111 it bescems the playful muse
Such grave unwonted theme to chuse
She better loves her darts to try
At the wide mark of Prophesy,
Imp with gay plume the wings of Time,
And deal her spells in careless rhymė.
Her magic wand, my Maiden fair,
Has changed that sylph-like bounding air
To Matron softness, calm yet free,
Just such as ten years hence 'twill be.
She would not one dark ringlet shred;
Nor fade one tint of native red;
Nor steal one lightning beam, that flies
Warm from Expression's cell-thine eyes }
Nor rob thee of the smiles that dart
From kindness' better home-thy heart.
But with those glossy locks she'd chain
One wedded follower to thy train;
Those native blushes still should flow
As brightly on their bed of snow,
But one alone should bid them glow;
Those powerful glances still should melt
Though only one their influence felt;
Those smiles their sweet enchantment send
To charm the Husband and the Friend.

ON A ROSE.

THY rose, oh, Venus! blooms one fleeting day;
Her virgin leaves unfold and fade away:
She buds when morn in blushes lights the skies,
And as the flame descends, her beauty dies!

T. M. A. S.

JOHN THE BAPTIST:

A Prize Poem,

RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD, IN THE YEAR 1809.

HARK! through the desert wilds, what awful voice
Swells on the gale, and bids the world rejoice?
What Prophet form, in holy raptures led,
The grey mists hovering o'er his sacred head,
Prepares on earth Messiah's destined way,
And hastes, the mighty Messenger of Day?
Lo! echoing skies resound his gladsome strain,
"Messiah comes! ye rugged paths be plain;
"The Shiloh comes! ye towering cedars bend,
"Swell forth, ye vallies, and, ye rocks, descend;
"The withered branch let balmy fruits adorn,
"And clustering roses 'twine the leafless thorn;
"Burst forth, ye vocal groves, your joy to tell-
"The God of Peace redeems his Israel."

How beauteous are the feet of those who bear
Mercy to man, glad tidings to despair!
Far from the mountain's top, they lovelier seem
Than moonlight dews, or morning's rosy beam;
Sweeter the voice than spell or hymning sphere,
And listening Angels hush their harps to bear.

Roused at the solemn call, from all her shores
Her eager tribes, behold, Judæa pours!
Tho' scarce the Morn asserts her bashful sway,
And doubtful Darkness still contends with day,

I see them rush, like rolling surges driven,
Or night-clouds, riding o'er the glooms of Heaven.
There waves the white robe, thro' the dusky glade,
Here passing helms gleam dreadful thro' the shade,
Faint o'er the cliffs the fading torch-light plays,
And dying watchfires fling their sullen blaze;
Fly the scared panthers from their pierced retreats,
While Salem wondering mourns her desert streets.
Why crowd ye cities forth? some reed to find?
Some vain reed trembling to the careless wind?
Or throng ye here to view, with doating eye,
Some chieftain stand in purple pageantry?
Such dwell in kingly domes-no silken form
Woos the stern cliff, and braves the mountain storm.
What rush ye then to seek ? some Prophet-Seer ?
One mightier than the Prophets find ye here→→→
The loftiest bard, that waked the sacred lyre,
To Him in rapture poured his lips of fire;
Attuned to Him the voice of Sion fell-
Thy name, Elias *, closed the mystic shell.

Alas! how dark a flood of woes and crimes,

Since that dread hour, has whelmed the fateful times!
How oft has Israel's Ark, by tempests tossed,

Sent forth her raven's wing, and found no coast!
Now fairer scenes her kindling eye discerns,

When Hope's green branch the welcome Dove returns,
And, gladly soaring past the prospect drear,

Hails the bright Star † that tells the Day-spring near. Yes! surely born to more than mortal power, Glory hath marked him from his earliest hour:

*The advent of St. Johm under the name of Elijah, the last cit cumstance foretold in ancient prophecy, is here alluded to.

+ St. John is called the Morning Star to the Sun of Righte Qusness."

Offspring of age, on wings of radiance borne,
A warning Angel told his natal morn;
Hailed by prophetic matrons to the earth,
The speechless spake, to bless him at his birth.
Sweet was the strain, when first with fond surprise
The hoary parent kissed his infant eyes,
From his rapt lips the spell of silence broke,
And Inspiration thrilled him as he spoke.

Such was his birth! nor less august appears
The wond'rous fate that led his rising years:
For, lo! sequestered from the haunts of men,
Deep to the stillness of some shaggy glen,
Where vice and folly faded from his view,
The lonely youth, impelled by Heaven, withdrew
There, near some brook, that dashed in murmurs by,
The rock his pillow, and his roof the sky,
Clad in such savage robes as deserts yield,
His food the wild sweets of the flowery field,
Grave, pensive, bold, majestic, undefiled,
To holy manhood dwelt Devotion's child;
Descending Angels blessed his rude abode,
He drank th' inspiring flame, he felt the rushing God.
Oft ere the dawn had tinged the tallest steep,
And man and nature still were hushed in sleep,
High o'er yon ridge, in darkness, would he stray,
To muse and wonder till returning day.

Watch-tower sublime! There, as the morning bright,
Swelled from dim chaos into life and light,
Threw its broad beams o'er waste and misty wood,
While rock and fortress, lake and glistening flood,
Burst in full blaze of splendour to the skies-
To loftiest thoughts his kindling soul would rise;
Till, proudly soaring past this world of man,
The mortal sunk, and Heaven itself began.

-So rapt he stood, that oft revolving night Found him, unconscious, on the mountain's height; In vain the Tempest, round his 'fenceless head, Hung all its fires, its wildest torrents shed; The sheltering robber saw his clouded form, And fled-to shun the Genius of the Storm. Past are those hours! Along the silent dews His lonely walk no more the Sage pursues; With gesture wild, rude garb, and speaking eye, An air of strange and dreadful majesty, See! forth he comes, his holy office given, Herald of Christ, high harbinger of Heaven. Hark! how the rocks his warning voice resound, And Jordan's caverns tell the strain around; While poor and rich, the soldier and the sage, The bloom of youth, and hoary locks of age, In gathering crowds, Messiah's name adore; And rush, all trembling, to the sacred shore; Bend with pale reverence 'neath the sprinkled wave, Their crimes confess, and hail the power to save.

How changed the scene! Are these the realms of dread, Which wand'ring footsteps scarcely dared to tread ? Where midnight lions roamed the thickets rude, And all was wild and frightful solitude! Now, lone no more, where'er it winds along, The lucid stream reflects a listening throng; True to the life, their grouping shadows glide, And every passion paints the breathing tide. See young Amazement starting, as if light

Just glanced from Heaven, had caught his dazzled sight, While Faith's full eyes their tranquil homage raise, And every feature fixes into praise.

There kindling Hope with ardent look appears,

Here softened Sorrow smiling thro' her tears,