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Written after a visit to Studley Park and Fountaine's Abbey, near Rippon, Yorkshire.

ARE sylvan shades to contemplation dear?

Can peerless beauty wake the tuneful song? Then Studleyshall thy groves the minstrel hear, As soft he pours his liquid notes along. Yet let no muse of light fantastic air, Unhallow'd on thy solemn walks intrude; For heaven-born Piety, divinely fair,

Has fixt her temple in thy solitude.*

And if beside thy stream the wanderer stray, Where trees and skies in placid lustre shine; Its rising Genius, whispering seems to say, "Calm be thy bosom, and as pure as mine." Here smiling nature strings the poet's lyre, Aad bids its tones with her's in concert swell:

Eolian music aids the tuneful quire,

And sportive Naiades sound the murmuring shell.

A thousand graces strike the wondering sight, And Beauty triumphs in her sylvan bow'rs; Queen of the spot, she marks it with delight, Cheers the lone wood, and scents the glade with flowers.

*Midst arching groves, she courts the whispering breeze,

Where zephyrs with the trembling foliage play,

Or upward views through interlacing trees, Cerulean heaven its lucid light display. Here rising, as call'd forth by magic spell, Abruptly breaks the rough rock's rugged

side;

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The poet's bay, the patriot's laurel shine,
With loftiest oak, and elm to grace the view
Mid copses green, fair Grecian columns rise,
Bright as Diana from a sable cloud;
There seeks the towering obelisk the skies,
Here bends the breathing statue o'er the
flood.

Fair Nature! thou hast spread thy boundless

store,

Of charms to grace this sweet sequester'd vale;

I hail thee here, nor less thy sister power,

Offspring of heaven, creative Arts I hail. But chiefly Thee, Supreme! to whom alone, As justly due, be all our praises given: Whose image in thy fairest works we own, And trace all beauty to its fount in heaven. Present in all, but oh! more closely nigh, To the intelligent, immortal mind; Thy converse must our richest joys supply, 'Midst nature's loveliest scenes, or friendship's sweets refin'd.

With Thee through Studley's varied scenes of grace,

With Thee through life I would my way

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Emotions deep extort the silent tear: Where are the sounds which once these arches

rung?

The feet that trod these cloisters are not here!

Nor here the power at whose supreme command,

The Abbey's venerable pile appear'd; Long fallen from superstition's nerveless hand, Low lies that sceptre which the nation fear'd.

But oft beneath those solemn arches grey,

Walks the lone Genius of departed time; Sighs o'er its falling towers, and seems to say. "How art thou wasted since thine hour of prime."

Dim through the vista of receding years,

A vision'd train in sainted stole array'd:

Flit like the hues the passing rainbow wears, When chas'd by clouds its humid colours fade.

The mitred Abbot leads the pensive band, Who once within these walls his sway maintain'd;

Obsequious monks await his high command,
And harsh the rule where superstition
reign'd.*

With look severe, oh! how unlike the smile,
Which gilds divine religion's angel face;
She lifts the scourge, and urges fruitless toil,
As penance meet for sin, and price for
heavenly grace.

From lonely cells, through aisles of cloister'd
gloom,

Where the dim cresset sheds its sickly ray, At midnight hour the lorn enthusiasts come, To hold the cheerless watch, to muse and

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Soft swells the pealing harmony to heaven,
While low to suffering Deity they bend.

Nor there alone, for human with divine,

Their undistinguishing devotions share; The saint rever'd, the martyr's holy shrine, Attest alike the ineffectual prayer.

With wildering light th' enthusiast's ardour glows,

Dense rise the flames from superstition's fire; Lo, round the vision clouds of darkness close, And Time beholds the fleeting shades retire.

Yes, all is fled, for Truth's Ithuriel speart Has touch'd foul falsehood to her native form;

Dispers'd delusion into viewless air,

As bursts the meteor of the passing storm.

Mid the deep gloom of intellectual night,

When o'er the world thick moral darkness
hung;

He spake, who at creation call'd forth light,
And Luther from the trackless chaos sprung.

The Cistercian monks, to which order Fountaine's Abbey belonged, were very strict in their observances. They wore neither skins nor shirts,

nor ever ate flesh, except in sickness; they lay upon straw beds, and rose at midnight to prayers; they spent the day in labour, reading and prayer: and in all their exercises observed a continual silence.

This Abbey was founded very early in the thir. teenth century, by Thurstin, Archbishop of York, and was suppressed by King Henry the eighth, in

the year 1540.

+ Vide Paradise Lost, book IV. line 810.

Champion of truth, from heaven's own arsenal steel'd,

In all the panoply of strength divine; 'Gainst hell, and all her hosts he took the field, And fought and conquer'd through the mystic sign.

Him Europe claims, her bright and leading star,

Guiding the nations through the gloom of night:

But Britain, thou canst boast of names as dear,
Who shar'd the triumphs of that dreadful
fight.

Gloucester and Oxford, honor'd! ye can tell,
How nobly Cranmer, Hooper, Ridley stood,
And Smithfield, blazing with the fires of hell,
Can speak of martyrs firm to truth and God.
All hail! to piety, to virtue dear,

With hallow'd sound on every British ear,
Ye holy, veteran, venerable band;
Fall your blest names, while Britain's self
shall stand.

And oh! may Albion to her bosom bind
That sacred truth for which ye nobly bled,
Made free herself, emancipate mankind,

And to earth's utmost verge Jehovah's
message spread.

O never by deceptive lights betray'd,

Unwary may she her high charge forego: Let the fierce wolf, again the fold invade,

And guiltless blood, through peaceful pastures flow.

Nor wandering pensive near this mouldering

fane,

Too loudly of that barbarous power complain,
Let genius o'er its prostrate greatness sigh;
Which bade its ruin'd towers in fragments
lie.

For here at eve, shall wisdom oft be seen,

When the pale moon-beams gild the lonely glen;

'Midst shatter'd tombs, and ivi'd turrets green, Deep musing on the changing states of mea. Nor frequent less, when morning's brilliant rays,

Tint the tall trees, and kiss the sparkling

flood;

Here shall she come, the choral song to raise,
To him who rules o'er time and nature,God.
Whose providence, a chain too dazzling bright
For mortal eye in all its links to view;
Drew Britain forth, from shades of deepest
night,

To hail the sun, and drink the orient dew!
Long may her day in cloudless beauty shine!
Long may her children in its light rejoice!
Yes! till yon glorious orb, his beams resign,
And earth dissolve, at her Creator's voice.
September, 1818.

Printed at the Conference-Office, 14, City-Road, by Thomas Cordeux, Agent.

A. B.

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THE

METHODIST MAGAZINE,

FOR FEBRUARY, 1819.

BIOGRAPHY.

MEMOIRS OF THE LATE MR. JOHN LEIFCHILD. Mr. JOHN LEIFCHILD was born in 1745, at St. Alban's, in Hertfordshire, a place of which he ever cherished the fondest remembrance, and which afterwards became still further endeared to him, as the scene of his occasional, but zealous and successful exertions for promoting the knowledge of revealed truth. He was one of those instances in which the Divine favour manifests its sovereignty, and triumphs over the disadvantages of a man's connexions; neither his parents, nor any of his near relations, appearing to be the subjects of vital Christianity. Attached, indeed, they were, to the outward services of religion; but, there was reason to apprehend, that love to God, and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, were entirely wanting. How often do we behold that grace which is more usually connected with a pious ancestry, attaching itself to some particular branch of a foreign stock, and producing there an abundance of "righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost!"

During the period of his apprenticeship at Edgeware, in circumstances the most unfriendly to every religious feeling, be became powerfully impressed with the importance of Divine truth. His fondness for reading, and the general cultivation of his mind, prevented him from associating with young persons in situations similar to his own; and he grew up in total ignorance of all the comparatively innocent modes of boyish recreations and amusements. His regard for morality, coupled with his obliging behaviour and great affability, gained him, at this time, the esteem of all who knew him: while Religion, appearing in none of her awful and overpowering forms, already poured her consolations into a heart which was destined to become the seat of her richest treasures.

Few appear to have attained to eminence in religion, and to have reached the heights of its enjoyments, by whom the season VOL. XLII. FEBRUARY, 1819.

*K*

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