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That their unsteadfast footing did proceed
From rocking of the vessel.

2 This conceived,

Each one begins to apprehend the danger,

And to look out for safety. Fly, saith one

Up to the main-top and discover. He

Climbs by the bed-post to the tester," there

Reports a turbulent sea and tempest towards,"3

And wills them, if they '11 save their ship and lives,

To cast their hiding overboard. At this,

All fall to work, and hoist into the street,

As to the sea, what next comes to their hand —

Stools, tables, tressels, trenchers, bedsteads, cups,

Pots, plate, and glasses.

3. Here a fellow whistles —

They take him for the boatswain ;w one lies struggling

Upon the floor, as if he swam for life;

A third takes the bass-viol for a cock-boat,

Sits in the hollow on't, labors and rows, —

His oar, the stick with which the fiddler played;

A fourth bestrides his fellow, thinking to escape,

As did Arion," on the dolphin's back,

Still fumbling on a gittern." The rude multitude,

Watching without, and gaping for the spoil

Cast from the windows, went by the ears about it.

4. The constable is called to atone" the broil;
Which done, he, hearing such a noise within

Of imminent shipwreck, enters the house, and finds them

In this confusion; they adore his staff,

And think it Neptune's'3 trident; and that he

Comes with his Tritons" (so they call his watch)

To calm the tempest, and appease the waves ; —

And at this point we left them. T. Hetwood.

CXL. — THE LUTIST AND THE NIGHTINGALE.*

1 Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales
Which poets of an elder time have feigned
To glorify their Tempe'" bred in me s
Desire of visiting this Paradise.
To Thessiily I came, and living private,
Without acquaintance of more sweet companions

* There are well-authenticated instances of singing-birds that havf dropped down dead in the apparent effort to emulate the musio producod Croin some instrument.

Tlian the old inmates to my love, my thoughts,
I day by day freauenfed silent proves
And solitary walks. One morinng earlv
This accident encountered me: I heard
The sweetest and most ravishing contention
That art and nature ever were at strife in.

2. A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather,
Indeed, entranced my soul: as I stole nearer,
Invited by the melody,"1 saw

This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute,
With strains of strange variety and harmony,
Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge
To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds,
That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent,
Wondering at what they heard. I wondered too.

3. A nightingale,

Nature's best-skilled musician, undertakes

The challenge; and for every several strain

The well-shaped youth could touch, she sang him down

He could not run divisions with more art

Upon his quaking instrument than Bhe,

The nightingale, did with her various notes

Reply to.

4. Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last
Into a pretty anger, that a bird,

Whom art had never taught cliffs," moods, or notes
Should vie with him for mastery, whose study
Had busied many hours to perfect practice.
To er.d the controversy, — in a rapture
Upon hia instrument he plays so swiftly,
So many voluntaries, and so quick,
That there was curiosity in cunning,
Concord in discord, lines of differing method
Meeting in one full centre of delight.

5. The bird (ordained to be

Music's true martyr) strove to imitate

These several sounds; which, when her warbling throat

Failed in, for grief down dropt she on his lute,

And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness

To see the conqueror138 upon her hearse

To weep a funeral elegy of tears.

6 He looked upon the trophies of his art,

Then sighed, then wiped his eyes; then sighed and cried,
"Alas! poor creature, I will soon revenge
This cruelty upon the author of it.
Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood,

Shall never more betray a harmless peace

To an untimely end: — and in that sorrow

As he was dashing it against a tree,

I suddenly stept in. Ford

CXLI. — POETRY OF THE SEASONS.
PART FIRST.

1. The Tardv Spring.Whittier.

We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south,
The touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth •
For the yearly evan'gel" thou bearest from God,—
Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod!
Up our long river valley for days have not ceased
The wail and the shriek of the bitter north-east,
Raw and chill as if winnowed through ices and snow,
All the way from the land of the wild Esquimaux.
O, soul of the spring-time, its balm and its breath!
O, light of its darkness, and life of its death!
Why wait we thy coming? why linger so long
The warmth of thy breathing, the voice of thy song'
Renew the great miracle! let us behold
The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled
And Nature, like Lazarus, rise as of old!

2. The Blue-bird's Song. A. B. Street.

Hark, that sweet carol! With delight

We leave the stifling room;
The little blue-bird meets our sight, —

Spring, gloriouB Spring, has come!
The south-wind's balm is in the air,
The melting snow-wreaths everywhere

Are leaping off in showers;
And Nature, in her brightening looks,
Tells that her flowers, and leaves, and brookc

And birds, will soon be ours.

3 The Delights Of Spring. Mary Howitt.

The Spring, — she is a blessed thing,
She is the mother of the flowers;

She is the mate of birds and bees,

The partner of their revelries, —

Our star of hope through wintry houra,

The little brooks run on in light,
As if they had a chase of mirth;

The skies are blue, the air is balm;
Our very hearts have caught the charm
That sheds a beauty o'er the earth.

4. The First Warm Day Of Spring.Horace Smith.

The perTume and the bloom that shall decorate the flowei

Are quickening in the gloom of their subterranean bower;

And the juices meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits,

Unerringly proceed to their preappointed roots.

How awful Is the thought of the wonders under ground,

Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent, dark profounl!

How each thing upward tends, by necessity decreed,

And a world's support depends on the shooting of a seed!

The Summer's in her ark, and this sunny-pinioned day

Is commissioned to remark whether Winter holds his sway;

Go back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy wing,

Say that floods and tempests cease, and the world is ripe for Spring

5. A Welcome To Spring. Wm. G. Simms.

O! thou bright and beautiful day,
First bright day of the virgin Spring,

Bringing the slumbering life into play,
Giving the leaping bird his wing!

1 feel thy promise in all my veins,

They bound with a feeling long suppressed,
And, like a captive who breaks his chains,

Leap the glad hopes in my heaving breast.
There are life and joy in thy coming, Spring,

Thou hast no tidings of gloom and death,
But buds thou shakest from every wing,

And sweets thou breathest with every breath.

6. The Birns Of Spring.

Mng on by fane and forest old, by toml)s and cottage eaves,
And toll the waste of coming flowers, the wood of coming leaves ,
Sing the same song that o'er the birth of earliest blossoms rang, -
And caught its music from the hymn the stars of morning sang!
It hailed the radiant path of Spring by stream and valley fair,
And o'er the earth's green hill-tops when no step but hers was thure
And, like the laurel's gift of green, the violet's depth of blue,
It has survived a thousand thrones, and yet the song is new.

7. Divine Bounty Manifest In Spring. Thomson.

What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say,
That, in a powerful language, felt, not heard.
Instructs the fowls of heaven; and through their breast
These arts of love diffuses? What, but God?
Inspiring God! who, boundless spirit all
And unremitting energy, pervades,
Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.
He ceaseless works alone; and yet alone
Seems not to work; with such perfection framed
Is this complex stupendous scheme of things.

The informing Author in his works appears.
Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes.
The smiling God is seen ; while water, earth.
And ah-, attest his bounty; which exalts
The brute creation to this finer thought,
And annual melts their undesigning hearts
Profusely thus in tenderness and joy.

CXLII. — THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS.
1. Traits Of Character. Flint.

An Indian seldom jests. He usually speaks low, and under his breath. Loquacity is with him an indication of being a trifling character, and of deeds inversely less as his words are more The young men, and even the boys, have a sullen, moody, and unjoyous countenance; and seem to have little of that elastic gayety with which the benevolence of Providence has endowed the first days of the existence of most other beings. In this general remark, we ought not, perhaps, to include the squaw, who shows some analogy of feeling to the white female.

The males evidently have not the quick sensibilities, the acute perceptions, of most other races. They do not easily sympathize with what is enjoyment or suffering about them. Nothing but an overwhelming excitement can arouse them. They seem callous to all the passions, but rage. Every one has remarked how little surprise they express for whatever is new, strange, .or striking. True, it is partially their pride that induces them to affect this indifference, — for, that it is affected, we have had numberless opportunities to discover. It is, with them, not only pride, but calculation, to hold in seeming contempt things which they arc aware they cannot obtain and possess. But they seem to be born with an instinctive determination to be independent, if possible, % of nature and society, and to concen'trate within themselves an existence, which, at any moment, they seem willing to lay down.

Their impassible fortitude and endurance of suffering, their rontempt of pain and death, invest their character with a kind of

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