CATO'S SOLILOQUY.

It must be so- Plato, thou reason'st well

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,

This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the Soul

Back on herself, and startles at destruction?

'Tis the Divinity, that stirs within us; Tis Heav'n itself, that points out a hereafter,

And intimates eternity to man. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!

Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!

The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me;

But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.

Here will I hold. If there's a power above us,

(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue;

And that which he delights in must be happy.

But when or where?

made for Cæsar.

This world was

Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.

ROSAMOND'S SONG.

FROM walk to walk, from shade to shade,

From stream to purling stream convey'd, Through all the mazes of the grove, Through all the mingling tracts I rove, Turning,

Burning, Changing,

Ranging,

Full of grief and full of love,
Impatient for my Lord's return
I sigh, I pine, I rave, I mourn,
Was ever passion cross'd like mine?
To rend my breast,
And break my rest,

A thousand thousand ills combine.
Absence wounds me,
Fear surrounds me,

Guilt confounds me,

Was ever passion cross'd like mine?

How does my constant grief deface
The pleasures of this happy place!
In vain the spring my senses greets,
In all her colors, all her sweets;
To me the rose
No longer glows,
Every plant

Has lost his scent;

The vernal blooms of various hue,
The blossoms fresh with morning dew,
The breeze that sweeps these fragrant
bowers,

Fill'd with the breath of op'ning flow'rs,
Purple scenes,
Winding greens,
Glooms inviting,
Birds delighting,

(Nature's softest, sweetest store)
Charm my tortur'd soul no more.
Ye powers, I rave, I faint, I die:
Why so slow! great Henry, why?
From death and alarms
Fly, fly to my arms,
Fly to my arms, my monarch, fly.

FROM "A HYMN TO CONTENT

MENT."

THE silent heart, which grief assails,
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daisies open, rivers run,
And seeks, as I have vainly done,
Amusing thought; but learns to know
That solitude's the nurse of woe.
No real happiness is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground;
Or in a soul exalted high,
To range the circuit of the sky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below;
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies,
And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise.

Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone:
Then while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colors of delight;
While silver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my song;
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And thee, great source of nature, sing.

The sun that walks his airy way,

To light the world, and give the day; The moon that shines with borrow'd light;

The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The seas that roll unnumber'd waves;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain;
All of these, and all I see,

Should be sung, and sung by me:
They speak their maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.

Go search among your idle dreams,
Your busy or your vain extremes;
And find a life of equal bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.

THE HERMIT.

FAR in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,

His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:

Remote from man, with God he pass'd

the days,

Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serene repose, Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion

rose:

Which the kind master forced the guests

to taste.

Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch they go,

And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe;

His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise

The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize.

As one who spies a serpent in his way, Glistening and basking in the summer ray,

Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear:

So seem'd the sire; when far upon the road,

The shining spoil, his wily partner show'd.

He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart,

And much he wish'd, but durst not ask