were swept away, there might still remain a more ample field over which the Divinity may expatiate', and which he may have peopled with innumerable worlds'.

If the whole visible creation were to disappear', it would leave a solitude behind it'; but to the infinite Mind', that can take in the whole system of nature', this solitude might be nothing—a small', unoccupied point in that immensity which surrounds it', and which he may have filled with the wonders of his omnipotence'. Though this earth were to be burnt up', though the trumpet of its dissolution were sounded', though yon sky were to pass away as a scroll', and every visible glory which the finger of the Divinity has inscribed upon it', were to be put out for ever'-an event so awful to us, and to every world in our vicinity', by which so many suns would be extinguished', and so many varied scenes of life and of population would rush into forgetfulness-what is it in the high scale of the Almighty's workmanship? a mere shred`, which', though scattered into nothing', would leave the universe of God one entire scene of greatness and of majesty'.

Though this earth and these heavens were to disappear', there are other worlds which roll afar'; the light of other suns', shines upon them'; and the sky which mantles them', is garnished with other stars'. Is it presumption to say', that the moral world extends to these distant and unknown regions'? that they are occupied with people'? that the charities of home and of neighbourhood flourish there'? that the praises of God are there lifted up', and his goodness rejoiced in'? that piety has its temples and its offerings? and that the richness of the divine attribute', is there felt and admired by intelligent worshippers'?

And what is this world in the immensity which teems with them? and what are they who occupy it? The universe at large', would suffer as little in its splendour and variety by the destruction of our planet', as the verdure and sublime magnitude of a forest', would suffer by the fall of a single leaf. The leaf'.. quivers on the branch which supports it. It lies at the mercy of the slightest accident'. A breath of wind'. . tears it from its stem', and it lights on the stream of water which passes underneath', In a moment of time', the life which we know by the microscope', it teems with', is extinguished'; and', an occurrence so insignificant in the eye of man and on the scale of his observation', carries in it', to the myriads which people this little leaf', an event as terrible and as decisive as the destruction of a world'.

Now, on the grand scale of the universe', we', the occupiers of this little ball', which performs its little round among the suns and the systems that astronomy has unfolded', we may feel the same littleness', and the same insecurity. We differ from the leaf', only in this circumstance, that it would require the operation of greater elements to destroy us. But these elements exist. The fire which rages within, may lift its devouring energy to the surface of our planet', and transform it into one wide and wasting volcano'. The sudden formation of elastick matter in the bowels of the earth'-and it lies within the agency of known substances to accomplish this'-may explode it into fragments. The exhalation of noxious air from below', may impart a virulence to the air that is around us'; it may affect the delicate proportion of its ingredients'; and the whole of animated nature may wither and die under the malignity of a tainted atmosphere'. A blazing comet may cross this fated planet in its orbit', and realize to it all the terrours which superstition has conceived of it.

These are changes which may happen in a single instant of time

and against which nothing known in the present system of things', provides us with any security. They might not annihilate the earth', but they would unpeople it'; and we', who tread its surface with such firm and assured footsteps', are at the mercy of devouring elements, which', if let loose upon us by the hand of the Almighty', would spread solitude', and silence', and death, over the dominions of the world'.

Now, it is this littleness', and this insecurity', which make the protection of the Almighty so dear to us, and which bring', with such emphasis', to every pious bosom', the holy lessons of humility and gratitude. The God who sitteth above', and who presides in high authority over all worlds', is mindful of man'; and', though at this moment his energy is felt in the remotest provinces of creation', we may feel the same security in his providence', as if we were the objects of his undivided care.

It is not for us to bring our minds up to this mysterious agency'. But', such is the incomprehensible fact, that the same Being', whose eye is abroad over the whole universe', gives vegetation to every blade of grass, and motion to every particle of blood which circulates through the veins of the minutest animal'; that', though his mind takes into its comprehensive grasp', immensity and all its wonders', I am as much known to him', as if I were the single object of his attention; that he marks all my thoughts; that he gives birth to every feeling and every movement within me`; and that', with an exercise of power which I can neither describe nor comprehend', the same God who sits in the highest heaven', and reigns over the glories of the firmament', is at my right hand,' to give every breath which I draw', and every comfort which I enjoy.

SECTION XI.

Pleasures of Hope.-CAMPBELL.

With thee', sweet Hope', resides the heavenly light'
That pours remotest rapture on the sight':
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way',
That calls each slumbering passion into play.
Waked by thy touch', I see the sister band',
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command',
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer',
To pleasure's path', or glōry's bright career',

Primeval Hope! the Aōnian muses say',

When man and nature mourned their first decay';
When every form of death`, and every wo',
Shot from malignant stars to earth below';
When murder bared her arm', and rampant wär
Yoked the red dragons of her iron car';

When peace and mercy', banished from the plain',
Sprung on the viewless winds to heaven again';
All', all forsook the friendless', guilty mind',
But hôpe', the charmer', lingered still behind'.
Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare
From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air',
The prophet's mantle', ere his flight began',
Dropped on the world' a sacred gift to man'.

Auspicious Hopè`! in thy sweet garden grōw'
Wreaths for each toil', a charm for every wō`:
Won by their swēēts', in nature's languid hōür'
The waywōrn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower`;
There', as the wild bee murmurs on the wing',
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring!
What viewless forms th' Eōlian organs play',
And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought away'.
Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore
Earth's loneliest bounds', and ocean's wildest shōre'.
Lo'! to the wintry winds the pilot yields

His bark carēĕring o'er unfathomed fields';
Now on Atlantick waves he rides afar',
Where Andes', giant of the western star',

With meteor-standard to the winds unfurled',

Looks', from his throne of clouds', o'er half the world'.

Now far he sweeps', where scarce a summer smiles' On Behring's rocks', or Greenland's nāked isles', Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow' From wastes that slumber in eternal snow': And waft', across the wave's tumultuous roar', The wolf's long howl from Onalaska's shōre`.

Pôôr child of danger', nursling of the storm',
Sad are the wões that wreck thy manly form!
Rocks, waves', and winds', the shattered bark delay';
Thy heart is sad', thy home is far away'.

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils kēēp',
And sing.. to charm the spirit of the deep'.
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pōle',
Her visions wärm the watchman's pensive soul.
His native hills', that rise in happier climes',
The grot', that heard his song of other times',
His cottage home', his bark of slender sail',
His glassy lake', and broomwood-blossomed vāle',
Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind',
Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind';
Mėēts at each step a friend's familiar face',
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace';
Wipes from her check the rapture-speaking tear,
And clasps', with many a sigh', his children dear:
While', long neglected', but at length caressed',
His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest',
Points to the master's eyes' (where'er they roam').
His wistful face', and whines a welcome hōme'.

Friend of the brave! in peril's darkest hour',
Intrepid virtue looks to thee for power';
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields',
On stormy floods and carnage-covered fields',

When front to front the bannered hosts combine',
Halt ere they close', and form the dreadful line',
When all is still on death's devoted soil',
The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil`:

As rings his glittering tube', he lifts on high'
The dauntless brow', and spirit-speaking eye';
Hâils in his heart the triumph yet to come
And hears thy stormy musick in the drum.

SECTION XII.

Address to Greece.-BYRON.

He'.. who hath bent him o'er the dead',
Ere the first day of death'.. is fled',
The first dark day of nothingness',
The last'.. of danger and distress',
(Before decay's effacing fingers'

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers',)
And marked the mild', angelick air,
The rapture of repose'.. that's there',
The fixed', yet tender', traits that streak'
The languor of the placid cheek',

And'-but for that sad', shrouded eye'

That fires not, wins not, wèēps not'.. now',
And but for that chill', changeless brow',

Where cold obstruction's apathy'

Appals the gazing mourner's heart',
As if to him'.. it could impart

The doom he dreads', yet dwells upon';-
Yes', but for these, and these alone',
Some moments, ay', one treacherous hôûr
He still might doubt the tyrant's power`;
So fair', so câlm', so softly sealed',
The first', last look by death revealed':
SUCH is the aspect of this shore';

'Tis GREECE', but living Grēēce'... nō mōre'!
So coldly sweet', so deadly fair',

We start,... for sôUL.. is wanting there'.
Hers'.. is the loveliness in death',

That parts not quite with parting breath';
But beauty.. with that fearful bloôm',
That hue.. which haunts it to the tômb`,
Expression's last receding ray`,

A gilded halo'.. hovering round decay`,

The farewell beam of feeling`.. past away!

Spark of that flame', perchance'.. of heavenly birth',

Which gleams', but warms no more its cherished earth' Clime of the unforgotten brāve'!

Whose land'.. from plain to mountain-cave",

Was freedom's home', or glory's grāve`— ·

Shrine of the mighty! can it be,

That this.. is all remains of thêê'?

Approach, thou craven', crouching SLAVE':

Sây, is not this Thermopyla'?

These waters blue'.. that round you lave'-
Oh'! servile offspring of the frēē'—
Pronounce what sea', what shōre.. is this':
The gulf', the rock of Salamis' !

These scenes' their story not unknown'Arise, and make again your own'; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires'; And he whō', in the strife expires', Will add to theirs a name of fear That tyranny shall quake to hear`, And leave his sons a hōpe', a fame They', too', will rather die'.. than shâme': For.. freedom's battle'.. once begun', Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son', Though baffled oft', is ever won`.

Bear witness', Greece', thy living page',
Attest it', many a deathless age':
While kings', in dusty darkness'.. hid',
Have left a nameless pyramid',

Thy heroes', though the general dōōm'
Hath swept the column from their tômb',
A mightier monument command',
The mountains'. . of their native land'.
There points thy muse to stranger's eye'
The graves of those that cannot die`.

'Twere long to tell', and sad to trace'
Each step from splendour to disgrace';
Enough- -no foreign fōe could quell'
Thy soul', till from itself'.. it fell':
Yes', self-abasement led the way'
To villain-bonds and despot-sway'.

SECTION XIII.

The Passions.-COLLINS.

When Musick', heavenly maid', was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung',
The Passions oft', to hear her shell',
Thronged around her magick cell'
Exulting, trembling, raging', fainting,
Possessed beyond the muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind'
Disturbed, delighted, raised', refined';
Till once', 'tis said', when all were fired',
Filled with fury', rapt`, inspired',
From the supporting myrtles round',
They snatched her instruments of sound';
And', as they oft had heard apart'

Sweet lessons of her forceful art',

Each' (for madness ruled the hour')

Would prove his own expressive power.

First', Fear', his hand', its skill to try',
Amid the chords bewildered laid',
And back recoiled', he knew not why',
E'en at the sound himself had made".