction o’er his head 
Impends; then, mad with luckless strife 
He volunteers the loss of life, : 
And canst theu teach to future Man 
The way his evils to repair,— 
Say, O memento,—of the span 
Of mortal life? For if the care 
Of Truth to Science be not given 
(From whom no treachery it can sever,} 
There’s no dependence under Heayen : 
That Error may not reign for ever. 
May future heads more learning cull 
From thee, when my own head’s a skull, 
Grinstead ; Oct. 1822. 
NOVELTIES 
