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2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle* wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
3. Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow, twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
No children run to lisp their sire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield!

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

8. Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await, alike, the inevitable hour;—

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,

If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise

11. Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?

* Beetle, an insect.

Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?
12. Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid

Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:

13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
14. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

15. Some village Hampden,* that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood;

Some mute, inglorious Milton† here may rest;
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

16. The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes;

17. Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;-
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ;

18. The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame;
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride

With incense kindled at the muse's flame.

* John Hampden, an illustrious patriot and political writer in the reign of Charles I. He was a man of undaunted courage ;-and in 1636, he had the boldness, alone, and unsupported, to resist the royal authority in levying ship-money, and although he lost his cause, he was highly applauded by all for his firmness. He died 1643.

† John Milton, an English poet, born 1608. The most celebrated work which he wrote, is "PARADISE LOST."

Oliver Cromwell, a distinguished English General, was born 1599.After the death of Charles I., he assumed the title of "Protector of the Commonwealth of England," 1653. He administered the affairs of the kingdom for five years, with great vigor and ability. He died in 1658.

19 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray: Along the cool, sequestered vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

20. Yet even these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial, still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

21. Their name, their years, spelled by the unlettered muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply;
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned,-
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,--
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?
23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies :
Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.

24. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate,
If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate.
25. Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say,


Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn,
Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away,

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
26. "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

27 "Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 28. "One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he:

29. "The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."


30. HERE rests his head, upon the lap of earth,
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown:
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.
31. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere:
Heaven did a recompense as largely send :-
He gave to misery all he had-a tear;

He gained from heaven-'twas all he wished-a friend.

32. No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode(There they, alike, in trembling hope, repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.


Ossian's* Address to the Sun.

1. O THOU that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth, in thy awful beauty, and the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone: who can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again; the moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.

2. When the world is dark with tempests; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies; thou lookest in thy beauty, from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian, thou lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a season, and thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning.

*Ossian, an ancient Scotch, or Gælic poet, supposed to have flourished in the second century, and to have been the son of Fingal. His poems were translated by Mr. M'Pherson, in 1762.

3. Exult then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken clouds, and the mist is on the hills; the blast of the north is on the plain, the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.


The African Chief.-U. S. LITERARY GAZETTE.

1. CHAIN'D in the market-place he stood,

A man of giant frame,

Amid the gathering multitude

That shrunk to hear his name,—
All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground;
And silently they gaz'd on him,
As on a lion bound.

2. Vainly, but well, that chief had fought-
He was a captive now;

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow:

The scars his dark broad bosom wore
Showed warrior true and brave:
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.

3. Then to his conqueror he spake,
"My brother is a king:

Undo this necklace from my neck,
And take this bracelet ring,

And send me where my brother reigns,

And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold dust from the sands."

4." Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;
That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle-spear again.

A price thy nation never gave

Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,
In land beyond the sea."

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