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fle sees the mighty ghosts of heroes stalk 
n melancholy majesty along, 
Or pensive hover o'er the ruins round, 
‘Their pallid brows with faded laurels bound ; 
While Cato’s shade seems scornful to survey 
A race of slaves, and sternly strides away. 
«* Where old Euphrates winds his storied 
flood, 
The curious traveller explores in vain 
‘The barren shores, and solitary plain, 
Where erst majestic Babel’s turrets stood ; 
All vanish’d from the view her proud abodes, 
Her walls, and biazen gates, and palaces of 
zods | 
A eRe 1: heap o’erspreads the dreary space, 
Of mingled piles an undistinguish’d mass ; 
"There the wild tenants of the desart dwell ; 
‘The serpent’s hiss is heard, the dtagon’s yell 5 
And doleful howlings o’er the waste affright, 
And drive afar the wand’rets of the night. 
*« Yet ’tis divinity’s implanted fire, 
Which bids the soul to glorious heights aspire ; 
Enlarge her wishes, and extend her sight 
Beyond this little life’s contracted round, 
And wing her eagle flight 
To grandeur, fame, and bliss without a bound. 
Ambition’s ardent hopes, and golden dreams, 
Her tow’ring madness, and ber wild extremes, 
Unfold this sacred truth to reason’s eye, 
That * man was made for immoriality.’ 
«< Yes, friend ! let noble deeds, and noble aims 
To distant ages consecrate our names, 
That when these tenements of crumbling clay 
Are dropt to dust away, 
Some worthy monument may still declare 
To future times * we were!’ 
Not such as mad armaition’s vot'ries raise 
Upon the driving sand of vulgar praise ; 
But with its firm foundation laid 
On virtue’s adamantine rock, 
That to the skies shall lift its tow’ring head 
Superior to the surge’s shock. 
Plann’d like a Memphian pyramid sublime, 
Rising majestic on its ample base, 
By just degrees, and with a daring grace, 
Erect, unmov’d amid the storms of time! 
«< Of time! no, that’s a period too confin’d 
To fill th’ unbounded mind, 
Which o’er the barrier leaps of added years, 
Of ages, zras, and revolving spheres, 
And leaves the flight of numbers still behind. 
When the loud clarion’s dreadful roll 
Shall rend the globe from pole to pole ; 
When worlds and systems sink in fire, 
And nature, time, and death expire; 
Tn the bright records of the sky 
Shall virtue see her honours shine ; 
Shall see them blazing round the sacred shrine 
Of blest eternity.” 
“« The fall of Zion’’ is one of the sub- 
limest prophetic denunciations we have 
met with; never surely was a picture of 
consummate horror so strongly drawn, 
and so artfully shaded, as the follow- 
ing: 
"7 
"Tis come-the mighty day! how awful 
low’'rs 
Its murky morn! the works of death begin! 
Without, the flame—without, the sword de- 
yours, 
And famine wastes within. 
Ah! what a ercan was there, 
As bursting from the bosom of despair ! 
See o’er her famish'd babe the ance hang ! 
Maternal fondness adding edge to woe, 
Keen as her childbed’s agonizing throe. 
But, oh! my chill'd blood shudders at the 
sighi— 
Resistless hunger gives a fiercer pang. 
ean Ahr! sun, hide thy trembling 
ight! , 
Blot out the deed accurst, eternal night!” 
The veil is indeed cast by the hand of 
a master! There is a happy boldness in 
the following metaphor of the “* Ode oa 
Divine Love;”’ 
POETRY. 
«* What tho'to Heaven's empyrial vault aspire 
Your gilded domes, with rival splendors 
crown'd! 
Soon, soon destruction, with her tongue of fire, 
Shall lick them from the ground.” 
The much lamented loss of a young 
lady, to whom he was fondly attached, 
and soon after of a bosom friend, awoke 
the lyre of our poet to strains of the deep- 
est pathos. His “ Invocation to Melan- 
choly”? must touch a responsive chord 
in every human breast, which has once 
vibrated to the stroke of tender grief, 
The first verse contains a very judicious 
deviation from ,the rules of prosody, 
which this writer never lightly violates: 
<« Dost thou thro’ the glimmering glade, 
Beneath the moon's pale ray, 
With many a slow step stray?” 
An exquisite imitation of a celebrated 
passage of Virgil, occurs in this stanza : 
«All the long night he tells his plaintive tale 
Along the list'ning vale, 
‘To ev'ry vagrant rill, 
To ev'ry bending hill, 
And bids the hollow gales.in pity bear 
His swelling sighs to her. 
Thee beautiful, thee cold, thee scornful maid! 
Thee mourns his musical, his melting lay, 
Thee at the closing shade, 
And thee at dawning day.” 
*¢ Te dulcis conjux, te solo in litore secum, 
Te veniente die, te decedente canebat.” 
Gladly, would we indulge ourselves in 
still more ‘copious extracts from so rich 
a store. But we have done enough ; the 
lovers of genuine poetry, and pure ele- 
vated virtue, will eagerly welcome this 
-production,-as offering in its moral odes 
