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had not even a vessel to offer him for his perilous voyage, and hear him reply, I have, then, no time to lose,'--I cannot, turning from this scene to that before me, bring myself to believe that gentlemen, who differ from the obvious majority of this house, need to rest three nights upon their pillow, before they can arrive at unanimity upon this bill. I cannot but believe, sir, that when we come to the vote, we shall do it with one heart, and that we are now as well prepared, as we shall be on Monday next. We have now met our opponents in the spirit of friendly explanation: we have complied with their wishes--stated-recapitulated; and I fervently trust they are ready to act with us for the honour of our common country.

AN ODE

TO THE CREATOR OF THE WORLD.--Hughes.

HEAR, O heaven, and earth, and seas profound!

Hear, ye fathomed deeps below,
And let your echoing vaults repeat the sound;

Let nature, trembling all around,

Attend her Master's awful name,
From whom heaven, earth, and seas, and all the wide

creation came.

He spoke the great command; and light,

Heaven's eldest born and fairest child,
Flashed in the lowering fall of ancient night,
And, pleased with his own, serenely smiled.

The sons of morning, on the wing,
Hovering in choirs, his praises sung,
When, from the unbounded vacuous space,

A beauteous rising world they saw;
When, nature showed her yet unfinished face,

And motion took the established law

To roll the various globes on high;
When time was taught his infant wings to try,
And from the barrier sprung to his appointed race.

Supreme, Almighty, still the same!
”T is He, the great inspiring Mind,
That animates and moves this universal frame,
Present at once to all, and by no place confined.
Not heaven itself can bound his sway:
Beyond the untravelled limits of the sky,
Invisible to mortal eye,
He dwells in uncreated day.

Without beginning, without end; 't is He,
That fills the unmeasured growing orb of vast immensity.

What power but his can rule the changeful main,
And wake the sleeping storm, or its loud rage restrain?

When winds their gathered forces try,
And the chafed ocean proudly swells in vain,
His voice reclaims the impetuous roar;
In murmuring tides the abated billows fly,
And the spent tempest dies upon the shore.
The meteor world is his, heaven's wintry store,
The moulded hail, the feathered snow;

The summer breeze, the soft refreshing shower,
The loose divided cloud, the many coloured bow;

The crooked lightning darts around,
His sovereign orders to fulfil;
The shooting flame obeys the eternal will,

Launched from his hand, instructed when to kill,
Or rive the mountain oak, or blast the unsheltered ground.

Yet pleased to bless, indulgent to supply,
He, with a father's tender care,
Supports the numerous family,

That peoples earth, and sea, and air,
From nature's giant race, the enormous elephant,

Down to the insect worm and creeping ant;
From the eagle, sovereign of the sky,
To each inferior feathered brood;
From crowns and purple majesty,
To humble shepherds on the plains,
His hand unseen divides to all their food,
And the whole world of life sustains

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.—Campbell.

Our bugles sang truce—for the night-cloud had lowered,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,

By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain; At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,

And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array,

Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track; 'T was autumn-and sunshine arose on the way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore

From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o’er,

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.

Stay, stay with us--rest, thou art weary and worn,

And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

ABSALOM. - Willis.

The waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.

The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves,
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,
Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water; like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,
And leaned, in graceful attitudes, to rest.
How strikingly the course of nature tells,
By its light heed of human suffering,
That it was fashioned for a happier world!

King David's limbs were weary. He had fled
From far Jerusalem; and now he stood,
With his faint people, for a little rest
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn
The mourner's covering, and he had not felt
That he could see his people until now.
They gathered round him on the fresh green bank,
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray.
Oh! when the heart is full-when bitter thoughts
Come crowding thickly up for utterance,
And the poor common words of courtesy
Are such a very mockery-how much
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those
Whose love had been his shield; and his deep tones
Grew tremulous. But, oh! for Absalom-
For his estranged, misguided Absalon-
The proud, bright being, who had burst away,
In all his princely beauty, to defy
The heart that cherished him—for him he poured,
In agony that would not be controlled,
Strong supplication, and forgave him there,
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.

The pall was settled. He who slept beneath
Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds
Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed
The matchless symmetry of Absalom.
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls
Were floating round the tassels as they swayed

To the admitted air, as glossy now
As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.
His helm was at his feet: his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him: and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David entered, and he gave command,
In a low tone, to his few followers,
And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died: then, throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of wo:-

* Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die!

Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! That death should settle in thy glorious eye,

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,

My proud boy, Absalom!

· Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee. How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet my father' from these dumb

And cold lips, Absalom!

· The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush

Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom!

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