XXVI-INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GLORY.-Henry Kirke White.

O HOW weak is mortal man! how trifling-how confined his scope of vision! Puffed with confidence, his phrase grows big with immortality; and he, poor insect of a summer's day! dreams of eternal honours to his name, of endless glory and perennial bays. He idly reasons of eternity, as of the train of ages,—when, alas! ten thousand thousand of his centuries are, in comparison, a little point too trivial for account. O, it is strange, 'tis passing strange, to mark his fallacies; behold him proudly view some pompous pile, whose high dome swells to emulate the skies, and smile, and say, “My name shall live with this, till Time shall be no more;" while, at his feet, yea, at his very feet, the crumbling dust of the fallen fabric of the other day preaches the solemn lesson.—He should know that Time must conquer; that the loudest blast that ever filled Renown's obstreperous trump fades in the lapse of ages, and expires. Who lies inhumed in the terrific gloom of the gigantic pyramid? or who reared its huge walls? Oblivion laughs and says, "The prey is mine."-They sleep, and never more their names shall strike upon the ear of man—their memory burst its fetters.

XXVII. THE JACKDAW.-Cowper.

THERE is a bird, who, by his coat, and by the hoarseness of his note, might be supposed a crow; a great frequenter of the church, where, bishop-like, he finds a perch and dormitory too. Above the steeple shines a plate that turns and turns, to indicate from what point blows the weather: look up— your brains begin to swim; 'tis in the clouds-that pleases him; he chooses it the rather. Fond of the speculative height, thither he wings his airy flight; and thence securely sees the bustle and the raree-show that occupy mankind below-secure and at his ease. You think, no doubt, he sits and muses on future broken bones and bruises, if he should chance to fall: no, not a single thought like that employs his philosophic pate, or troubles it at all. He sees that this great round-about, the world, with all its motley rout, church, army, physic, law, its customs and its businesses, are no concern at all of his, and says-what says he?-Caw. Thrice happy bird! I, too, have seen much of the vanities of men; and, sick of having seen them, would cheerfully these limbs resign for such a pair of wings as thine, and-such a head between them.

XXVIII.-UNIVERSAL ADORATION.-Thomas Moore.

THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine; my temple, Lord, that arch of thine; my censer's breath the mountain airs, and silent thoughts my only prayers. My choir shall be the moonlit waves, when murmuring homeward to their caves; or when the stillness of the sea, even more than music, breathes of Thee. I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown, all light and silence, like Thy throne; and the pale stars shall be, at night, the only eyes that watch my rite. Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, shall be my pure and shining book; where I shall read, in words of flame, the glories of Thy wondrous name. I'll read Thy anger, in the rack that clouds awhile the day-beam's track; Thy mercy, in the azure hue of sunny brightness breaking through!There's nothing bright, above, below, from flowers that bloom to stars that glow, but in its light my soul can see some feature of thy Deity! There's nothing dark, below, above, but in its gloom I trace Thy love; and meekly wait that moment, when Thy touch shall turn all bright again!

XXIX.-JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER TO HER FATHER.-Byron.

SINCE our country, our God, O my sire, demand that thy daughter expire; since thy triumph was bought by thy vow, strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!-and the voice of my mourning is o'er, and the mountains behold me no more. If the hand that I love lay me low, there cannot be pain in the blow: and of this, O my father, be sure, that the blood of thy child is as pure as the blessing I beg ere it flow, and the last thought that soothes me below. Though the virgins of Salem lament, be the judge and the hero unbent: I have won the great battle for thee, and my father and country are free! When this blood of thy giving hath gushed, when the voice that thou lovest is hushed; let my memory still be thy pride, and forget not I smiled-as I died!

XXX.-THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.-Mrs. Hemans.

WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, thou hollowsounding and mysterious Main ?-pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells, bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain. Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea we ask not such from thee.-Yet more, the Depths have more! What wealth untold, far down and shining through their

stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, won from ten thousand royal argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main; earth claims not these again! -Yet more, the Depths have more! Thy waves have rolled above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play: man yields them to decay!- -Yet more! the Billows and the Depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! They hear not now the booming waters roar, the battle-thunders will not break their rest: keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave-give back the true and brave!

Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom the place was kept at board and hearth so long; the prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, and the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown, but all is not thine own!- -To thee the love of woman hath gone down; dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, o'er youth's bright locks and beauty's flowery crown; yet must thou hear a voice-"Restore the Dead!" Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee: "Restore the Dead, thou Sea!"

XXXI. THE COMMON LOT.-James Montgomery.

ONCE, in the flight of ages past, there lived a man; and who was he? Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast, that man resembled thee. Unknown the region of his birth; the land in which he died, unknown: his name has perished from the earth: this truth survives alone;-that joy, and grief, and hope, and fear, alternate triumphed in his breast: his bliss, and woe-a smile, a tear: oblivion hides the rest. The bounding pulse, the languid limb, the changing spirits' rise and fall; we know that these were felt by him, for these are felt by all. He suffered-but his pangs are o'er; enjoyed-but his delights are fled; had friends his friends are now no more; had foeshis foes are dead. He loved but whom he loved, the grave hath lost in its unconscious womb: 0, she was fair! but nought could save her beauty from the tomb. He sawwhatever thou hast seen; encountered-all that troubles thee; he was whatever thou hast been; he is what thou shalt be! The rolling seasons, day and night, sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,-erewhile his portion,-life and light; to him exist in vain. The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye

that once their shades and glory threw, have left, in yonder silent sky, no vestige where they flew. The annals of the human race, their ruins since the world began, of him afford no other trace than this,-THERE LIVED A MAN!

XXXII.-A VIEW OF DEATH.-Bryant.

To him who, in the love of Nature, holds communion with her visible forms, she speaks a various language: for his gayer hours, she has a voice of gladness, and a smile, and eloquence of beauty; and she glides into his darker musings, with a mild and gentle sympathy, that steals away their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts of the last bitter hour come like a blight over thy spirit; and sad images of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, and breathless darkness, and the narrow house, make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart; go forth under the open sky, and list to Nature's teachings; while from all around,-earth, and her waters, and the depths of air,—comes a still voice:

"Yet a few days, and thee the all-beholding sun shall see no more in all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, where thy pale form was laid with many tears, nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim thy growth to be resolved to earth again; and, lost each human trace, surrendering up thine individual being, thou shalt go to mix for ever with the elements; to be a brother to the insensible rock; and to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain turns with his share and treads upon. The oak shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould.

"Yet not to thine eternal resting-place, shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down with patriarchs of the infant world—with kings-the powerful of the earth-the wise-the good-fair forms and hoary seers of ages past;-all in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales, stretching in pensive quietness between; the venerable woods; rivers, that move in majesty; and the complaining brooks, that make the meadows green; and, poured round all, old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, are but the solemn decorations all of the great tomb of man. golden sun, the planets, all the infinite host of heaven, are shining on the sad abodes of Death, through the still lapse of ages. All that tread the globe are but a handful, to the tribes that slumber in its bosom. Take the wings of morning, and

The

the Barcan desert pierce; or lose thyself in the continuous woods where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound save his own dashings-yet the dead are there; and millions, in those solitudes, since first the flight of years began, have laid them down in their last sleep:- -the dead reign there alone! So shalt thou rest—and what if thou shalt fall unnoticed by the living, and no friend take note of thy departure? All that breathe will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh when thou art gone; the solemn brood of care plod on; and each one, as before, will chase his favourite phantom: yet all these shall leave their mirth and their employments, and shall come and make their bed with thee. As the long train of ages glides away, the sons of men,-the youth in life's green spring, and he who goes in the full strength of years; matron and maid; the bowed with age; the infant in the smiles and beauty of its innocent life cut off, shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, by those who, in their turn, shall follow

them.

"So live, that, when thy summons comes to join the innumerable caravans that move to the pale realms of shade, where each shall take his chamber in the silent halls of Death,-thou go not like the quarry-slave at night scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave like one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."

XXXIII.-HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.Coleridge.

HAST thou a charm to stay the morning-star in his steep course?-so long he seems to pause on thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc! The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base rave ceaselessly but thou, most awful form! risest from forth the silent sea of pines, how silently! Around thee and above, deep is the air and dark, substantial-black, an ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, as with a wedge! But when I look again, it is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, thy habitation from eternity!-O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee, till thou, still present to the bodily sense, didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer, I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, so sweet we know not we are listening to it, thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, yea, with my life and life's own secret joy.