XLI. OLD AGE. OR can the fnows, which now hath fhed Upon thy reverend head, Quench or allay the noble fires within. For all that thou haft been, and all that youth can be, Thou'rt yet-fo fully ftill doft thou Poffefs the manhood and the bloom of wit. To things immortal time can do no wrong, And that which never is to die, for ever must be young. COWLEY. XLII. THE CHURCH. HE has a charm, a word of fire, By every fign her Lord foretold, 244 Abbey Jumieges.—Lebanon. XLIII. THE ABBEY JUMIEGES. A GLORIOUS remnant of the Gothic pile (Which once was Rome's) ftood half apart In a grand arch,-which once fcreened many an aisle; The last had disappeared,—a lofs to art,- In gazing on the venerable arch. BYRON.* XLIV. LEBANON. ID the deep filence of the pathlefs wild, Where kindlier Nature once profufely fmiled, Th' eternal cedars ftand; unknown their age, Untold their annals in hiftoric page! All that around them ftood, now far away, Single in ruin, mighty in decay! * Copied by the Editor from the ruins A.D. 1839, where "the lame Lord," as the Sacriftan faid, had carved them twenty years previous, and whofe vifit he well remembered. Between the mountains and the neighbouring main In folemn beauty through the clear blue light G. HOWARD. XLV. LIBERTY. OMPULSION, from its deftined course, Thus, though the idle world may hold 246 Correction.-Controversy. XLVI. CORRECTION. ORD, as a tender mother day by day So wean us, Lord, fo make us wholly Left in our feebleness we ftart away From Thy loved chaftening; for we could not bear The fudden vifion of ourselves and Thee, Or learn at once how vain our bright hopes be. Then be our earthly weaknefs, Lord, Thy care, And e'en in wounding heal, in breaking spare. BISHOP WILBERFORCE. XLVII. CONTROVERSY. E calm in arguing, for fierceness makes More than his fickness or his poverty? Calmness is great advantage: he that lets Mark all his wanderings, and enjoy his frets; As cunning fencers suffer heat to tire. Truth dwells not in the clouds; the bow that's there Doth often aim at, never hit, the sphere. GEORGE HERBERT. XLVIII. THE SOUL. NOW'ST thou the value of a foul im mortal? Behold the midnight glory, worlds on worlds! Amazing pomp! Redouble this amaze; Ten thousand add; and twice ten thousand more; Then weigh the whole,- one foul outweighs them all. YOUNG. XLIX. MUSIC. HERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; Is thy fweet voice to me: When as if its found were caufing, |