A thing most sacred in the eye of Heaven;
That opens, for such sufferers, relief

Within the soul, fountains of grace divine;
And doth commend their weakness and disease
To Nature's care, assisted in her office

By all the elements that round her wait
To generate, to preserve, and to restore ;
And by her beautiful array of forms
Shedding sweet influence from above; or pure
Delight exhaling from the ground they tread."

"Impute it not to impatience, if," exclaimed The Wanderer, "I infer that he was healed By perseverance in the course prescribed."

"You do not err: the powers, that had been lost
By slow degrees, were gradually regained;
The fluttering nerves composed; the beating heart
In rest established; and the jarring thoughts
To harmony restored.-But yon dark mould
Will cover him, in the fulness of his strength,
Hastily smitten by a fever's force;

Yet not with stroke so sudden as refused
Time to look back with tenderness on her
Whom he had loved in passion; and to send
Some farewell words-with one, but one, request;
That, from his dying hand, she would accept
Of his possessions that which most he prized;
A book, upon whose leaves some chosen plants

By his own hand disposed with nicest care,
In undecaying beauty were preserved;
Mute register, to him, of time and place,
And various fluctuations in the breast;
To her, a monument of faithful love
Conquered, and in tranquillity retained!

Close to his destined habitation, lies
One who achieved a humbler victory,

Though marvellous in its kind. A place there is
High in these mountains, that allured a band
Of keen adventurers to unite their pains

In search of precious ore: they tried, were foiled—
And all desisted, all, save him alone.

He, taking counsel of his own clear thoughts,
And trusting only to his own weak hands,
Urged unremittingly the stubborn work,
Unseconded, uncountenanced; then, as time
Passed on, while still his lonely efforts found
No recompense, derided; and at length,
By many pitied, as insane of mind;
By others dreaded as the luckless thrall
Of subterranean Spirits feeding hope
By various mockery of sight and sound;
Hope after hope, encouraged and destroyed.
-But when the lord of seasons had matured
The fruits of earth through space of twice ten years,
The mountain's entrails offered to his view

And trembling grasp the long-deferred reward.

Not with more transport did Columbus greet
A world, his rich discovery! But our Swain,
A very hero till his point was gained,
Proved all unable to support the weight
Of prosperous fortune. On the fields he looked
With an unsettled liberty of thought,

Wishes and endless schemes; by daylight walked
Giddy and restless; ever and anon

Quaffed in his gratitude immoderate cups;
And truly might be said to die of joy!
He vanished; but conspicuous to this day
The path remains that linked his cottage-door
To the mine's mouth; a long, and slanting track,
Upon the rugged mountain's stony side,
Worn by his daily visits to and from
The darksome centre of a constant hope.
This vestige, neither force of beating rain,
Nor the vicissitudes of frost and thaw
Shall cause to fade, till ages pass away;
And it is named, in memory of the event,
The PATH OF PERSEVERANCE."

"Thou from whom

Man has his strength,” exclaimed the Wanderer, "oh! Do thou direct it! To the virtuous grant

The penetrative eye which can perceive

In this blind world the guiding vein of hope ; That, like this Labourer, such may dig their way, ( Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified;"

Grant to the wise his firmness of resolve!"

"That prayer were not superfluous," said the Priest, "Amid the noblest relics, proudest dust,

That Westminster, for Britain's glory, holds

Within the bosom of her awful pile,

Ambitiously collected. Yet the sigh,

Which wafts that prayer to heaven, is due to all,
Wherever laid, who living fell below
Their virtue's humbler mark; a sigh of pain
If to the opposite extreme they sank.
How would you pity her who yonder rests;
Him, farther off; the pair, who here are laid;
But, above all, that mixture of earth's mould
Whom sight of this green hillock to my mind
Recalls!

He lived not till his locks were nipped

By seasonable frost of age; nor died
Before his temples, prematurely forced

To mix the manly brown with silver grey,
Gave obvious instance of the sad effect
Produced, when thoughtless Folly hath usurped
The natural crown that sage Experience wears.
Gay, volatile, ingenious, quick to learn,
And prompt to exhibit all that he possessed
Or could perform; a zealous actor, hired
Into the troop of mirth, a soldier, sworn
Into the lists of giddy enterprise-
Such was he; yet, as if within his frame
Too several souls alternately had lodged,
Two sets of manners could the Youth put on;

And, fraught with antics as the Indian bird
That writhes and chatters in her wiry cage,

Was graceful, when it pleased him, smooth and still
As the mute swan that floats adown the stream,
Or, on the waters of the unruffled lake,

Anchors her placid beauty. Not a leaf,

That flutters on the bough, more light than he;
And not a flower, that droops in the green shade,
More winningly reserved! If ye enquire
How such consummate elegance was bred
Amid these wilds, this answer may suffice;
'Twas Nature's will; who sometimes undertakes,
For the reproof of human vanity,
Art to outstrip in her peculiar walk,
Hence, for this Favourite, lavishly endowed
With personal gifts, and bright instinctive wit,
While both, embellishing each other, stood
Yet farther recommended by the charm
Of fine demeanour, and by dance and song,
And skill in letters, every fancy shaped
Fair expectations; nor, when to the world's
Capacious field forth went the Adventurer, there
Were he and his attainments overlooked,
Or scantily rewarded; but all hopes,
Cherished for him, he suffered to depart,

Like blighted buds; or clouds that mimicked land
Before the sailor's eye; or diamond drops

That sparkling decked the morning grass; or aught That was attractive, and hath ceased to be!