On wheels of light and wings of flame,
The glorious hosts of Zion came.

High Heaven with sounds of triumph rung,
And thus they smote their harps and sung:-

"O Zion, lift thy raptured eye,
The long-expected hour is nigh—
The joys of Nature rise again-
The Prince of Salem comes to reign!
See, Mercy, from her golden urn,
Pours a glad stream to them that mourn;
Behold, she binds, with tender care,
The bleeding bosom of despair.

He comes-He cheers the trembling heart-
Night and her spectres pale depart:
Again the day-star gilds the gloom-
Again the bowers of Eden bloom!
Oh, Zion, lift thy raptured eye,
The long-expected hour is nigh-
The joys of Nature rise again,
The Prince of Salem comes to reign !"

LOVE AND MADNESS.

AN ELEGY, WRITTEN IN 1795.

HARK! from the battlements of video

The solemn bell has tolled the midnight hour! Roused from drear visions of distempered sleep, Poor Broderick wakes-in solitude to weep!

"Cease, Memory, cease," the friendless mourner clied, "To probe the bosom too severely tried!

Oh! ever cease, my pensive thoughts, to stray
Through the bright fields of fortune's better day
When youthful HOPE, the music of the mind,
Tuned all its charms, and Errington was kind!

"Yet, can I cease, while glows this trembling frame, In sighs to speak thy melancholy name?

I hear thy spirit wail in every storm!

In midnight shades I view thy passing form!
Pale as in that sad hour when doomed to feel,
Deep in thy perjured heart, the bloody steel!

"Demons of Vengeance! ye at whose command
I grasped the sword with more than woman's hand,
Say ye, did Pity's trembling voice control,
Or horror damp the purpose of my soul?
No! my wild heart sat smiling o'er the plan,
Till Hate fulfilled what baffled Love began!

"Yes; let the clay-cold breast that never knew
One tender pang to generous Nature true,
Half-mingling pity with the gall of scorn,
Condemn this heart, that bled in love forlorn !

"And ye, proud fair, whose soul no gladness warms, Save Rapture's homage to your conscious charms ! Delighted idols of a gaudy train,

Ill can your blunter feelings guess the pain,
When the fond faithful heart, inspired to prove
Friendship refined, the calm delight of love,
Feels all its tender strings with anguish torn,
And bleeds at perjured Pride's inhuman scorn!

"Say, then, did pitying Heaven condemn the deed, When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover! bleed? Long had I watched thy dark foreboding brow, What time thy bosom scorned its dearest vow! Sad, though I wept the friend, the lover changed, Still thy cold look was scornful and estranged, Till from thy pity, love, and shelter thrown, I wandered hopeless, friendless, and alone!

"Oh! righteous Heaven! 'twas then my tortured soul First gave to wrath unlimited control!

Adieu the silent look! the streaming eye!

The murmured plaint ! the deep heart-heaving sigh!
Long-slumbering Vengeance wakes to better deeds;
He shrieks, he falls, the perjured lover bleeds!
Now the last laugh of agony is o'er,

And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more!

"'Tis done! the flame of hate no longer burns:
Nature relents, but, ah! too late returns!
Why does my soul this gush of fondness feel?
Trembling and faint, I drop the guilty steel!
Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies,
And shades of horror close my languid eyes!

"Oh! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest grain !
Could Broderick's soul so true to wrath remain ?
A friend long true, a once fond lover fell!—
Where Love was fostered could not Pity dwell?

"Unhappy youth! while yon pale crescent glows
To watch on silent nature's deep repose,
Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb,
Foretells my fate, and summons me to come!

Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand,
Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand!

"Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame
Forsake its languid melancholy frame!
Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close,
Welcome the dreamless night of long repose!
Soon may this woe-worn spirit seek the bourne
Where, lulled to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn!"

CAROLINE.

PART I.

I'LL bid the hyacinth to blow

I'll teach my grotto green to be;

And sing my true love all below
The holly bower and myrtle tree.

There all his wild-wood sweets to bring,
The sweet South wind shall wander by,
And with the music of his wing

Delight my rustling canopy.

Come to my close and clustering bower
Thou spirit of a milder clime,
Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower,
Of mountain heath, and moory thyme.

With all thy rural echoes coine,

Sweet comrade of the rosy day,

Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum,
Or cuckoo's plaintive roundelay.

Where'er thy morning breath has played,
Whatever isles of ocean fanned,
Come to my blossom-woven shade,
Thou wandering wind of fairy-land.

For sure from some enchanted isle,

Where Heaven and Love their Sabbath hold, Where pure and happy spirits smile, Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould :

From some green Eden of the deep,
Where Pleasure's sigh alone is heaved,
Where tears of rapture lovers weep,
Endeared, undoubting, undeceived;

From some sweet paradise afar,

Thy music wanders, distant, lostWhere Nature lights her leading star, And love is never, never crossed.

Oh, gentle gale of Eden bowers,

If back thy rosy feet should roam, To revel with the cloudless Hours

In Nature's more propitious home,

Name to thy loved Elysian groves,

That o'er enchanted spirits twine, A fairer form than cherub loves, And let the name be CAROLINE