He crowneth with fuccefs the virtuous intention,

And humbleth the pride of the self-conceited.

He accompanies the folitude of those who watch the midnight taper;

He paffeth the day with the children of affliction.
From the fea of his bounty iffues the vernal cloud,
Which waters alike the thorn and the jessamine.
From the repofitory of his beneficence proceeds the
autumnal gale,

Which bespangles with gold the carpet of the garden
It is his prefence that enflameth the orb of day,
From whence every atom derives its light.

Should he hide his countenance from the two great
Juminaries of the world,

Their mighty fpheres would defcend quick into the area of annihilation;

From the vault of heaven to the center of the earth, Which ever way we direct our thought, and imagination,

Whether we defcend or haften upwards.

We fhall not discover one atom uninfluenced by his

power.

Wisdom is confounded in the contemplation of his effence;

The investigation of his ways exceeds the powers of

man.

The angels blush at their want of comprehenfion; And the heavens are aftonished at their own mɔtiɔn.

SONNET.

TO THE SOUTH DOWNS IN SUSSEX.

1.

BY CHARLOTTE SMITH.

AH, hills belov'd where once, an happy child, Your beechen fhades, " your turf, your flowers " among,"

I wove your blue-bells into garlands wild,

And woke your echoes with my artless fong.
Ah, hills belov'd! your turf, your flowers remain ;
But can they peace to this fad breast restore,
For one poor moment foothe the sense of pain,
And teach a breaking heart to throb no more?
And you, Aruna! in the vale below.

As to the fea your limpid waves you bear,
Can you one kind Lethean cup bestow,

To drink a long oblivion to my care?
Ah, no!-when all, e'en hope's last ray
There's no oblivion-but in death alone!

gone,

ALCANZOR AND ZAIDA:

A MOORISH TALE,

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

OFTLY blow the evening breezes, Softly fall the dews of night; Yonder walks the moor Alcanzor, Shunning every glare of light.

In yon palace lives fair Zaida,
Whom he loves with flame fo pure:
Loveliest the of Moorish ladies;
He a young and noble Moor,

Waiting for the appointed minute,
Oft he paces to and fro':
Stopping now, now moving forwards,
Sometimes quick, and fometimes flow.

Hope and fear alternate teize him,

Oft he fighs with heart-felt careSee, fond youth, to yonder window Softly fteps the timorous fair.

Lovely feems the moon's fair luftre,
To the loft benighted fwain,

When all filvery bright the rifes,

Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.

Lovely feems the fun's full glory

To the fainting feaman's eyes,
When fome horrid ftorm difperfing,
O'er the wave his radiance flies;

But a thousand times more lovely
To her longing lover's fight,
Steals half-feen the beauteous maiden
Through the glimmerings of the night.
Tip-toe ftands the anxious lover,

Whispering forth a gentle figh:
Alla* keep thee, lovely lady;
Tell me, am I doom'd to die?

Is it true the dreadful ftory,

Which thy damfel tells my page, That feduc'd by fordid riches,

Thou wilt fell thy bloom to age?

An old lord from Antiquera

Thy ftern father brings along; But canft thou inconftant Zaida, Thus confent my love to wrong?

If 'tis true now plainly tell me,

Nor thus trifle with my woes ; Hide not then from me the fecret, Which the world fo clearly knows.

Alla is the Mahometan name of GOD.

Deeply figh'd the confcious maiden,
While the pearly tears defcend:
Ah my lord, too true the ftory;
Here our tender loves muft end,

Our fond friendship is discover'd,
Well are known our mutual vows ;.
All my friends are full of fury,
Storms of paffion fhake the house.

Threats, reproaches, fears, furround me ;:
My ftern father breaks my heart!
Alla knows how dear it coft me,
Generous youth, from thee to part...

Ancient wounds of hoftile fury

Long have rent our house and thine ; Why then did thy fhining merit

Win this tender heart of mine?.

Well thou know'ft how dear I lov'd thee,
Spite of all their hateful pride,
Though I fear'd my haughty father
Ne'er would let me be thy bride.

Well thou know'ft what cruel chidings
Oft I've from my mother borne,
What I've fuffer'd here to meet thee
Still at eve and early morn.