LAUNCHING INTO ETERNITY.

It was a brave attempt! adventurous he,
Who in the first ship broke the unknown sea:
And, leaving his dear native shores behind,
Trusted his life to the licentious wind.

I see the surging brine: the tempest raves:
He on a pine-plank rides across the waves,
Exulting on the edge of thousand gaping graves :
He steers the winged boat, and shifts the sails,
Conquers the flood, and manages the gales.

Such is the soul that leaves this mortal land,
Fearless, when the great Master gives command.
Death is the storm: she smiles to hear it roar,
And bids the tempest waft her from the shore:
Then with a skilful helm she sweeps the seas,
And manages the raging storm with ease;
(Her faith can govern death) she spreads her wings
Wide to the wind, and as she sails she sings,
And loses by degrees the sight of mortal things.
As the shores lessen, so her joys arise,
The waves roll gentler, and the tempest dies:
Now vast eternity fills all her sight,

She floats on the broad deep with infinite delight, The seas for ever calm, the skies for ever bright.

A PROSPECT OF THE RESURRECTION.

How long shall death, the tyrant, reign

And triumph o'er the just,

While the rich blood of martyrs slain
Lies mingled with the dust?

When shall the tedious night be gone?
When will our Lord appear?
Our fond desires would pray him down,
Our love embrace him here.

Let faith arise, and climb the hills,
And from afar descry

How distant are his chariot wheels,
And tell how fast they fly.

Lo, I behold the scattering shades,
The dawn of heaven appears,
The sweet immortal morning spreads
Its blushes round the spheres.

I see the Lord of glory come,
And flaming guards around;
The skies divide, to make him room,
The trumpet shakes the ground.

I hear the voice, "Ye dead, arise!"
And, lo, the graves obey,

And waking saints, with joyful eyes,
Salute the expected day.

They leave the dust, and on the wing,
Rise to the middle air,

In shining garments, meet their King,
And low adore him there.

O may my humble spirit stand
Amongst them, cloth'd in white!
The meanest place, at his right-hand,
Is infinite delight.

How will our joy and wonder rise,

When our returning King

Shall bear us homeward through the skies On love's triumphant wing!

BREATHING TOWARD THE HEAVENLY COUNTRY.

CASIMIRE, BOOK I. OD. 19, IMITATED.

"Urit me Patriæ Decor," &c.

THE beauty of my native land

Immortal love inspires;

I burn, I burn with strong desires,
And sigh, and wait the high command.
There glides the moon her shining way,
And shoots my heart thro' with a silver ray;
Upward my heart aspires:

A thousand lamps of golden light,

Hung high, in vaulted azure, charm my sight, And wink and beckon with their amorous fires. O ye fair glories of my heavenly home,

Bright sentinels, who guard my Father's court, Where all the happy minds resort,

When will my Father's chariot come? Must

ye for ever walk the ethereal round? For ever see the mourner lie

An exile to the sky,

A pris'ner of the ground?

Descend, some shining servants from on high,

Build me a hasty tomb;

A

grassy turf will raise my head;
The neighbouring lilies dress my bed,
And shed a cheap perfume.
Here I put off the chains of death,
My soul too long has worn:
Friends, I forbid one groaning breath,
Or tear to wet my urn;

Raphael, behold me, all undress'd,
Here gently lay this flesh to rest;

Then mount, and lead the path unknown,

Swift I pursue thee, flaming guide! on pinions of my own.

THE

HUNDRETH EPIGRAM OF CASIMIRE.

ON ST. ARDALIO,

Who, from a Stage-Player, became a Christian, and suffered Martyrdom.

ARDALIO jeers, and in his comic strains

The mysteries of our bleeding God profanes, While his loud laughter shakes the painted scenes.

Heaven heard, and straight around the smoking throne

The kindling lightning in thick flashes shone

And vengeful thunder murmur'd to be gone.