Mercy stood near, and, with a smiling brow, Calm'd the loud thunder: "There's no need of you; "Grace shall descend, and the weak man subdue."

Grace leaves the skies, and he the stage forsakes, He bows his head down to the martyring axe, And as he bows, this gentle farewell speaks:

"So goes the comedy of life away;

"Vain earth, adieu; Heaven will applaud to-day; "Strike, courteous tyrant! and conclude the play."

A LATIN EPIGRAM.

When the Protestant church, at Montpelier, was demolished, by the French king's order, the Protestants laid the stones up in their burying place, wherein a Jesuit made a Latin Epigram.

ENGLISHED THUS :

A HUG'NOT church, once at Montpelier built, Stood and proclaim'd their madness and their guilt; Too long it stood beneath Heaven's angry frown, Worthy, when rising, to be thunder'd down. Lewis, at last, the avenger of the skies, Commands, and level with the ground it lies: The stones dispers'd, their wretched offspring come, Gather, and heap them on their fathers' tomb.

Thus the curs'd house falls on the builder's head; And tho' beneath the ground their bones are laid, Yet the just vengeance still pursues the guilty dead.

THE ANSWER,

BY A FRENCH PROTESTANT.

ENGLISHED THUS:

A CHRISTIAN church once at Montpelier stood,
And nobly spoke the builders' zeal for God,
It stood the envy of the fierce dragoon,
But not deserv'd to be destroy'd so soon;
Yet Lewis, the wild tyrant of the age,
Tears down the walls, a victim to his rage.
Young faithful hands pile up the sacred stones
(Dear monument !) o'er their dead fathers' bones;
The stones shall move when the dead fathers rise,
Start up before the pale destroyer's eyes,
And testify his madness to the avenging skies.

TWO HAPPY RIVALS.

DEVOTION AND THE MUSE.

WILD as the lightning, various as the moon,
Roves my Pindaric song:

Here she glows like burning noon

In fiercest flames, and here she plays Gentle as star-beams on the midnight seas: Now in a smiling angel's form,

Anon she rides upon the storm,

Loud as the noisy thunder, as a deluge strong.

Are my thoughts and wishes free,

And know no number nor degree? Such is the muse: Lo! she disdains

The links and chains,

Measures and rules of vulgar strains, And o'er the laws of harmony, a sovʼreign queen, she reigns.

If she roves

By streams or groves,

Tuning her pleasures or her pains,
My passion keeps her still in sight,
My passion holds an equal flight
Thro' love's or nature's wide campaigns.
If with bold attempt she sings
Of the biggest mortal things,
Tottering thrones and nations slain;
Or breaks the fleets of warring kings,

While thunders roar

From shore to shore,

My soul sits fast upon her wings,

And sweeps the crimson surge, or scours the purple

plain;

Still I attend her as she flies,

Round the broad globe, and all beneath the skies.

But when from the meridian star

Long streaks of glory shine,
And heaven invites her from afar,
She takes the hint, she knows the sign,

The music ascends her heavenly car,

[divine.

And climbs the steepy path, and means the throne
Then she leaves my fluttering mind

Clogg'd with clay, and unrefin'd,
Lengths of distance far behind!
Virtue lags, with heavy wheel;
Faith has wings, but cannot rise,
Cannot rise. . . . Swift and high
As the winged numbers fly,
And faint devotion panting lies
Half way the ethereal hill.

Oh! why is piety so weak,

And yet the muse so strong?
When shall these hateful fetters break,
That have confin'd me long?
Inward a glowing heat I feel,

A spark of heavenly day;
But earthly vapours damp my zeal,
And heavy flesh drags me the downward way.
Faint are the efforts of my will,

And mortal passion charms my soul astray,
Shine, thou sweet hour of dear release,
Shine from the sky,

And call me high

To mingle with the choirs of glory and of bliss.

Devotion there begins the flight,

Awakes the song, and guides the way; There love and zeal, divine and bright, Trace out new regions in the world of light, And scarce the boldest muse can follow or obey.

I'm in a dream, and fancy reigns,
She spreads her gay delusive scenes;
Or is the vision true?

Behold religion on her throne,

In awful state descending down,

And her dominions, vast and bright, within my spacious view.

She smiles, and with a courteous hand

She beckons me away;

I feel mine airy powers loose from the cumbrous clay,

And with a joyful haste obey

Religion's high command.

What lengths and heights and depths unknown!

Broad fields with blooming glory sown,

And seas, and skies, and stars her own,
In an unmeasur'd sphere!

What heavens of joy, and light serene,
Which nor the rolling sun has seen,
Where nor the roving muse has been,
That greater traveller!

A long farewell to all below,

Farewell to all that sense can show,