That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,

So let us welcome peaceful evening in. Not such his evening, who with shining face

Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed

And bored with elbow-points through both his sides,

Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage:

Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,

And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath

Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles.

This folio of four pages, happy work! Which not even critics criticize; that holds

Inquisitive attention, while I read, Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair,

Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break;

What is it but a map of busy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?

'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat,

To peep at such a world; to see the stir

Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;

To hear the roar she sends through

all her gates

At a safe distance, where the dying sound

Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured

ear.

Thus sitting, and surveying thus at

ease

The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced

To some secure and more than mortal height,

That liberates and exempts me from

them all.

It turns submitted to my view, turns round

With all its generations; I behold

Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me; Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride

And avarice, that make man a wolf to man;

Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats,

By which he speaks the language of his heart,

And sigh, but never tremble at the sound.

He travels and expatiates, as the bee From flower to flower, so he from land to land;

The manners, customs, policy, of all Pay contribution to the store he gleans;

He sucks intelligence in every clime, And spreads the honey of his deep research

At his return,- —a rich repast for me. He travels, and I too. I tread his deck,

Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes

Discover countries, with a kindred

And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun

of war

east,

Sacred to neatness and repose, the

alcove,

The chamber, or refectory, may die:
A necessary act incurs no blame.
Not so when, held within their proper

bounds,

And guiltless of offence, they range the air

Or take their pastime in the spacious field.

There they are privileged; and he that hunts

[From Retirement.]

THE SOUL'S PROGRESS CHECKED BY TOO ABSORBING LOVE.

As woodbine weds the plant within her reach,

Rough elm, or smooth-grained ash, or glossy beech,

In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays

Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays,

But does a mischief while she lends a grace,

Straitening its growth by such a strict embrace,

So love that clings around the noblest minds, Forbids the advancement of the soul

he binds.

ALEXANDER SELKIRK.

I AM monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute,
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech; I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain, My form with indifference see, They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man. Oh, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth. Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word!