Unite their hues; twelve stones, memorial apt
Of Judah's ancient tribes. A mitre decks
His head, and on the top a golden crown
Graven, like a signet, by no vulgar hand,
Proclaims him priest of God.

Symphonious hymns Are mix'd with instrumental melody,

And Judah's joyful shouts. But down thy cheeks, O Ananiah, from thine aged eye,

O Phanuel, drops a tear; for ye have seen

The house of Solomon in all its pride,

And ill can brook this change. Nor ye alone, But every ancient wept. Loud shrieks of grief, Mix'd with the voice of joy, are heard beyond The hills of Salem. Even from Gibeon's walls The' astonish'd peasant turns a listening ear, And Jordan's shepherds catch the distant sound.

BELLY PORTEUS,

(BORN MAY 1723.)

HIS parents were natives of Virginia. He died in May 1809. His merit and piety as a clergyman procured for him finally the Bishoprick of London, and he reflected lustre on that high station by his virtues and talents. His sermons and prose writings generally have much excellence and considerable reputation.

DEATH.

FRIEND to the wretch, whom every friend forsakes,
I woo thee, Death! In fancy's fairy paths
Let the gay songster rove, and gently trill
The strain of empty joy.-Life and its joys
I leave to those that prize them.-At this hour,
This solemn hour, when silence rules the world,
And wearied nature makes a general pause!
Wrapt in night's sable robe, through cloisters drear,
And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng
Of meagre phantoms shooting cross my path
With silent glance, I seek the shadowy vale
Of Death!-Deep in a murky cave's recess,
Lav'd by oblivion's listless stream, and fenc'd
By shelving rocks, and intermingled horrors
Of yew' and cypress' shade, from all intrusion
Of busy noontide beam, the monarch sits
In unsubstantial majesty enthron'd.
At his right hand, nearest himself in place,
And frightfulness of form, his parent, Sin,
With fatal industry and cruel care,
Busies herself in pointing all his stings,
VOL. XXXVII.
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