lead the devout man to the contemplation of a First Cause, the Life, and Soul, and Energy of All. Hence we observe a kind of culpable inattention and indifference, even in those who are most habituated to rural scenes, and who, consequently, must enjoy the most frequent opportunities of admiring and contemplating the works of Nature. Satisfied, for instance, that the sun enlightens the world, and dispenses the most essential benefits to mankind, they have no solicitude, however, to explore the cause of these wonderful effects. They view, every day, the most glorious object in Nature, without one emotion of grateful pleasure, without one idea or reflec

tion.

In Paradise Lost, when Adam awakes Eve in the morning, he reminds her of the sweet pleasures she is losing:

Awake,

My fairest, my espoused, my lately found,
Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight,
Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
The tender plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How Nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet. 1

Another poet beautifully observes:

Rise before the sun,

Then make a breakfast of the morning dew
Served up by Nature on some grassy hill;
You'll find it nectar.

Those who are constrained to live in large cities,

1 Milton, in these inexpressibly charming lines, had his eye, no doubt, on a passage in the Song of Solomon: 'Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field: let us lodge in the villages: let us get up early to the vineyards: let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth.'

and occasionally resort to the country, ought not to need such an invitation:

The meanest floweret of the vale,

The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To such are opening Paradise.

It is certain, that we no where meet with a more glorious or more pleasing show of Nature, than what appears in the heavens at the rising of the sun. The richest decorations, the most variegated and the most gorgeous scenery, that human fancy can imagine, must vanish into nothing, when compared with a spectacle in which radiance and beauty are so preeminent. The first aspect of the morning is pale and white, or gray. Hence Milton styles her Leucothea, which, in the Greek language, signifies the White Goddess:

To resalute the world with sacred light

Leucothea waked, and with fresh dews embalmed
The earth.

Leucothea, whom the Romans called Matuta, is the harbinger of Aurora; and the horizon, with the nearer approach of the sunbeams, now assumes a roseate hue. Thus Lucretius:

Roseam Matuta per oras

Etheris Auroram defert, et lumina pandit.

O'er all the skies Matuta spreads her light,
And brings the morn in roseate colours bright.

And thus Homer gives rosy fingers to the Morn', and Milton rosy steps and a rosy hand.

Now did the rosy-fingered Morn arise,
And shed her sacred light along the skies.

2 Now Morn her rosy steps in th' eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl.

3

-Morn,

Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand,
Unbarred the gates of light.

The Morning, in fine, displays to the world a new and magnificent creation. The shades of night had concealed the view and enjoyment of earth and skies. But now the light returns, and we behold all Nature renewed in youth and beauty. We are reminded of Milton's fine description of the creation, when God first commanded the earth to put forth the verdant grass :'

He scarce had said, when the bare earth, till then
Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorned,

Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad
Her universal face with pleasant green;
Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered,
Opening their various colours, and made gay
Her bosom smelling sweet.-

-With high woods the hills were crowned,
With tufts the valleys, and each fountain side
With borders 'long the rivers; that earth now
Seemed like to heaven, a seat where gods might dwell,
Or wander with delight, and love to haunt

Her sacred shades.

Nor is this poetic fiction: the morning landscape is indeed exquisitely beautiful. We behold the mountains crowned, as if by the instantaneous effect of enchantment, with majestic woods; the spreading lawns covered with herds and flocks; the fields ripening into harvest; and the meadows enamelled with flowers, and watered by meandering streams. The whole horizon looks gay: the scattered clouds assume a vivid variety of hues; the lighter vapours are converted into gold: and every plant and every flower sparkles with orient pearl. In proportion as the day approaches, the spectacle is still more beautiful. By soft progressions of light, Nature at length appears in her utmost perfection. The sun is rising. A first ray escaped from the mountain's top, that still conceals the radiant orb from the sight, darts rapidly from one end of the horizon to the other. Successive rays strengthen the first. The

face of the sun is disengaged by degrees, till it looks, at last, in boundless majesty abroad! All Nature rejoices in a delightful renovation of life and vigour. The feathered tribes salute the bright source of day with their melodious notes. Every living creature is in action, and is sensible to new returns of pleasure and new capacities of enjoyment.

Mallet has amplified this pleasing subject with the most beautiful and picturesque imagery:

And now pale glimmering on the verge of heaven,
From east to north in doubtful twilight seen,
A whitening lustre shoots its tender beam;
While shade and silence yet involve the ball.
Now sacred Morn, ascending, smiles serene
A dewy radiance, brightening o'er the world.
Gay daughter of the Air, for ever young,
For ever pleasing! Lo, she onward comes,
In fluid gold and azure loose arrayed,
Sun-tinctured, changeful hues. At her approach,
The western gray of yonder breaking clouds
Slow reddens into flame: the rising mists,
From off the mountain's brow, roll blue away
In curling spires, and open all his woods,
High-waving in the sky: th' uncoloured stream,
Beneath her glowing ray, translucent shines.
Glad Nature feels her thro' her boundless realms
Of life and sense; and calls forth all her sweets,
Fragrance and song. From each unfolding flower
Transpires the balm of life, that Zephyr wafts,
Delicious, on his rosy wing: each bird,
Or high in air, or secret in the shade,
Rejoicing, warbles wild his matin-hymn.
While beasts of chase, by secret instinct moved,
Scud o'er the lawns, and, plunging into night,
In brake, or cavern, slumber out the day.

Invited by the cheerful Morn abroad,
See, from his humble roof, the good man comes
To taste her freshness, and improve her rise
In holy musing. Rapture in his eye,
And kneeling wonder, speaks his silent soul,
With gratitude o'erflowing, and with praise!
Now Industry is up. The village pours
Her useful sons abroad to various toil:

The labourer here, with every instrument
Of future plenty armed; and there the swain,
A rural king amid his subject-flocks,

Whose bleatings wake the vocal hills afar.
The traveller, too, pursues his early road,
Among the dews of Morn. Aurora calls:
And all the living landscape moves around.
But see, the flushed horizon flames intense
With vivid red, in rich profusion streamed
O'er heaven's pure arch. At once the clouds assume
Their gayest liveries; these with silvery beams
Fringed lovely; splendid those in liquid gold:
And speak their sovereign's state. He comes, behold!
Fountain of light and colour, warmth and life!
The king of glory! Round his head divine,
Diffusive showers of radiance circling flow,
As o'er the Indian wave up-rising fair
He looks abroad on Nature, and invests,
Where'er his universal eye surveys,

Her ample bosom, earth, air, sea, and sky,
In one bright robe, with heavenly tinctures gay.

The limits of this paper will not permit me to make any reflections on two beautiful phenomena of a morning prospect, which have afforded the poets the happiest subjects of description: I mean the Dews and the Sun. Of the first I have already amply treated in a former paper; and the latter shall be the subject of a future one. At present, I shall be content to imagine the Contemplative Philoso pher in his morning walk, enraptured with the beautiful face of Nature, and thus pouring forth the devout effusions of his heart: Adorable Being! In the glories of the morning I behold thy infinite wisdom and power. With the soaring lark, whose sweet song proclaims the approach of day, I aspire to thee, O God, the Father of the Creation. The cheerfulness and joy that inspires all Nature, and this universal renovation of life and beauty, invite me also to raise my heart to thee, with the most lively transports of gratitude and joy. At this instant, that the sun darts its earliest rays upon the