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the limits prescribed by his education and That Browne had something of austerity, the laws. He distinctly avows that, with has already been seen. Intellect with him him, reason is subordinate to the teachings was supreme.

Affection was rigidly govof the Church, as the Church is subordinate erned, and passion was suppressed. His to the Jewish Scriptures. Of a temper enthusiasm, even,

had a stateliness of march naturally visionary, (though we find it im- and a severity of demeanor, that amountpossible to discover any appropriateness in ed almost to a perfect disguise. His was Coleridge's designation of affectionate not a heart that could love. At thirty, he enthusiast,”) had his mind but swung tells us that he “never get cast a true afaloof from these moorings, we might have fection upon a woman. And though his looked for extravagances, less wild and marriage, some years after, puts a face of antic, perhaps, than we are doomed to wit- inconsistency upon the contempt at this ness among our transcendental savans, period expressed for the other sex, yet it is yet, from the superiority of his intellect, of easy to believe that no material change, in sufficient consequence to save him from this particular, ever passed upon his mind. contempt.

Such a cold, heroic pursuit of wisdom and Sir Thomas Browne, then, did not waste virtue will always command respect and his energies in a vain and endless chase even high admiration, but there is nothing after absolute truth. Clearly recognizing in it to love: and we should greatly belie that man is but relative in his nature, and our own judgment and feelings, did we encompassed by nó calculable course of avow any ardent affection for his writings, events, nor influenced by the same unva or any impulse to seek for consolation and ried causes, nor able, at all times and in all sympathy in his bosom, amidst the ills and positions, to get a complete and reliable perplexities of our life. While it makes view of the elements on which his reason us more proud of humanity to know that is exercised, he wisely abstained from a such a man has lived, we never feel our search he saw must be fruitless, and con- pulse beat warmer at the mention of his tented himself to attempt a discovery of name—no sweet words of beauty and hope, his immediate relations, and of the wants from his pen, ever gush upon our spirit in arising therefrom. He thrust off every ap- moments of dejection and sorrow. Sir proach of skepticism, therefore, by a sup- Thomas Browne cared very little for the pression of all doubts that arose to disturb beautiful or the tender. He could weep a belief which he had once deliberately at the idle parade of a Romish procession, settled, knowing that in this state of imper- but for a heart overwhelmed and broken fect vision, many uncertainties and appa- with grief, he had no kind word of comfort. rent contradictions will attach themselves to | He could name, doubtless, many

hundreds all the weightier conclusions of our reason. of flowers, but their delicate loveliness

The great subjects on which his con never touched his heart. He talks much templations most delighted to dwell, as and frequently of nature, yet he could already intimated, were of a nature far re never have cordially sympathized with the moved from the ordinary affairs of life, beautiful child of affection who should say constituting a spiritual world in which few, in simplicity: “I have ever loved the flowin the present state of being, have leisure ers,—and even from my earliest years,

the habitually to dwell. To lose himself in greatest happiness that I could know was meditations upon an incomprehensible De- a solitary ramble among them, and an hour's ity, was his constant delight, and all the silent communion with nature.” Beauty, loftier themes of human life, and death, in his eye, was nothing—wisdom was all. and destiny, were forever returning to his We open his pages with reverence,—we thoughts. In these was his existence ; | read with admiration,—we close them and and none to whom such matters have any go forth into the world, to find a darker interest can lightly esteem the manifold | hue and a sterner aspect on the face of and various lucubrations, of which his destiny, and a more sombre shadow upon works are the elaborate record.

all things.

J. H. B.

HYMN OF CREATION.

(IN THE INDUS.)

Creation, as it is described by Menu, was a work of Brahma, who is the principal person of the three that emanated from Brehm, the Vast, the ineffable, One. Brahma, the first of created gods, gave origin to the world by conceiving it in his thought.

See Article The Laws of Menu,by J. D. Whelpley, American Review, Vol. I. 1815.

WHERE SURRAWATA's crag aspires,
An Indian minstrel stood alone,
Seeing the manifold soft fires
Of evening paint the westering zone ;
While far below a large blue deep
Lay calmly in its circle curled,
And the low breathing of its sleep
Like music charmed the Orient world.
The poet gazed as poets gaze
Along the wave, the mount, the air,
With soul of prayer and lips of praise ;
For Brehm* HIMSELF was kindling there,
And, like an over-wearied dove,
The earth lay brooding in His breast of love.

The moon came up with dewy wreath,
And in the sunset's golden street,
The evening paled and died beneath
The tramplings of her silver feet.
Silent the priest of nature stood-
His hands upon his harp—his eyes
Bent raptly on the purple flood
That filled the hollows of the skies.
But when the planet, calm and queenly,
In mid heaven sat serenely, -
Gazing with extatic looks,
On the old heroic books
That Brehm hath written on the folded stars,
He struck the strings; the wakened lyre
Leaped to an answer for his soul on fire--
The holy hymn rolled out and rang the willing wire.

I.

Mountains and seas, and suns, and stars, and spheres,
That fill the deep caves of the dark Abyss
With sounding Meres
Of splendor, giving and receiving bliss !
Oh, steadfast marks by whose keen glow

* The Hindoo name for God.

The fields of space we only know-
Even as a Godhead's large domain appears
To spirits undefiled,
By truths, like stars, along its cloudy border piled,
Not, not to ye,
Vast as ye are and awful in your gloom,
Or beautiful in thick ambrosial bloom
I bend

my

knee. I hear your symphonies forever roll, Like the long quiet breathings of eternity, O'er many

a far-off spot, Where millions dwell, who wear, like me, a soul ;-Yet, yet, oh planets bright, or systems dim In yonder shadowy space, Fronting ye face to face, I worship not, Nor sound to ye the high and holy hymn.

II.

To CHREESHNA* will I lift the strain,
The born of Brehm in ages long ago;
Chreeshna! who saw, and not in vain,
Cycle on cycle round the Father flow.
'Twas He, the tall Archangel, who beheld,
When leaning from the gallery of His home,
With diamond column dight and crystal dome,
The rough stupendous sea of matter swelled
In scowling discord far below.

Why glooms the desert tentless ?” thus he cried :
“ Be mine! be mine
The task to bend it to the Will Divine !
A harmony may wed its cloudy tide--
A melody within its discord may be wrought;
So with a Time may it forever shine,
And under sweet compulsion brought,
No longer wail, but clothe an angel's thought.”

III.

He said, and from his shoulders swift unfurled
Their wings, like snowy clouds, and bore away
Into the Inner World,
Which owns the Sire's immediate sway.
He stood upon the margin of the Sphere,
Waiting until the essence trembling out
Should wrap his charmed soul about
With sympathy, and draw the angelic near
Its awful but resplendent source: nor waited long,
Soon shone he there with that selectest throng
Who feel, in dread delight,
The Father-Brehm's melodious love
Strike through their frames a wondrous might
That lifts them swooning to the heaven above.

* An incarnation of BREHM.

IV.

He heard the thunders of Almighty Will
Go crashing down the throned steeps--
He heard the echoes answering, answering still
From all the distant deeps-
A high song pouring from the choirs
Of giant seraphs ranked around,
Like pyramidal fires with skies of azure crowned.
Wrapt in his scheme, he only pondered mute,
But when the anthem died he made his mighty suit.
All Heaven was hushed at his bold word,
While through the awe-struck space
His fervent voice was heard
Ascending to the Secret Place.
He paused—a wave of smiles came floating down,
And curled around his forehead in a crown
Of calm magnificence: then swelled again
An ancient song from that angelic train,--
“Holy! Most Holy! unto Thee we bow!
Glorious ! Most Glorious ! only unto thee,
With veiled brow and bending knee,
Who Wast and Art and ever more shalt Be !"

V.

Again his wings unfurled
Like snowy clouds around a star,
And bore afar
Beyond the Inner World.
At last he checked his eager flight
Close by the realm of Night:
There lighting on a promontory,
His countenance took its grandest glory,
And over the cloudy Deep
He stretched his shining hands:
Slowly it felt their awful power sweep
Along its wailing waves and solemn sands.
And still the INFLUENCE grew in might,
And gathering to a rounded light,
Now quick, now slow,
Went smiting all the Chaos to and fro,
Until its dull eyes opened lazily to the glow.
He spoke!

The darkness shuddering broke:
Then the sun-orb, from a chasm, moaning in the troubled ocean,
Rose and towered grandly upward, with a slow melodious motion;
Blazed the zodiac's giant circle, shouting rose the Pleiades ;
Glittered all the starry islands in their blue, surrounding seas :
Other spheres from other caverns gave the gift of flame to space,-
Mighty Jove with many vassais kneeling round his golden mace;
Trembling Vesta gliding coyly under all the ardent glare ;
Venus with her snow-white bosom throbbing passion in the air;
Pallas leading out the young Winds,'murmuring with joy the while,
Over the emerald vales and mountains, by the blue lakes of her Isle ;
Ceres on her sunny uplands with the blossoms keeping tryst ;
Lone Uranus walking slowly in his wilderness of mist;

Solemn Saturn with his bright rings wheeling round his stately form,
And the world of red savannahs shimmering ghastly through the storm ;
Followed by the silver planet—Planet ! whom I now behold,
Looking on the Earth serenely as thou look’dst in ages old,
When ye first, with low, sweet laughter, in your azure circles whirled.
And the Angel-shepherd, smiling on the far extending wold
Which had drank his sudden splendor, numbered all his starry fold ;
Then like melody his white wings on the morning air unfurled,
Wafting up the great World-maker to the waiting Inner World.

VI.
But still the INFLUENCE brooding hung
O'er all the spheres and peopled all their climes :
First through the grosser shapes it sprung,
First to the lower atoms clung ;
But took the nobler in the nobler times.
It swept along with permeating song,
Iņ whose harmonious breath
An Eden kissed to life the cold, black lips of Death.
The huge sea-monster, stricken by the tone,
Sank to his vasty tomb in dark despair ;
Th’ enormous beast, left in the worlds alone,
His mighty race to marble history grown,
Crouched, dying darkly in his caverned lair.
To them the rosy flower and rainbow wing
Were torture, and upon their tombs
The snow-white swan went sweetly murmuring,
And all the hyacinth urns of dewy spring
Poured out their rich perfumes.

VII.

And still the Influence swept along,

And still diviner grew the song.
The wild bee murmured in the flower; the wild bird sang aloud;
The Eagle soared, and drank from out his beaker of the cloud;
The wild deer glanced like beams along the dizzy mountain race;
The Lord of all majestic rose and filled his throned place;
And at the last, when softest grew the silver-sounding strains,
Did Woman, glorious Woman rise from all the Eden plains
Of those resplendent worlds; then Silence through the space
Leaned pressing her pale hands upon the hushed lips of the air,
And in the quiet sabbath morn Creation bowed in prayer.

W. W.

1845.

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