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attain to some degree of negative goodness. Arrived at the state of humanity, Man becomes accountable for his actions. Attaching bimself to evil, he falls, in death, into such an animal state of existence as corresponds with the turpitude of his soul, which may be so great as to cast him down into the lowest point of existence, whence he shall again return through such a succession of animal existences as are most proper to divest him of his evil propensities. After traversing such a course, he will again rise to the state of humanity; whence, according to contingencies, he may rise fall. Yet, should he fall, he shall again rise ; and should this happen for millions of ages, the path to happiness is still open to him, and will 80 remain to all eternity; for, sooner or later, he will infallibly arrive at his destined station of happiness, from which, when attained, he will never fall. The ultimate states of happiness are eternally undergoing the most delightful renovations, in endless succession. These renovations will not, like the deaths of the lower states of existence, occasion a suspension of memory, and conscious. ness of self identity.”

I saw yon orb, yon source of light,

Give to this world its newborn ray,
When first arose, in fulgence bright,

The glories of prime val day;
The Muse then own'd me with a smile,
Proclaim'd me Bard of Britain's isle ;
I join'd her chorus, that around
Bade Heaven's eternal dome resound:
Warm through my soul her thrilling transport rao,

From Fate releas’d, no more to creep
A grov’ling worm, or, in the deep,

To dread the billows' angry swell,
Or wing the skies, or through the desert yell;
Of LIBERTY possess'd, I felt myself a Man.

How fair was Nature's early morn!

How sweetly blooin'd her vernal day!
I then, on Fancy's pinion borne,

Traced laughing Pleasure's devious way:

Lured by thy glare, insidious Pride,
From Reason's paths I wander'd wide ;
Truth, from supernal realms above,

Call’d, unobey’d, in lays of love;
Power's hell-born wish had now my soul possess'd :

Whilst fearless of an anger'd God,
I brandish'd high the tyrant's rod,
Gave War's fierce hand my whetted steel,
What millions bled beneath my trampling heel !
Drench’d was each thought in hell, that fill’d my venom'd



How felt this world my slaughtering hand !

How stream'd the blood from pole to pole!
It call'd on heaven! whose high command

Spurn’d from its light my reptile soul,
To crawl a Serpent, and to roar
A Tiger on the Libyan shore !
I felt the scourge of wrath profound,

When raving in the madden'd Hound,
For painful memory was living still;

Oh racking conscience! 'twas thy sting ! 'Twas known to thee, when erst a king,

How far beyond what tongue can tell, I fuelI'd high the flames of hell; And, on a Rebel's throne, scoff?d at the Almighty's will.

Yet, pitied still by Love Divine,

Thro’ slow gradations up I came,
Endued with passions more benign,

I cropp'd the meads a Lambkin tame;
Then penitent, in yonder vale,
I mourn'd a timid Nightingale ;
The talon'd Hawk assail'd my bower,
He now possess’d my regal power ;

Who can thy depth, Eternal Mercy! scan?

From death on wings of rapture borne,
I soar'd a Lark, and hymn'd the morn;

The sportsman heard my joyful sound;
His brutal shaft soon brought me to the ground;
To nobler life restored, 1 breathed once more a Man.


Where still the bardic song remains,

I strove to combat baneful strife
A Druid, on Silurian plains,

I walk'd the thorny roads of life;
How often there had Envy's dart
Pierced, sorely pierced, my slander'd heart!
And wanton Cruelty was there,

She struck me with her poison'd spear;
Snarl’d fierce her dogs at Spite's infernal door:

Yet, arm’d with suff'ring fortitude,
I dauntless bore their onset rude,

And, penitent, for ancient pride,
I life resign’d, a willing victim died;
Eternal Justice claim'd, and I could give no more.


Revived in yon supernal clime,

The joys of triumph tuned my song;
And Britain's Bard, with ode sublime,

I join'd the bright angelic throng;
Loved Britain, then thy Bardic laws
We framed, whilst Heaven with loud applause
Approved the code, confirm'd for thee,

What breathed the soul of Liberty,
Warm virtue's ardors and seraphic peace,
Songs of celestial realms ! their glories never cease.


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From Lucan's Pharsalia, translated by Rowe.

Not far away, for ages past had stood An old un violated sacred wood, Whose gloomy boughs, thick interwoven, made A chilly, cheerless, everlasting shade; There, nor the rustic gods, nor satyrs sport, Nor fawns and sylvans with the nymphs resort, But barb’rous priests some dreadful Pow'r adore, And lustrate ev'ry tree with human gore. If mysteries in times of old received, And pious ancientry be yet believed, There, nor the feather'd songster builds his nest, Nor lonely dens conceal the savage beast; There no tempestuous winds presume to fly, E’en lightnings glance aloof, and shoot obliquely by.

No wanton breezes toss the dancing leaves,
But shiv’ring horror in the branches heaves,
Black springs, with pitchy streams, divide the ground,
And bubbling, tumble with a sullen sound.
Old images, of forms mis-shapen, stand
Rude and unknowing of the artist's hand,
With hoary filth begrimed, each ghastly head
Strikes the astonish'd gazer's soul with dread.
No gods, who long in common shapes appear’d,
Were e'er with such religious awe rever'd:
But zealous crowds in ignorance adore,
And still the less they know, they fear the more.

Oft, as fame tells, the earth in sounds of woe
Is heard to groan from hollow depths below,
The baleful yew, though dead, has oft been seen
To rise from earth, and spring with dusky green;

With sparkling fames the trees unburning shine,
And round their boles prodigious serpents twine.

The pious worshippers approach not near,
But shun their gods, and kneel with distant fear:
The priest himself, when or the day or night
Rolling, have reach'd their full meridian height,
Refrains the gloomy paths, with weary feet,
Dreading the demon of the grove to meet,
Who, terrible to sight, at that fix'd hour,
Still treads the round about his dreary bower.


From Mason's Caractacus.

Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of wonder Gaze on the solemn scene; behold yon oak, How stern he frowns, and with his broad brown arms Chills the pale plain beneath him: mark yon altar, The dark stream brawling round its rugged base ;-These cliffs—these yawning caverns.- this wide circus, Skirted with unhewn stone. They awe my soul, As if the very genius of the place Himself appear'd, and with terrific tread Stalk'd thro' his drear domain. Surely there is a hidden power, that reigns 'Mid the lone majesty of untamed nature, Controuling sober reason; tell me else, Why do these haunts of barb'rous superstition O'ercome me thus ? I scorn them, yet they awe me: Explain this scene of horror.


Daring Roman, Know that thou stand'st on consecrated ground:

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