Roger Bacon, to whom science was indebted at a period when she had so few friends, that his homage to her worth, subjected him to the imputation of magic.

But nothing has conduced more to the interests of true philosophy than the establishment of literary associations, some of which have been incorporated with equal advantage to themselves and to society at large. The Royal Society originated in the meeting of a few literary friends at Oxford, in the reign of Charles the First, and "rose gradually to that splendid zenith," to use the words of Sir W. Jones, "at which a Halley was their secretary, and a Newton their president. The Society of Antiquaries has contributed largely to the extension of useful knowledge, by ascertaining the changes which have taken place on the surface of the earth, encouraging the study of our national antiquities, and elucidating the earliest periods of history, from neglected records. The present day has given birth to numerous literary associations, which need not to be named, but which are not inferior to their predecessors in a national point of view.

Princes of the Royal House step forward to afford such institutions their assistance and patronage. It is worthy of a family sitting on the throne of a free and a great people, to distinguish themselves as the friends of knowledge, a throne founded on wisdom and liberty can never be overturned. Thus countenanced, let us redouble our exertions in pursuit of those noble objects proposed by our association; and prove that our philosophy is founded in truth and morals. We have nothing to fear for the result.-Empires are destroyed"the mountain falling cometh to nought, and the rocks are removed out of their place,"-the features of the natural and political world are perpetually changing, but the characters of truth last for ever!

THERE's not a clime beneath the starry cope
Of heaven, where, meet for ear of love or hope,
(And, oh, for thine, my Myra!) tragic lay,
A sweeter scene may chuse than CANDIA.

-Her waters flow for ever. From on high,
Where Ide holds mystic commune with the sky,
The innumerable streams dash down eternally;
Rivers and fountains of her springs are born,
Before them fades the vapour of the morn.
On pool or lake no insect trusts its egg,
To threaten Candia with Egyptian plague;
Aye, on the rapid torrent, to hoar ocean,
Borne with perpetual and impetuous motion.
-Wild on her mountains, and her hills sublime
The medicinal herb and odorous thyme
Abound. And in the vale the rivulet,

With myrtle, laurel-roses, overset,

Graceful as ringlets, doth in music jet

Along. And all her fields with orange-trees,

Citron, and almond, bloom and breathe, and please.
Robed are the plains with saffron. Dittany
Festoons the rock's fantastic cavity:
The creeping jasmine tufts the fragrant way,
And makes each garden an Arabia :
The violet purples o'er the vernal bower,
As Bacchus' self were changed into a flower.
The hills, the vales, the plains, rejoice. The balm
Curls up in sightless clouds through ether calin,

Making day sick with spices exquisite ;

"Till eve, with her soft footsteps, treads out light.
-Then cometh forth, in all her glory, Night,
Displaying through clear azure, vapour-free,
What a rich Stellar Paradise hath she,
Under which the lithe shepherd sleepeth. He
Trembles not for his folded fleecy charge,
Lest they fall victim to the beast at large,
Lion, or tiger, wolf, or fox, or bear;
The sportive goat the wildest native here,
Who, save the hunter's ball, hath nought to fear,
Wild denizen of mountains where he playeth ;

The while the timorous hare on the hills strayeth ;

And o'er the plains the sheep so innocent

Browse on the thyme and heath, securely and content.

II.

The moon and stars flood heaven,-'tis midnight deep;
How soft the hour,-soft as the breath of sleep!
Lone silence reigns through this expanded ball,
Nature's kind nurse, Repose, embraces all.

Hail, blest Repose! thou quick Creation's tomb !
Hail, blest Repose! how like our mortal doom!
The eye beholds not, nor the ear perceives,
And all their mighty world the spirit leaves.
-How great thy benison! hail, sacred Sleep!
The lover in thine arms forgets to weep;
The king, his dignity and high command;
The patriot, all the peril of his land;
Regardless lies the scholar of his lore;
The warrior of the trumpet's future roar:

Thou, in thy palace, spread'st thy sombre plumes,
Deepening still more the deep nocturnal glooms-
Then beckon'st Morpheus, deity of dreams,
Who, e'en from sleep, wakes Fancy's mimic gleams;
Observant to the silent dome he hies,

Through whose dim portals each quaint vision flies.
The unhappy dream their cloudy days are sped,
And fairy prospects open in their stead;
The cup of joy's dash'd from the happy man,
And every demon loads him with a ban:
Heroes, encamp'd, enjoy their peaceful loves,
The fond of peace with red Bellona moves;
Valour is stricken with uncommon fear,

While cowards 'sdein to fly, and every danger dare.
Whistling, the scholar tends the plough and team;
A sapient scholar is the ploughboy's dream :
The king's a peasant, and, not strange to sing,
The peasant rises equal to a king:
Sea-parted lovers fill each other's arms,
And gaze, enraptur'd, on each other's charms:

They, whom a parent's avarice would divide,
Are with the hymeneal roses tied—

Hail, sacred Sleep! how fearful, if denied!
How fearful, if some ruthless thought, or will,
Prevent the precious balm thy dewy wings distil.

III.

To Antilistos Sleep her balm denies;
Wildly he starts, and rolls his troubled eyes.
Thus, at the breeze, starts waking sentinel,
Conscious that he hath not been watching well.
But not the sentinel that fears the breeze,
And springs to meet his sudden enemies ;
Nor shipman, when he hears the storm-blast rise,
Betrays such inward shrilling agonies:

He looks at heaven; the stars, e'en now, so bright,
Have disappeared, and rayless left the night,
Dark as his soul, where he the battle fought
Of guilty purpose, and forbidding thought.
But steel'd it soon 'gainst Truth's mysterious dart,
Stifled compunction, and resolved his heart :-
"Follow not all men passions which they love?
Some which your frigid sages e'en approve.
And wherein differ they? Their strife of wit,
And emulation, is but envy yet;

Their wisdom cunning, and their love but lust,
And, for they cannot injure, only just.

But wherefore reason? What have these to do,
These idle saws the old from charnels drew,
With living charms?—their rugged morals cold
With form and eye, that fire whoe'er behold?"

IV.

The King hath left the cot by virtue blest;
Awake alone,—its gentle dwellers rest.
Like an unquiet spirit of the tomb,

The tyrant stalketh through the horrid gloom.

Flashed not the lightning? Hark! the thunder rolls,
That awful voice which threatens guilty souls:
Th' electric fire divides the gleaming air,
And shocks the night with momentary glare;
So oft as its blue shafts red-feathered fly,
The thunder shakes the empire of the sky,-
The dreaming peasants from their couches start,
And gaze, and listen, with a panting heart:
Full many a tree extends along the plain;
Vast is the tumult of the troubled main:
Full many a wreck, the ensuing morn, I ween,
With weeping eyes, by numbers will be seen :-

But heaven avert the mischiefs which impend,
And on the hill of storms the mariner defend.

Why rolls the thunder in thee, gentle clime?
Shows heaven its horror at the purpos'd crime,
The tyrant's soul conceals? Such dreadful tone
Of vast concussion is almost unknown
In thee, thou lovely and thou temperate land,
Of calm, of pleasant sun, of breezes bland ;-
Or launches Jove his thunderbolts of wrath,
To stop the guilty despot in his path,
And with his lightning waken in his breast,
The smould'ring thought that long had been represt,
But cannot die? And did the flash impart
The flame of strong conviction to his heart?
His soul, his soul was touched not; yet he stood
Listening the storm awhile, in wondering mood;
Though all his soul expands before mine eye,
No trace of such a thought I can espy.

Beneath a pine-tree, on the mountain's side, Did from the blast the courtier safely bide, Waiting his monarch from the Vale of Ide. He greets him now,-his lawless passion told, The cringing slave no plaudit dare withhold. Poor Majesty and Power!-that throne how cursed, Whence Truth and all her children are dispersed ; While Adulation, at the monarch's hand, Holds favoured right, and absolute command! And sterner, at the pleasing parlance still, The King's heart grows, more resolute in ill.

V.

Flattery, like Iris, vests her in all hues,
And every change alternately pursues;
The hour of misery it ne'er beguiles,
But on prosperity for ever smiles ;

When glows the sun-beam on the rainy tear,‍
The hues of heaven across the vault appear.
Such, and so short, is Flattery's borrowed ray,
With that same bounteous beam it fades away.

VI.

Awakes the Morn, and her enlivening beam
Bathes in the dew, and brightens in the stream:
Refulgent rides the sun o'er Ida's height,
But partly shewing his obstructed light.
Thus, on the vast circumfluous wave, is seen
The distant sail arising at the ken;

Night's shades and stars recede before his car,
Now, past the mountain, blaze his shafts afar;