Like Ossian's music, pleasant to the ear,
And mournful to the soul. It is the voice
Of days departed, and I seem to hear
Their chiding spirit borne upon the blast.
May I escape the pale and gliding ghosts
Of mispent hours; be shielded from their glance
Dark and terrific; rather may I hear
The plaintive murmurs of those hours of woe
Long past, but not forgotten. They are like
The troubled sighing of the eastern gale,
Passing o'er broken ruins. But a breath,
Sweet as the sigh of morn, mild as the breeze
That sweeps the harp of Eolus, meets my ear.
Days of my childhood, is not this thy voice
So changeful and so sweet? Ah! well I know
That doubtful melody: it sooths my soul.

I see the pictur'd hours, I see the shades
Of infancy and mental darkness pass,
As I have seen the night's dim shadows fleet.
Forth steps the morning on the misty hills,
Trembling and unconfirm'd; and the dim lamp
Of reason, scarcely lighted, aids her dawn.
While slowly on a dark mysterious world
Enters a stranger, but of little note
Save to the eye of fond parental love.

O Spirit, universal and unseen!
Prompting the heart of man to kindest deeds
Of care, forbearance, or anxiety,

Teaching the eye to flow, the heart to beat,
The knee that never bent to bend in prayer:
Kind nurse of life, how much we owe thy pow'r!
To thee we owe it, that our feeble race,

More helpless than the brutes, are not like them
Suffer'd to perish. "Tis thy secret hand
That lifts the young mind like some sickly plant
To see the light, to taste the dews of heaven,
To feel the sun-beams, shielding its soft leaves
From chill unkindness, that dire frost of life;
Propping its stalk, and cherishing its buds ;
Leading the fragrant waters to its root,

And taking thence the noxious weeds, that seek
To drink its moisture, withering every hope.

O pure affection! waken'd with the sigh
Of infancy still wheresoe'er I go
Cheer my lone spirit, and Oh, suffer not
My numerous errors to abate thy glow,

Warmer than friendship, and more fix'd than love.

THE CREATION.

BEING the first number selected as a specimen of a series of pieces on scripture subjects, intended for the use of young people.

WHEN night and Chaos reign'd with awful

sway,

And o'er the unform'd earth thick darkness lay, The Almighty voice awoke the kindling strife, And call'd the dormant elements to life.

"Let there be light;" a sudden ray there came, Like ether, pure, and piercing as the flame; "Let day arise;" a blush of purple flow'd; The young dawn trembled, and the morning glow'd ;

"Let night divide the empire of the day,"

And frowning darkness claim'd his ancient sway.

Then like an arch the azure skies were rear'd, The seas were gather'd, and the earth appear'd; Clad with fresh flowers, and plants of gentle root, Herb yielding seed, and tree presenting fruit.

Then, where the curving skies the Ocean prest, The Sun, all glowing, darted from his rest ;

Pale cast the moon her first, and timid glance, And the stars sparkled o'er the blue expanse.

Mild Ocean's waves with scaly silver glow'd, Birds soar'd in air, and hover'd o'er the flood; Above, around, the tones of rapture sigh'd, “Live, and rejoice," the forming God reply'd, "Sport on the cloud, and thro' the waters glide.”

Next, rising slow, a mix'd and varied birth, Unnumber'd beasts came roving o'er the earth, They crept, they sported wild, they stalk'd with pride,

Or cropt the grass, or drank the limpid tide; Some, with aw'd gaze, the wondrous scene survey'd,

And some slept fearless, in the cooling shade.

Serene, the great Creator clos❜d his plan,
And stamp❜d his image on the form of man;
Gave life and motion to a mass of clay,
Eye speaking thought, and brow denoting sway,
Reason to judge, and majesty to awe,

Sole monarch, holding sway o'er all he saw.

Last, came a female form, more soft and fair,
And Eden smil'd to see the stranger there.

Then tones of joy, from harps seraphic rung,
The stars of Morning in their courses sung;

Earth echo'd back the shout of grateful love, From hill and valley, cavern, stream and grove; Man fill'd with praise in silent rapture stood, God bow'd to view his work, and God pronounc'd it good.

TO A FRIEND.

SAY, hast thou seen a trembling plant,
Of feeble bloom, and lowly birth,
Which every passing blast might bend,
In sadness to its mother earth;

"Till some kind hand would pierce the shade,
That hid it from the cheering sky?

Thine is that gentle culturing hand:
The weak and trembling plant am I.

And while that plant of life shall taste,
And press this low and earthly spot,
The hand that rear'd it from the waste,
Shall never, never, be forgot!