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Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing,
Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring!
How oft inscribed with friendship's votive rhyme
The bark, now silver'd by the touch of Time;
Soar'd in the swing, half pleased and half afraid,
Through sister elms that waved their summer shade ;
Or strew'd with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat,
To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat!

Childhood's loved group revisits every scene,-
The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green.
Indulgent MEMORY wakes, and, lo, they live,
Clothed with far softer hues than Light can give.
Thou first, best friend that Heaven assigns below
To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know ;
Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,
When nature fades, and life forgets to charm!
Thee would the Muse invoke! To thee belong
The sage's precept, and the poet's song.
What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals,
When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight steals!
As when in ocean sinks the orb of day,
Long on the wave reflected lustres play;
Thy temper'd beams of happiness resign'd
Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind.

The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses grey,
Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay.
Mute is the bell that rang at peep of dawn,
Quickening my truant feet across the lawn:
Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air,
When the slow dial gave a pause to care.
Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,
Some little friendship form'd and cherish'd here;
And not the lightest leaf but trembling teems
With golden visions and romantic dreams!

Ah, then, what honest triumph flush'd my breast!
This truth once known-" To bless is to be blest!"
We led the bending beggar on his way;
(Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-grey ;)
Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit felt,
And on his tale with mute attention dwelt.
As in his scrip we dropp'd our little store,
And wept to think that little was no more,
He breathed his prayer, "Long may such goodness live!"
"T was all he gave, 't was all he had to give.

Angels, when Mercy's mandate wing'd their flight,
Had stopp'd to dwell with pleasure on the sight.

But hark! through those old firs, with sullen swell,
The church-clock strikes! ye tender scenes, farewell!
It calls me hence, beneath their shade to trace
The few fond lines that Time may soon efface.

On yon grey stone that fronts the chancel-door, Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more, Each eve we shot the marble through the ring, When the heart danced, and life was in its spring; Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth,

That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth.

The glow-worm loves her emerald-light to shed
Where now the sexton rests his hoary head.
Oft, as he turn'd the greensward with his spade,
He lectured every youth that round him play'd;
And, calmly pointing where our fathers lay,
Roused us to rival each, the hero of his day.
Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone
I search the records of each mouldering stone.
Guides of my life, instructors of my youth,
Who first unveil'd the hallow'd form of Truth,
Whose every word enlighten'd and endear'd,
In age beloved, in poverty revered!
In Friendship's silent register ye live,
Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give.
Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore,
From reason's faintest ray to Newton soar:
What different spheres to human bliss assign'd!
What slow gradations in the scale of mind!
Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought;
O mark the sleepless energies of thought!

Undamp'd by time, the generous instinct glows
Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows;
Glows in the tiger's den, the serpent's nest,
every form of varied life imprest.

On

The social tribes its choicest influence hail;
And, when the drum beats briskly in the gale,
The war-worn courser charges at the sound,
And with young vigour wheels the pasture round.
Oft has the aged tenant of the vale

Lean'd on his staff to lengthen out the tale;
Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breathed,
From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath'd.

way;

When o'er the blasted heath the day declined,
And on the scathed oak warr'd the winter wind;
When not a distant taper's twinkling ray
Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his
When not a sheep-bell soothed his listening ear,
And the big rain-drops told the tempest near;
Then did his horse the homeward track descry,
The track that shunn'd his sad, inquiring eye;
And win each wavering purpose to relent,
With warmth so mild, so gently violent,
That his charm'd hand the careless rein resign'd,
And doubts and terrors vanish'd from his mind.
Recall the traveller, whose alter'd form
Has borne the buffet of the mountain-storm;
And who will first his fond impatience meet?
His faithful dog's already at his feet!
Yes, though the porter spurn him from the door,
Though all that knew him, know his face no more,
His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each,
With that mute eloquence which passes speech.
And see, the master but returns to die!
Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly?
The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth,
The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth;

These, when to guard Misfortune's sacred grave,
Will firm Fidelity exult to brave.

Led by what chart, transports the timid dove
The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love?

Say, through the clouds what compass points her flight?
Monarchs have gazed, and nations bless'd the sight.
Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise,
Eclipse her native shades, her native skies ;—
'Tis vain! through Ether's pathless wilds she goes,
And lights at last where all her cares repose.

Sweet bird! thy truth shall Harlem's walls attest,*
And unborn ages consecrate thy nest,
When with the silent energy of grief,

With looks that ask'd, yet dared not hope relief,

* During the siege of Harlem, when that city was reduced to the last extremity, and on the point of opening its gates to a base and barbarous enemy, a design was formed to relieve it; and the intelligence was conveyed to the citizens by a letter which was tied under the wing of a pigeon.

Want, with her babes, round generous Valour clung,
To wring the slow surrender from his tongue,

"T was thine to animate her closing eye;

Alas! 't was thine perchance the first to die,

Crush'd by her meagre hand, when welcomed from the sky.
Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow horn,
Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn.

O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course,
And many a stream allures her to its source.
'T is noon, 't is night!-That eye so finely wrought,
Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought,
Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind,—
Its orb so full, its vision so confined!

Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell?
Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell?
With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue
Of Summer-scents, that charm'd her as she flew ?
Hail, Memory, hail! thy universal reign
Guards the least link of Being's glorious chain.

VERSES ON A TEAR.

O THAT the chemist's magic art
Could crystalize this sacred treasure!
Long should it glitter near my heart,
A secret source of pensive pleasure.
The little brilliant, ere it fell,

Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye;
Then, trembling, left its coral cell-
The spring of sensibility!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light!
In thee the rays of Virtue shine :
More calmly clear, more mildly bright,
Than any gem that gilds the mine.

Benign restorer of the soul!

Who ever fliest to bring relief,
When first she feels the rude control
Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief.

The sage's and the poet's theme,
In every clime, in every age;
Thou charm'st in Fancy's idle dream,
In Reason's philosophic page.

That

* which moulds a tear,
law
very
And bids it trickle from its source,―
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.

SELECTIONS FROM SHERIDAN'S SPEECHES.

IMPEACHMENT OF WARREN HASTINGS.

MR. HASTINGS left Calcutta in 1781, and proceeded to Lucknow, as he said himself, with two great objects in his mind; namely, Benares and Oude. What was the nature of these boasted resources? That he should plunder one or both :-the equitable alternative of a highwayman, who, in going forth of an evening, hesitates which of his resources to prefer, Bagshot or Hounslow. In such a state of generous irresolution did Mr. Hastings proceed to Benares and Oude. At Benares he failed in his pecuniary object. Then, and not till then,-not on account of any ancient enmities shown by the Begums; not in resentment of any old disturbances, but because he had failed in one place, and had but two in his prospect,-did he conceive the base expedient of plundering these aged women. He had no pretence, he had no excuse, he had nothing but the arrogant and obstinate determination to govern India by his own corrupt will, to plead for his conduct. Inflamed by disappointment in his first project, he hastened to the fortress of Chunar, to meditate the more atrocious design of instigating a son against his mother, of sacrificing female dignity and distress to parricide and plunder. At Chunar was that infamous treaty concerted with the nabob vizier, to despoil the princesses of Oude of their hereditary possessions.

No sooner was this foundation of iniquity thus instantly established, in violation of the pledged faith and solemn guarantee of the British government; no sooner had Mr. Hastings determined to invade the substance of justice, than he resolved to avail himself of her judicial forms; and accordingly despatched a messenger for the chief justice of India, to assist him in perpetrating the violations he had projected. Sir Elijah Impey having arrived, Mr.

* The law of gravitation.

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