The Showman chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square;

And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and

fair;

Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands ready with the fee,

Impatient till his moment comes-what an insight must it be!

Yet, Showman, where can lie the cause? Shall thy implement have blame,

A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame? Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault? Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is yon resplendent Vault?

Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here? Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear? The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of mightiest

fame,

Doth she betray us when they're seen? or are they but a name?

Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong, And bounty never yields so much but it seems to do her wrong?

Or is it, that when human souls a journey long have had And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad?

Or must we be constrained to think that these spectators rude,

Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude, Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie?

No, no, this cannot be-Men thirst for power and majesty!

Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind

employ

Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy, That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign, Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine!

Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry and pore Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: One after one they take their turn, nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied.

NARRATIVE POEMS

RUTH.

WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
Her father took another mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And from that oaten pipe could draw
All sounds of winds and floods ;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;

Herself her own delight;

Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay ;'

And, passing thus the livelong day,

She grew to woman's height.

There came a Youth from Georgia's shore

A military casque he wore,

With splendid feathers drest ;

He brought them from the Cherokees;

The feathers nodded in the breeze,

And made a gallant crest.