When I survey the bright Celestial sphere, So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear, My soul her wings doth spread, And heavenward flies, The Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volume of the skies; For the bright firmament Shoots forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creator's name. No unregarded star Contracts its light Into so small a character, Removed far from our human sight, But if we steadfast look, We shall discern In it, as in some holy book, How man may heavenly knowledge learn. It tells the conqueror That far-stretch'd power, Which his proud dangers traffic for, Is but the triumph of an hour; That, from the furthest North, Some nation may, Yet undiscover'd, issue forth, And o'er his new-got conquest sway,-- Some nation, yet shut in With hills of ice, May be let out to scourge his sin Till they shall equal him in vice; And then they likewise shall Their ruin brave; For, as yourselves, your empires fall, _And every kingdom hath a grave_. Thus those celestial fires, Though seeming mute, The fallacy of our desires, And all the pride of life, confute; For they have watch'd since first The world had birth, And found sin in itself accurst, And nothing permanent on earth. There is something to us particularly interesting in the history of this poet. Even as it is pleasant to see the sides of a volcano covered with verdure, and its mouth filled with flowers, so we like to find the fierce elements, which were inherited by Habington from his fathers, softened and subdued in him,--the blood of the conspirator mellowed into that of the gentle bard, who derived all his inspiration from a pure love and a mild and thoughtful religion. EPISTLE ADDRESSED TO THE HONOURABLE W.E.