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In such a scene of dread and woe,
Well might he make a solemn vow,
That if some Mercy-loving Pow'r
Should guard him in that evil hour,
To him a stately fane should rise,
A refuge from these wrathful skies,
A monument of gratitude
Amid this fiery solitude !
Perhaps the prayer was not in 'vain,
And hence this fabric decks the plain.
And if, as old traditions say,
The spirit, parted from its clay,
Shall still with former feelings throng
Round scenes and objects lov'd so long,
How must it gratify his shade,
To hear the homage hourly paid,
To hear the fainting traveller cry,
With throbbing breast, and tear-dimm'd eve,
“ A thousand blessings on the hand
" That first these sacred turrets plannid,
And plac'd this kind asylum here,
The lone way-faring man to cheer !''
England ! my country! tho thou art
Entwin'd around my very heart,
Canst thou the solemn truth deny,
A truth inpress'd on every eye,
That while one stranger houseless lies
Beneath thine ever-varying skies,
Thou art in charity outdone
By Asia's rude, untutor'd son !

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Keen blew the sleety gale, the scene was drear,
One sheet of white the hills and plains appear,
Vast blocks of ice obstruct the rapid floods,
And hills of snow conceal the sable woods,
Nor bird, nor beast, nor living thing was seen,
Nor flower, nor fruit, nor blade of herbage green,
All Nature knew the appointed time of rest,
And sheltered, slept in earth's maternal breast.


Man's heart alone no change of season knows,
And proud ambition stoops not to repose !
The tyrant's troops, regardless of the blast,
Blacken with countless hordles the silvery wasté.
High on his Tartar steed the conqueror role.
and led his myriads o'er the frozen food ;
When lo! amid a realm of subject snows,
In awful pride, gigantic Winter rose.
His hand, with arrows filled, was lifted high,
A ghastly glearn was in his frozen eye ;
Like sone vast mountain his stupendous form,
His voice the howling of the Alpine storm.
It lacked the melody of living breath,
And chillid the spirit as the voice of Death.
“ Behold the mighty conqueror, who defies,
“Not man alone, but these inclement skies.
Yet though thy dreadful warriors onward ride,
“ Nor fawn the elements, to sooth thy pride,
“ Round thy warm limbs my icy robe I cast,
I give thee to the snow, the hail, the blast;
Yon bill—the Spirit of the Storm is there,
And bids thee, tyrant, stop thy rash career.
“No longer shalt thou wrap the world in flame;

Art thou a spirit of vengeance? I the same.
“ Slaves to subdue, we use our power alike,
“ When baneful stars in dire conjunction strike.
How terrible their force ! but on! be bold !
“Make earth's best region desolate and cold,
“ Then in the impotence of fury pine,
To find at length thy blasts less keen than mine.
“ If thou canst glory in unnumbered bands,
“ That waste, destroy, o'erwhelm the fairest lands,
“ With heavenly aid my stornis as widely sweep,

Thy lance is keen, my arrow strikes as deep!
“ And on thy head, by Him that governs all,
“ The deadliest venom of my wrath shall fall,

Not all thy fires, thyself, thine host shall save
“ From the cold sleep, the tempest's icy grave."


From Thoughts on Wheels," a Poem by J. Montgomery.

I Love Thee, O my native ISLE!
D ar as my mother's earliest smile,
Sweet as iny father's voice to me

Is all I hear and all I see ;



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These, at the parricidal pyre,
Thy Martyrs sanctified in fire;
And with the generous blood they spilt
Wash'd from thy soil their inurderers' guilt,
Cancelled the curse, which Vengeance sped,
And left a blessing in its stead.

-Can words, can numbers, count the price
Paid for this little Paradise ?
Never, O never be it lost,
The land is worth the price it cost!

I love Thee,--when thy Sabbath dawns
O'er woods and mountains, dales and lawns,
And streams, that sparkle while they run,
As if their fountain were the Sun :
When, hand in hand, thy tribes repair,
Each to their chosen House of Prayer,
And all in peace and freedom call
On Him, who is the Lord of all.

I love Thee,-when my Soul can feel
The Seraph-ardours of thy zeal :
Thy Charities, to none confined,
Bless, like the sun, the rain, the wind ;
Thy schools the human brute shall raise,
Gu de erring Youth in Wisdom's ways,
And leave, when we are turn'd to dust,
A generation of the Just.

I love Thee, -when I see thee stand,
The Hope of every other land;
A sea-mark in the tide of Time,
Rearing to heaven thy brow sublime ;
Whence beams of Gospel-splendour shed
A sacred halo round thine head;
And Gentiles from afar behold
(Not as on Sinai's rocks of old)
GOD,—from eternity conceal'd, -
In his own light, on THEE reveal'd.

I love Thee,—when I hear thy voice
Bid a despairing World rejoice,
And loud from shore to shore proclaim,
In every tongue, Messiah's name;
That name, at which, from sea to sea,
All nations yet shall bow the knee.

I love Thee,---next to Heaven above, Land of my Fathers ! thee I love :


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There is a lie in thy right hand;
A bribe, corrupting all the land ;
There is within thy gates a pest,
Gold and a Babylonish vest;
Not hid in shame-concealing shade;
But broad against the Sun display'ıl.
These,-tell it not,-it prust be told;
These are by Lot--by Lottery-sold:
And these, thy Children, (taught to sin,)
Venture two worlds at once to win;
Nay thy deluded Statesmen stake
THYSELF,-and lose thee, for their sake!

-Lose thee ?-they shall not;- HE, whose will
Is Nature's law, preserves the still ;
And while the uplifted bolt impends,
ONE WARNING MORE his mercy sends.

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