terious incarnation of our blessed Saviour, (which this work blasphemes, in words so wholly unfit for the mouth of a Christian, and the ears of a court of justice, that I dare not, and will not give them utterance,) Milton made the grand conclusion of his Paradise Lost, the rest from his finished labors, and the ultimate hope, expectation, and glory of the world.

A virgin is his mother, but his sire,

The power of the Most High ;-he shall ascend

The throne hereditary, and bound his reign

With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the heavens!

Thus you find all that is great, or wise, or splendid, or illustrious, amongst created beings-all the minds gifted beyond ordinary nature, if not inspired by its universal Author, for the advancement and dignity of the world, though divided by distant ages, and by clashing opinions, yet joining, as it were, in one sublime chorus, to celebrate the truths of Christianity, and laying upon its holy altars the never-fading offerings of their immortal wisdom.

MISCELLANEOUS POETICAL EXTRACTS.

THE PROGRESS OF POESY, GRAY.

A PINDARIC ODE.

I.

AWAKE, Æolian lyre, awake,

And give to rapture all thy trembling strings!
From Helicon's harmonious springs,

A thousand rills their mazy progress take;
The laughing flowers that round them blow
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along,

Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,

Through verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign:

Now rushing down the steep amain,

Headlong, impetuous see it pour;

The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar!

Oh! sovereign of the willing soul,

Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the sullen cares

And frantic passions hear thy soft control.
On Thracia's hills the lord of war

Has curb'd the fury of his car,

And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command:
Perching on the scepter'd hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber, lie
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.

Thee the voice, the dance obey,

Temper'd to thy warbled lay;
O'er Idalia's velvet green

The rosy-crowned loves are seen
On Cytherea's day,

With antic sports and blue-ey'd pleasures
Frisking light in frolic measures:
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet;
To brisk notes, in cadence beating,
Glance their many-twinkling feet.

Slow, melting strains their Queen's approach declare;
Where'er she turns the graces homage pay,

With arts sublime, that float upon the air;

In gliding state she wins her easy way:

O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom, move

The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love.

II.

Man's feeble race what ills await,-

Labor, and Penury, the racks of Pain,

Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train,

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!

The fond complaint, my song, disprove,

And justify the laws of Jove.

Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse?

Night, and all her sickly dews,

Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,

He gives to range the dreary sky:

Till down the eastern cliffs afar,

Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war.

In climes beyond the solar road,

Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight gloom,

To cheer the natives' dull abode.

And oft, beneath the odorous shade

Of Chili's boundless forests laid,

She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,

In loose numbers wildly sweet,

Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves.
Her track, where'er the Goddess roves,

Glory pursues, and generous shame,

Th' unconquerable mind, and Freedom's holy flame.

Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep,

Isles that crown the Ægean deep,
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Mæander's amber waves
In lingering labyrinths creep,
How do your tuneful echoes languish,
Mute, but to the voice of Anguish?
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breath'd around,
Every shade and hallow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,

Left their Parnassus for the Latin plains,
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power,
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains;

When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,

They sought, O Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast.

III.

Far from the sun and summer-gale

In thy green lap was Nature's darling* laid,

* Shakspeare.

What time, where lucid Avon stray'd,

To him the mighty mother did unveil Her awful face; the dauntless child Stretch'd forth his little arms and smil'd.

"This pencil take," she said, "whose colors clear
Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy ;

Of horror that, and thrilling fears,

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears."

•Nor second he,* that rode sublime

Upon the seraph-wings of ecstacy,
The secrets of th' abyss to spy.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time;
The living throne, the sapphire-blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,

He saw; but blasted with excess of light,

Closed his eyes in endless night!

Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

Two coursers of ethereal race,

Their necks in thunder cloth'd, and long-resounding pace †

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!

Bright-eyed fancy hov'ring o'er,

Scatters from her pictur'd urn,

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn!

But ah! 'tis heard no more

Oh lyre divine! what daring spirit

Wakes thee now! though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion
Through the azure deep of air;

* Milton.

† Expressive of the majestic sound of Dryden's verse.