n
enjoyed to excess, will cloy the fancy, but not so as entirely to
unfit the mind for a higher species of intellectual enjoyment. We
would have _old and new alternate_ in the literary wreath, lest, by
losing the comparison, the "bright lights" of other times should be
treated with irreverence and neglect.]

FROM THE "HYMN ON THE FAIREST FAIR."

I feel my bosom glow with wonted fires:
Raised from the vulgar press, my mind aspires,
_Wing'd with high thoughts_, unto His praise to climb
From deep Eternity who call'd forth time:--
That ESSENCE, which, not mov'd, makes each thing move,--
Uncreate beauty--all-creating love...
Ineffable, all-powerful GOD, all free,--
Thou only liv'st, and all things live by thee...
Perfection's sum--prime cause of every cause,
Midst and beginning, where all good doth pause...
Incomprehensible, by reachless height;
And unperceived, by _excessive light_.
O King! whose greatness none can comprehend,
Whose boundless goodness does to all extend,--
Light of all beauty, ocean without ground,
_That standing, flowest--giving, dost abound_...
Great Architect--Lord of this universe,--
That sight is blinded would thy greatness pierce.

Then follows this noble simile, nobly sustained, and with a flow and
harmony of verse not common in the poets of his period:--

Ah! as a pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,
Or Atlas' temples crown'd with winter glass,--
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,
Pyrenees' cliffs, where sun doth never shine;--
When he some craggy hills hath overwent,
Begins to think on rest, his journey spent,
Till mounting some tall mountain he do find
More heights before him than he left behind,--
With halting pace so while I would me raise
To the unbounded limits of Thy praise,
Some part of way I thought to have o'errun;
But now I see how scarce I have begun--
With wonders new my spirits range possest,
And, wandering wayless, in a maze them rest.

Oh! that the cause which doth consume our joy
Would the remembrance of it too destroy!

LIFE.

Woods cut again do grow:
Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done,
But we, once dead, do no more see the sun!
What fair is wrought
Falls in the prime, and passeth like a thought.

SONNET.--SPRING.

Sweet Spring, thou com'st with all thy goodly train,--
Thy head with flame, thy mantle bright with flowers:
_The zephyrs curl the green locks of the pla