POE TRY. 66 On MATT. v. ver. 44-Love your enemies. O, Could I view them with thofe eyes, And on my heavenly Father call: Send forth the fpirit of thy Son, So, fhall I put his bowels on, Who hellish hate by love o'ercame; Who made his murderers his care, And fav'd them through his dying prayer. The WINTER'S NIGHT, an ELEGY. [By Robert Alves, M. A.] [Concluded from page 616.]. NEXT hift'ry fpreads her living fields anew: See the vaft fcenes unfold of ancient time! Through every downward age the worthies view, many an empire reared, and deed fublime. Of Full Full in mine eye the heroes flalk along, And many modern chiefs as fam'd as they. But far o'er all th' illuftrious Peter fhines, So form'd his active foul the rugged race. Lo thy bright annals, Albion, in their turn, For arts of peace renown'd, and bold in war. Edwards and Henrys fill th' important page, And foar to fame, where conqueft led the way. How pleasant thus rolls on the wintry night! (While winds blow keen, and howls the stormy blaft,) How fweet to walk, by truth's increasing light, Through time's fair fcenes, revolving ages paft! Next let me fearch the good fupreme, and man, Nor let me fcorn the learn'd of Albion's coaft, The Czar Peter I. Both Both fkill'd alike to draw the dread fublime, Cloud the dark heavens, or bid the thunder roll; But Shakespear's genius ampler powers expreft, In princely Hamlet all his ferious rage, And high-wrought Lear raves madder than the ftorms; But when the laughing hero treads the flage, What mirth ecflatic ev'ry breaft informs! Yet oft let Milton's ftrains my heart inspire; Still do I feem to haunt the favourite bower, Hail wedded love! Hail fource of true delight! Hail to the fimple days! The joys of yore! Ah! whither fled with Eden's long-loft grove! Ah! ill exchang'd for wealth, or pomp or power! But cease, my muse: restrain thy wandring fong; Or fing the rage of winter's angry power; Both of the focial and the ftudious hour. Then farewel, for a while, to Phoebus' aid: His brighter fmiles let fwarthy Indians boaft; May we thus still amufe the live long night And reap fuch joys from science' various light, HAIL On CONSCIENCE. AIL foft companion of each guiltless breast! The laft lines compofed by the Rev. CHARLES WESLEY, M. A. a little before he went hence, which he dictated to his Wife, but could fcarcely articulate. Original Sermons by the Rev. J. Welley Sermon LV. on 2 Cor. v. 7. The fame, concluded Sermon LVI. on Mark xii. 33. Sermon LVIII. on Jer. viii. 22 337 393 5 63 119 175 |