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670. AMERICA. I appeal to history! Tell | me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can all the wealth of a universal commerce, can all the achievements of successful heroism, or can all the establishments of this world's wisdom, secure to the empire, the permanency of its possessions? Alas! Troy thought so once, yet the land of Priam lives only in song!

Thebes thought so once; yet her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are as the dust they were vainly intended to commemorate! So thought Palmyra-yet where is she? So thought the country of Demosthenes and the Spartan; yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the servile, mindless and enervate Ottoman!

In his hurried march, Time has but looked at their imagined immortality; and all its vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps! The days of their glory are as if they never had been; and the island, that was then a speck, rude and neglected in the barren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the glory of their arms, the fame of their philosophy, the eloquence of their senate, and the inspiration of their bards!

Who shall say, then, contemplating the past, that England, proud and potent as she appears, may not, one day, be what Athens is, and the young America yet soar to be what Athens was! Who shall say, that, when the European column shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured its very ruins, that mighty continent may not emerge from the horison to rule, for its time, Sovereign of the ascendant!-Phillips.

671. THE POWER OF ELOQUENCE.
Heard ye-those loud-contending waves,
That shook-Cecropia's pillared state?
Saw ye the mighty, from their graves
Look up, and tremble at her fate?
Who shall calm the angry storm?
Who, the mighty task perform,

And bid the raging tumult-cease?
See the son of Hermes rise;

With syren tongue, and speaking eyes,
Hush the noise, and soothe to peace

Lo! from the regions of the north,

The reddening storm of battle pours; Rolls along the trembling earth,

Fastena on Olynthian towers.

"Where rests the sword! where sleep the brave, Awake! Cecropia's ally save,

From the fury of the blast;
Burst the storm on Phocis' walls;
Rise! or Greece forever falls,

Up or freedom-breathes her last!"
The jarring states, obsequious now,
View the patriot's hand on high;
Thunder-gathering on his brow;
Lightning-flashing from his eye!
Borne by the tide of words along,
One voice, one mind, inspire the throng:
"To arms to arms to arms!" they cry.
Grasp the shield, and draw the sword,
Lead us to Philippi's lord,

Let us conquer him-or die !"
Ah eloquence! thou wast undone;
Wast from thy native country driven,
When yranny-eclipsed the sun,

And blotted out the stars of heaven
When liberty, from Greece withdrew
And o'er the Adriatic flew,

To where the Tiber pours § UIT.
She struck the rude Tarpeiar rock;
Sparks were kindled by the shock-

Again, thy fires began to burn!
Now, shining forth, thou madest complaint,
The conscript fathers-to thy charms;
Roused the world-bestriding giant,

Sinking fast, in slavery's arms!
I see thee stand-by freedom's fane,
Pouring the persuasive strain,

Giving vast conceptions birth:
Hark! I hear thy thunder's sound,
Shake the forum-round-und round,
Shake the pillars-of the earth!
First-born of liberty divine!

Put on religion's bright array;
Speak! and the starless grave-shal' shine,
The portal-of eternal day!
Rise, kindling with the orient beam;
Let Calvary's hill-inspire the theme!

Unfold the garments-rolled in blood!
O touch the soul, touch all her chords,
With all the omnipotence of words,

And point the way to heaven-to God -Carey.

THE INFLUENCE OF GOLD. A man who is furnished with arguments from the mint, will convince his antagonist much sooner than one who draws them from reason and philosophy. Gold is a wonderful clearer of the understanding; it dissipates every doubt and scruple in an instant; accommodates itself to the meanest capacities, silences the loud and clamorous, and brings over the most obstinate and inflexible. Philip of Macedon was a man of most invincible reason this way. He refuted by it all the wisdom of Athens, confounded their statesmen, struck their orators dumb, and at length, argued them out of all their liberties.-Addison.

THE WORLD TO COME.

If all our hopes, and all our fears,

Were prisoned-in life's narrow bound;
If travelers through this vale of tears,
We saw no better world beyond;
Oh! what could check the rising sigh?
What earthly thing-could pleasure give?
Oh! who would venture then, to die-
Or who would venture then-to live?
Were life a dark, and desert moor,

Where mists--and clouds eternal-spread
Their gloomy vail behind, before,

And tempests thunder-overhead;
Where not a sun-beam-breaks the gloom,
And not a floweret-smiles beneath,
Who would exist-in such a tomb-
Who dwell in darkness-and in death?
And such were life, without the ray
Of our divine religion given;

'Tis this, that makes our darkness, day,

"Tis this, that makes our earth-a heaven!

Bright is the golden sun above,

And beautiful-the flowers, that bloom, And all is joy, and ail is love,

Reflected from the world to come!

Life is a weary interlude

Which doth short joys, long woes include
The world the mage, the prologue tears;
The acts vain hopes and varied fears;
The scene shuts up with loss of breath,
And leaves no epilogue but death!—H. King
The stomach, hath no ears.

672. MILITARY DESPOTISM AND INSUBORDINATION. Mr. Chairman,-I trust, that I shall be indulged, with some few reflections, apon the danger of permitting the conduct, on which it has been my painful duty to animadvert, to pass, without a solemn expression of the disapprobation of this house. Recall to your recollection, sir, the free nations, which have gone before us. Where are they now? "Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were; A schoolboy's tale,--the wonder of an hour." And how have they lost their liberties? If we could transport ourselves back, sir, to the ages when Greece, and Rome, flourished, in their greatest prosperity, and, mingling in the throng, should ask a Grecian, if he did not fear, that some daring military chieftain, covered with glory, some Philip, or Alexander, would one day overthrow the liberties of his country, the confident, and indignant Grecian would exclaim, No! no! we have nothing to fear from our heroes; our liberties will be eternal. If a Roman citizen had been asked, if he did not fear, that the conqueror of Gaul might establish a throne upon the ruins of public liberty, he would have instantly repelled the unjust insinuation. Yet, Greece has fallen; Cesar--has passed the rubicon; and the patriotic arm even of Brutus-could not preserve the liberties of his devoted country. Sir, we are fighting a great moral battle for the benefit, not only of our country, but of all mankind. The eyes of the whole world are in fixed attention upon us. One, and the largest portion of it, is gazing with jealousy, and with envy; the other portion, with hope, with confidence, and with affection. Every where the black cloud of legitimacy is suspended over the world, save only one bright spot, which breaks out from the political hemisphere of the west, to enlighten, and animate, and gladden the human heart. Obscure that, by the downfall of liberty here, and all mankind-are enshrouded-in a pall of universal larkness. Beware, then, sir, how you give a atal sanction, in this infant period of our republic, to military insubordination. Remember, that Greece had her Alexander, Rome her Cesar, England-her Cromwell, France her Bonaparte, and, that if we would escape the rock, on which they split, we must avoid their errors.

I hope, sir, that gentlemen will deliberately survey-the awful isthmus, on which we stand. They may bear down all opposition. They may even vote general Jackson the public thanks. They may carry him triumphantly through this house. But, if they do, sir, in my humble judgment, it will be a triumph of the principle of insubordination-a triumph of the military-over the civil authority-a triumph over the powers of this house--a triumph over the constitution of the land; and I pray, sir, most devoutly, that it may not prove, in its ultimate effects and consequences, a triumph over the liberties of the people.

THE EARTH HAS BEEN ALL ALIVE.
What is the world itself? thy world?-a grave!
Where is the dust that has not been alive?
The spade, the plow, disturb our ancestors,
From human mold we reap our daily bread;
The globe around earth's hollow surface shakes,
And is the ceiling of her sleeping sons:
O'er devastation we blind revels keep;
Whole buried towns support the dancer's heel.
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673. THE FRENCHMAN AND HE'S HOSг.
A Frenchman once, who was a merry wight,
Passing to town from Dover in the night,
Near the roadside an ale-house chanced to spy.
And being rather tired as well as dry,
Resolved to enter; but first he took a peep,
In hopes a supper he might get, and cheap.
He enters: "Hallo! Garcon, if you please,
Bring me a little bit of bread and cheese.
And hallo! Garcon, a pot of porter too!" he said,
"Vich I shall take, and den myself to bed." [left,
His supper done, some scraps of cheese were
Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft,
Into his pocket put; then slowly crept
To wished-for bed; but not a wink he slept-
For, on the floor, some sacks of flour were laid,
To which the rats a nightly visit paid.

Our hero now undressed, popped out the light
Put on his cap and bade the world good-night;
But first his breeches, which contained the fare,
Under his pillow he had placed with care.

[round,

Sans ceremonie, soon the rats all ran,
And on the flour-sacks greedily began;
At which they gorged themselves; then smelling
Under the pillow soon the cheese they found;
And while at tlus they regaling sat,
Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap;
Who, half awake, eries out, "Hallo! hallo!
Vat is dat nibbel at my pillow so?
Ah! 'tis one big huge rat!

Vat de diable is it he nibbel, nibbel at?”

In vain our little hero sought repose;
Sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose;
And such the pranks they kept up all the night,
That he, on end antipodes upright,
Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a "ght.
"Hallo! Maison! Garcon, I say!
Bring me the bill for vat I have to pay!"
The bill was brought, and to his great surprise,
Ten shillings was the charge, he scarce believes
[his eyes
With eager haste, he runs it o'er,
And every time he viewed it thought it more.
Vy zounds, and zounds!" he cries, "I sall no pay;
Vat charge ten shelangs for vat I have mange?
A leetal sup of porter, dis vile bed,
Vare all de rats do run about my head?"
"Plague on those rats!" the landlord nuttered out;
"I wish, upon my word, that I could make 'em

Scout:

[pray:

I'll pay him well that can." "Vat's dat you say?"
"I'll pay him well that can." "Attend to me, I
Vil you dis charge forego, vat I am at,
If from your house I drive away de rat?"
«With all my heart," the jolly host replies,
"Ecoutez donc, ami ;" the Frenchman cries.
"First, den-Regardez, if you please,
Bring to dis spot a lestle bread and cheese:
Eh bien! a pot of portar too;

And den invite de rats to sup vid you:
And after--no matter dey be villing-
For vat (ey eat, you charge dem just ten steinrg:
And I am sure, ven dey behold de score,
Dey'll quit your house, and never come no more
How beautiful-is the swiftly passing light-
On the calm cloud of eve! 'Tis sweet-to marr
Those color'd folds- Ana round the setting sun,
Like 'mson drapery-o'er a monarch's therne.

674. Loss OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. The loss of a firm, national character, or the degradation of a nation's honor, is the inevitable prelude to her destruction. Behold the once proud fabric of the Roman empire; an empire, carrying its arts, and arms, into every part of the eastern continent; the monarchs of mighty kingdoms, dragged at the wheels of her triumphal chariots; her eagle, waving over the ruins of desolated countries. Where is her splendor, her wealth, her power, her glory? Extinguished-forever. Her moldering temples, the mournful vestiges of her former grandeur, afford a shelter to her muttering moaks. Where are her statesmen, her sages, her philosophers, her orators, her geneals? Go to their solitary tombs, and inquire. She lost her national character, and her destruction followed. The ramparts of her national pride were broken down, and Vandalism desolated her classic fields.

Citizens will lose their respect and confidence, in our government, if it does not extend over them, the shield of an honorable, national character. Corruption will creep in, and sharpen party animosity. Ambitious leaders will seize upon the favorable moment. The mad enthusiasm for revolution-will call into action the irritated spirit of our nation, and civil war must follow. The swords of our countrymen may yet glitter on our mountains, their blood may yet crimson our plains.

675. GOOL-NIGHT.

Good-night-to all the world! there's time,
Beneath the "over-going" sun,

To whom, I feel, or hate, or spite,
And so to all-a fair good-night
Would I could say, good-night to pain,
Good-night to evil and her train,
To cheerless poverty, and shame,
That I am yet unknown to fame!
Would I could say, good-night to dreams,
That haunt me with delusive gleams,
That through the sable future's vail,
Like meteors, glimmer, but to fail.
Would I could say, a long good-night,
To halting, between wrong, and right,
And, like a giant, with new force,
Awake, prepared to run my course!
But time o'er good and ill sweeps on,
And when few years have come, and gone,
The past-will be to me as naught,
Whether remembered, or forgot.
Yet, let me hope, one faithful friend,
O'er my last couch, in tears shall bend;
And, though no day for me was bright,
Shall bid me then, a long good-night.

RESPECT TO OLD AGE. It happened at Athens, during a public representation of some play, exhibited in honor of the commonSuch, the warning voice of all antiquity, the wealth, that an old gentleman came too late, example of all republics proclaim-may be for a place suitable to his age, and quality. our fate. But let us no longer indulge these Many of the young gentlemen, who observed gloomy anticipations. The commencement the difficulty and confusion he was in, made of our liberty presages the dawn of a brighter signs to him, that they would accommodate period to the world. That bold, enterprising him, if he came where they sat. The good spirit, which conducted our heroes to peace, man bustled through the crowd accordingly; and safety, and gave us a lofty rank, amid but when he came to the seat, to which he the empires of the world, still animates the was invited, the jest was, to sit close, and exbosoms of their descendants. Look back to pose him, as he stood out of countenance, to the moment, when they unbarred the dun- the whole audience. The frolic went round geons of the slave, and dashed his fetters all the Athenian benches. But, on those octo the earth, when the sword of a Washing-casions, there were also particular places re ton leaped from its scabbard, to revenge the served for foreigners. When the good man slaughter of our countrymen. Place their skulked towards the boxes, appointed for the example before you. Let the sparks of Lacedemonians, that honest people, more vir. their veteran wisdom flash across your tuous than polite, rose up all to a man, and minds, and the sacred altars of your liber- with the greatest respect, received him among ty, crowned with immortal honors, rise be- them. The Athenians, being suddenly touch fore you. Relying on the virtue, the cour-ed with a sense of the Spartan virtue, and age, the patriotism, and the strength of our their own degeneracy, gave a thunder of ap country, we may expect our national charac-plause; and the old man cried out, "the Atheter will become more energetic, our citizens nians understand what is good, but the Lacemore enlightened, and may hail the age as demonians practice it. not far distant, when will be heard, as the proudest exclamation of man: I am

American.-Maxcy.

an

[flood?

The bell strikes one: We take no note of time,
But from its loss. To give it then a tongue,
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours:
Where are they? with the years beyond the
It is the signal that demands despatch;
How much is to be done! my hopes and fears
Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-on what? a fathomless abyss;
A dread eternity! how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
Reason gains all men, by compelling none

FORTUNE-TELLER.

A hungry, lean-fac'd villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,

A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune teller 1
A needy, hollow-eye'd, sharp looking wretch
A living dead man: this pernicious slave,
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer;
And gazing in my eyes, feeling my putse,
And with no face, as 'twere outfacing me,
Cries out, I was possess'd.-Shakspeare.

RECREATION.

Sweet recreation barr'd, what dotb ensue,
But moody and dull melancholy,
(Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair ;)
And at her heels, a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life?

676. THE GROVES: GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. The groves-were God's first temples. Ere man To hew the shaft. and lay the architrave, [learned And spread the roof above them,-ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather, and roll back, The sound of anthems,-in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered, to the Mightiest, solemn thanks, And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, That, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heav'n, Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath, that swayed, at once, All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit-with the thought of boundless Power, And inaccessible Majesty. Ah! why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore, Only, among the crowd, and under roofs,

Seems, as it issues from the shapeless out,
An emanation of the indwelling Life,
A visible token-of the upholding Love,
That are, the soul of this wide universe

My heart-is awed within me, when I think
Of the great miracle that still goes cn,
In silence, round me-the perpetual work
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed-
Forever. Written on thy works, I read
The lesson of thy own eternity.

Lo! all grow old, and die: but see, agan,
How, on the faltering footsteps of decay,
Youth presses-ever gay, and beautiful youth-
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees
Wave not less proudly, that their ancestors
Moulder, beneath them. Oh! there is not lost
One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet,
After the flight of untold centuries,

The freshness of her far beginning lies,
And yet shall lie. Life-mocks the idle hate

That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Of his arch enemy-Death; yea, seats himself

Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn; thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear.

Father, thy hand

Hath reared these venerable columns; thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heav'n. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old, and died, Among their branches; till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and darkFit shrine-for humble worshiper to hoid Communion with his Maker. Here are seen, No traces of man's pomp, or pride; no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter; no fantastic carvings-show The boast of our vain race-to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here; thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds, That run along the summits of these trees, In music; thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here, is continual worship; nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oakBy whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated-not a prince, In all the proud old world, beyond the deep, F'er wore his crown-as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which Ty hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the proad sun. That delicate forest-flower, With scented breath. and look, so like a smile,

Upon the sepulchre, and blooms, and smiles,
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe,
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forn
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There have heen holy men, who hid themselves
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave
Their lives to thought, and prayer, till they outlived
The generation, born with them, nor seemed
Less aged, than the hoary trees, and rocks,
Around them; and there have been holy meil,
Who deemed it were not well-to pass life thus
But let me, often, to these solitudes
Retire, and, in thy presence, reassure
My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps, shrink,
And tremble, and are still.

O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens, with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep. and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities;-who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes, and follies by! Oh! from the sterner aspects of thy face Spare me, and mine; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements, to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these caim shades, thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of thy works, Learn to conform the order of our lives.-Bryant.

Naturally, men are prone to spin themselves a web of opinions out of their owi brain, and to have a religion that may be ca!led their own. Men are far readier to make themselves a faith, than to receive that which God hath formed to their hands, and they are far readier to receive a doctrine that tends to their carnal commodity, or honor, or delights, than one that tends to self-denial.

Like dogs in a wheel, birds in a cage, or squir rels in a chain, ambitious men still climb and climb, with great labor, and incessant anxiety but never reach the top.

677. PHYSICAL EDUCATION. That is, undoubtedly, the wisest, and best regimen, which takes the infant from the cradle, and conducts him along, through childhood, and youth, up to high maturity, in such a manner, as to give strength to his arm, swiftness to his feet, solidity and amplitude to his muscles, symmetry to his frame, and expansion to his vital energies. It is obvious, that this branch of education comprehends, not only food and clothing, but air, exercise, lodging, early rising, and whatever else is requisite, to the full development of the physical constitution. The diet must be simple, the apparel must not be too warm, nor the bed too soft.

Let parents beware of too much restriction in the management of their darling boy. Let him, in choosing his play, follow the sugges tions of nature. Let them not be discomposed at the sight of his sand-hills in the road, his snow-forts in February, and his mud-dams in April; nor when they chance to look out in the midst of an August shower, and see him wading and sailing, and sporting along with the water-fowl. If they would make him hardy and fearless, they must let him go abroad as often as he pleases, in his early boyhood, and amuse himself by the hour together, in smoothing and twirling the hoary locks of winter. Instead of keeping him shut up all day with a stove, and graduating his sleeping-room by Fahrenheit, they must let him face the keen edge of a north-wind, when the mercury is below cipher; and, instead of minding a little shivering, and complaining, when he returns, cheer up his spirits, and send him out again. In this way, they will teach him, that he was not born to live in the nursery, nor to brood over the fire; but to range abroad, as free as the snow, and the air, and to gain warmth from exercise.

I love, and admire the youth, who turns not back from the howling wintry blast, nor withers under the blaze of summer; who never magnifies "mole-hills into mountains;" but whose daring eye, exulting, scales the eagle's airy crag, and who is ready to undertake anything, that is prudent, and lawful, within the range of possibility. Who would think of planting the mountain-oak-in a green-house? or of rearing the cedar of Lebanon-in a lady's flower-pot? Who does not know that, in order to attain their mighty strength, and majestic forms, they must freely enjoy the rain, and the sunshine, and must feel the rocking of the tempest?

THE CHASE.

The stag, at eve, had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon, on Monan's rill,
And deep-his midnight lair had made,
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade;
But, when the sun-his beacon red
Had kindled, on Benvoirlich's head,
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
Resounded up the rocky way,
And faint from farther distance borne,
Were heard the clanging hoof, and horn.
As chief, who hears his warder call,
"To arms! the foeman storm the wall,"
The antlered monarch of the waste-
Sprung from his heathery couch, in haste.
But, ere his fleet career he took,
The Jew-drops, from his flanks, he shook:
Like crested leader, proud, and high,

Tossed his beamed frontlet-to the sky;
A moment-gazed-adown the dale,
A moment--snuffed the tainted gale,
A moment, listened to the cry,
That thickened--as the chase drew nigh,
Then, as the headmost foes appeared,
With one brave bound-the copse he cleared,
And, stretching forward, free, and far,
Sought the wild heaths-of Uam-Var.--Scotl
678. MODULATION.

"Tis not enough-the voice be sound, and clear,
"Tis modulation, that must charm the ear.
When desperate heroes grieve, with tedious moɛn,
And whine their sorrows, in a see-saw tone,
The same soft sounds-of unimpassioned woes,
Can only make the yawning hearers--doze.
The voice--all inodes of passion can express,
That marks the proper word, with proper strees:
But none emphatic--can that speaker call,
Who lays an equal emphasis-on all.
Some, o'er the tongue-the labored measures roll,
Slow, and deliberate-as the parting toll;
Point every stop, mark every pause so strong,
Their words, like stage processions, stalk along.
All affectation-but creates disgust;
And e'en in speaking, we may seem too just.
In vain, for them, the pleasing measure flows,
Whose recitation-runs it all to prose;
Repeating--what the poet sets not down,
The verse disjointing-from its favorite noun,
While pause, and break, and repetition joir.
To make a discord-in each tuneful line.
Some placid natures-fill the allotted scene
With lifeless drawls, insipid and serene;
While others-thunder every couplet o'er,
And almost crack your ears-with rant, and rea
More nature, oft, and finer strokes are shown,
In the low whisper, than tempestuous tone;
And Hamlet's hollow voice, and fixed amaze,
More powerful terror-to the mind conveys,
Than he, who, swollen with impetuous rage,
Bullies the bulky phantom of the stage.
He, who, in earnest, studies o'er his part,
Will find true nature-cling about his heart.
The modes of grief-are not included all—
In the white handkerchief, and mournful drawi;
A single look-more marks the internal woe,
Than all the windings of the lengthened -Oh!
Up to the face-the quick sensation flies,
And darts its meaning-from the speaking eyes:
Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair,
And all the passions, all the soul is there.

NATURE'S WANTS ARE FEW.
Man's rich with little, were his judgment true,
Nature is frugal, and her wants are few;
Those few wants answered, bring sincere delights,
But fools create themselves new appetites.
Fancy and pride seek things at vast expense,
Which relish nor to reason nor to sense.
When surfeit or unthankfulness destroys,
In nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys,
In fancy's airy land of noise and show,
Where nought but dreams, no real pleasures grew
Like cats in air-pumps, to subsist we strive,
On joys too thin to keep the soul alive. Young.

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