A's Sol's bright chariot to the western goal-
As the magnetic compass to the pole-
As wisdom's ways to virtue, and her aisles
To honor, and religion's heavenly smiles-
So art thou true to him, and he to thee;
And more than so, if more can ever be―
Total possessors each of either's heart,
And of each other all the better part!
Each other's image dwells in either soul,
E'en as itself. become, and fills the whole;
Informing, prompting, every deed and thought,
Made one in nature, differing in nought;
Wedded to happiness, and gentle rest,
Each other blessing, by each other blest.
Thy spousal love, and faith, and constancy,
Are honey-treasured flowers unto thee,
Whence thou extract'st the liquid dew refined,
Delicious nectar of the virtuous mind!
How sweet to him thy bosom's faithful pillow, When the sun sinks into the western billow, And spreads his lengthened shadows o'er the hill, And all the busy world below is still. Sweet on thy bosom at the close of day, To sooth and banish every care away; The weariness his husbandry might bring, The labors of the Autumn and the Spring. And Charity and Sympathy have pangs, When pity long o'er misery aching hangs; Though it hath charms possessed by it alone, Yet it hath also anguish of its own,
Howbeit rapturous to the feeling mind,
Richly delicious, heavenly refin'd!
Those darkened shades of life might cast a gloom
O'er one much conversant with sorrow's doom,
And melancholy dash the cup of bliss,
And mingle every joy with bitterness.
Thy soothing love is as a beam of light,
That cheers the seeming-universal night.
So when the traveller of the torrid zone,
Beneath the zeal of Sol's meridian throne,
Amid the scorching sands of Lybia's waste,
With parching thirst and weary step hath paced,
And not a herb, and not a streamlet nigh;
Seems the whole globe to be sterility,
And fervid heat, without or spring or stream,
A comfortless wild desart, unto him:
But if not long thereafter he should find,
A fountain raised by one of bounteous mind,
The stream refreshing to the soul and taste,
No more he deems the world a dreary waste;
But, glad of heart, his happy way along
Repays the boon with benizon and song.
High is thy joy, Aristes, on this day,
So happy, festive, sportful, blithe, and gay,
When ancient friends, and youths and virgins meet,
To sweet sounds glancing quick the twinkling feet,
To celebrate that hour, when her pure charms
Thy beauteous bride resigned unto thine arms;
She who hath since been to thee as a gem,
Yea, graced thee with a father's diadem;
A son, all other ornaments above
Is the chief one-the crown of wedded love,
Lausus, is thine,-the gentle poet,-he
At Nature's shrine her purest votary:
Happy art thou, O Lausus, who canst see
Her heavenly loveliness and living light,
Glory, and grace, and majesty, and might.
When rosy Ver, first of the graces three,
Diffus'd her fragrance and her minstrelsy,
Thy kindred soul dissolved in tenderness,
Heightened to rapture, words cannot express,
And none conceive, save they whose souls divine
Are well attuned to sympathy like thine!
Heav'n favor'd! feel ye not the gales of spring
Fresh harmony on your rapt spirits fling?
Bathe in Elysium?-thrill with blissful pain,
Like the strange tumults of a lover's brain?
But when the sun is in effulgence clad,
Summer full royal, beautiful, and glad,
The poet feels Apollo's ardent sway,
And all his functions tremblingly obey;
He feels the joy of thousands, and he pours
His blessings on the land's matured stores;
His lips are touched with fire, and raptured tell
What extacies his ardent bosom swell.
When Autumn changeable her reign begins, Continuing still awhile the plenteous scenes, The harvest-gladness through his bosom runs, The full delight of Nature and her sons ; As his own measures, with electric art, Vibrate successively from heart to heart. But, changing, when she wakes her frequent blasts, And from the earth its verdant beauty casts,
Clad in dun yellow every tree and hill,
Winter's approach proclaiming keen and shrill—
Fond he anticipates the coming storms,
Beauteous in awe, and terrible in charms.
And when the hoary Winter, monarch grim,
Comes forth with tempests all surrounding him,
Clouds, vapours, darkness, mists, wherein he rideth,
And on the winds his stormy chariot guideth;
His soul arises, fearless, strong, and bold,
Amid the mighty tumult uncontroll❜d,
Sublime, congenial, lovely to the wild
And kindred spirit of poetic child.
Fair Myra! should I well to dwell on hours
Of gladness, o'er which secret evil lours?
To paint the feast, the sport, the dance, the song,
That urg'd them all rejoicingly along,-
When instant, not unknown, the tyrant's lust
Will change this joy to mourning for the just?
Else might I tell how Lausus strung his lyre
To the brisk dance, and to the tuneful quire;
But, ah! 'tis hush'd,-mute is the joyous strain,
Ceased the brisk dance along the altered plain.
The good man, void of guile, suspected not
The anxious messenger, that reached his cot,
With matter of importance, dark, concealed,
To him in private but to be revealed:
The message broke upon the ear of joy
Uncouthly, as suspending to destroy.
Outleapt the poignard from the treacherous vest,
And sheathed itself in his unguarded breast.-
Dying, his brow no frowns of anger shade,
But a forgiving look of pity played
Over his features-glistened in his eye
Upon the homicide, and fixed him nigh ;-
Silent he bent above the dying man,
Stern as he was, relenting, but in vain.
Still bent the murderer, tho' of callous heart,
In anguish o'er his victim,-(no such smart,
No such keen pang of conscience he had felt,
Since the first crime forbade his soul to melt ;)
Till fear wrought on him, and he fled, amain,
The awful dwelling of the Righteous Slain!
And hast thou fallen, thou father of the vale, Friend of the poor?-Ob, who shall tell the tale!
Thus stands the oak upon the hoary steep,
Broad-breasted, and o'ershadowing the deep,
Of a chaste, delicate, well-spring, cool and clear,
A grateful umbrage to the traveller,
Wayworn in soul, and by the noon opprest,
While gentle murmurings lull him to his rest:
But, lo! the axe is levelled in its prime,
And roots it from the brow before its time ;-
The wayworn traveller may come again,
And deem beneath its branches to remain,-
Behold, 'tis gone! the once-full spring is dry,
Exposed to sultry noon and parching sky:
Bereft of hope, he lays him down and weeps,
Too spent to urge his way, and, haply, sleeps
To wake no more!-So may thy death remove,
Far from the poor, blest charity and love;
Exposed to earth's hot scorn and injury,
And not a help, and not a solace nigh,
Till death shall end their anguish, and the soul,
Few days on earth, spurn its severe control!
Oft thou the poor hast shrouded from their fate,---
Could not thy virtue for thee mediate
Between thy sovereign and his wrath?-Art thou, The father of the needy, fallen now?
Myra beloved! doth not thy pitying heart Partake Sabina's lovelorn grief? Thou art A woman! yea, a soft and gentle maid! Should thy dear lover fall thus, thus betray'd, Would not thy faithful love, disconsolate, Long, long lament his timeless, hapless fate? Thy cheek, thy bright eye, sadden? and thy breast Heave with excessive agony opprest?
Then what must her's be?-but I need not tell,— Thy tender thought can image it too well.
OUGHT THE PUNISHMENT OF DEATH TO BE ABOLISHED?
THE discussion of this question occupied five evenings, and was commenced in support of the abolition. The reasons urged by the Opener, and by other Members who maintained the same opinion, were to the following effect:
In such an inquiry as the present, the first point to be determined is the right; for, if the punishment of death were ever so unexceptionable, or even advantageous, unless a valid authority could be shown for its infliction, it ought to be abolished. Now, there are three grounds on which it is usually attempted to be justified, the express or implied consent of society, the law of nature, and the law of revela tion; to which may be added, or in some of which may be implied, a supposed necessity. None of these, however, if properly considered, will be found sufficient.
As to the alleged consent, it is wholly imaginary, for it never was given; and even if it had been given, it would have been void; as no man can give a valid authority to any other person to take away his life, for this plain reason, that he cannot lawfully destroy it himself. The same argument that would justify capital punishment, on the ground of consent, would equally justify suicide, as it would shew that man possessed the right of resigning his life when he considered it expedient. This ground, therefore, is totally untenable.
The law of nature would certainly be a good authority, if it could be shewn that it authorized the punishment of death. But, in the first place, what is the law of nature, and how is it to be ascertained? Sir William Blackstone, in the Introduction to his Commentaries, sect. 2, very justly states, that the will of God is the law of nature; and that, in order to discover what this law requires, recourse must be had to reason. He then goes on to show, what is indeed a necessary consequence, that the system which is now called the law of nature," is only what, by the assistance of human reason, we imagine to be that law.' The proper application of such a law depends on the correct exercise of reason in each individual, and, consequently, instead of furnishing any definite rule of action for the general guidance of mankind, it leaves us without any other than the most wavering and uncertain of all,-individual opinion. Is it possible, that any one who has the least respect for human life, can consider this to be a sufficient authority for inflicting the punishment of death?
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