642. NOBILITY OF LABOR. Why, in the | 643. DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM. great scale of things, is labor ordained for us? Easily, had it so pleased the great Ordainer, might it have been dispensed with. The world itself, might have been a mighty machinery, for producing all that man wants. Houses might have risen like an exhalation, "With the sound Of dulcet symphonies, and voices sweet, Built like a temple." Gorgeous furniture might have been placed in them, and soft couches and luxurious banquets spread, by hands unseen; and man, clothed with fabrics of nature's weaving, rather than with imperial purple, might have been sent to disport himself in those Elysian palaces. "Fair scene!" I imagine you are saying: "fortunate for us had it been the scene ordained for human life!" But where, then, had been human energy, perseverance, patience, virtue, heroism? Cut off labor with one blow, from the world, and mankind had sunk to a crowd of Asiatic voluptuaries. No-it had not been fortunate! Better, that the earth be given to man as a dark mass, whereupon to labor. Better, that rude, and unsightly materials be provided in the ore-bed, and in the forest, for him to fashion in splendor and beauty. Better I say, not because of that splendor, and beauty, but, because the act of creating them, is better than the things themselves; because exertion is nobler than enjoyment; because the laborer is greater and more worthy of honor, than the idler. I call upon those whom I address, to stand up for the nobility of labor. It is heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not the great ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down; and it has been broken down for ages. Let it then be built again; here, if any where, on the shores of a new world-of a new civilization. But how, it may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do indeed toil, but they too generally do, because they must. Many submit to it, as in some sort, a degrading necessity; and they desire nothing so much on earth, as an escape from it. They fulfil the great law of labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit. To some field of labor, mental or manual, every idler should hasten, as a chosen, coveted field of improvement. But so he is not compelled to do, under the teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in idleness. This way of thinking, is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to toil? Ashamed of thy dingy work-shop, and dusty labor-field; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honorable than that of war; of thy soiled and weatherstained garments, on which mother nature has embroidered mist, sun and rain, fire and steam, her own heraldic honors? Ashamed of those tokens, and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness, and vanity? It is treason to nature, it is impiety to heaven; it is breaking heaven's great ordinance. Toil, I repeat-toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood, the only true nobility!-Dewey. The king-stood still, Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, As to my bosom-I have tried to press thee. Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush But, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, [token! Yearn for thine ear-to drink its last-deep And now-farewell! 'Tis hard-to give thee up, If, from this wo, its bitterness had won thee. 644. MARCO BOZZARRIS. He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platea, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were-"To die for liberty, is a pleasure, and not a pain." At midnight,-in his guarded tent, The Turk-was dreaming of the hour, In dreams, through camp-and court, he bore In dreams, his song of triumph heard; At midnight,-in the forest shades, There, had the Persian's thousands stood, And now, there breathed that haunted air, An hour passed on-the Turk-awoke- And death-shots-falling thick and fast "Strike! till the last armed foe expires; They fought, like brave men, long and well; Bleeding-at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw Then saw, in death, his eyelids close Like flowers-at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber,-Death! The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, But, to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice-sounds like a prophet's word, And, in its hollow tones, are heard The thanks of millions-yet to be. Bozzarris! with the storied brave, Greece nurtured, in her glory's time, Rest thee-there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom-without a sigh; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame'sOne of the few, the immortal names, That were not born-to die.-Halleck. 645. MAID OF MALAHIDE. In the church of Malahide, in Ireland, are the tomb and effigy of the Lady Maid Plunkett, sister of the first Lord Dunsanny, of whom it is recorded that "she was maid, wife, and widow in one day." Her first husband, Hussy, Baron of Galtrim, was called from the altar to head "a hosting of the English against the Irish," and was brought back to the bridal banquet a corpse, upor the shields of his followers. The dark-eyed Maid-of Malahide, Her heart--is beating high, her cheek And Galtrim-claims his blushing bride, The gallants-all are mustering now- The feast is spread,-but many a knight, The garlands-bright with rainbow dyes, The starry lamps-out-shine the skies, Hath sympathy-with none And now-the feast's begun. I have no need-of such things now :" When the last hope,--the heart had kept, Lies buried-in the deep. Long years have passed,-since that young Bewailed-her widowed doom: [bride The holy walls--of Malahide- That form-she wore in life,-whose love Did grace-her woman's heart.-Crawford. The influence of example-is a terrible responsibility-on the shoulders of every individual. 646. AARON BURR AND BLENNERHAS- and the seductive, and fascinating power of SETT. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and what his address. The conquest was not a diffi the part which he has borne in this transac- cult one. Innocence is ever simple, and tion? He is its author; its projector; its ac- credulous; conscious of no design itself, tive executor. Bold, ardent, restless, and as- suspects none in others; it wears no guards piring, his brain conceived it; his hand before its breast: every door, and portal, and brought it into action. Beginning his opera- avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all, tions in New York, he associates with him, who choose it, enter. Such, was the state of men, whose wealth is to supply the neces- Eden, when the serpent entered its bowers. sary funds. Possessed of the mainspring, The prisoner, in a more engaging form, windhis personal labor contrives all the machine- ing himself into the open and unpracticed ry. Pervading the continent from New-York heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found to New-Orleans, he draws into his plan, by but little difficulty, in changing the native every allurement which he can contrive, men character of that heart, and the objects of its of all ranks, and all descriptions. To youth- affection. By degrees, he infuses into it the ful ardor he presents danger and glory; to poison of his own ambition; he breathes into ambition, rank, and titles, and honors; to av-it the fire of his own courage; a daring and desarice, the mines of Mexico. To each person perate thirst for glory; an ardor, panting for whom he addresses, he presents the object all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. adapted to his taste: his recruiting officers are In a short time, the whole man is changed, appointed; men are engaged throughout the and every object of his former delight relincontinent: civil life is indeed quiet upon the quished. No more he enjoys the tranquil surface; but in its bosom this man has con- scene; it has become flat, and insipid to his trived to deposit the materials, which, with taste; his books are abandoned; his retort, the slighest touch of his match, produces an and crucible, are thrown aside; his shrubbery explosion, to shake the continent. All this in vain blooms, and breathes its fragrance uphis restless ambition has contrived; and, in on the air-he likes it not; his ear no longer the autumn of 1806, he goes forth, for the last drinks the rich melody of music; it longs for time, to apply this match. On this excur- the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's roar; sion he meets with Blennerhassett. even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, Who is Blennerhassett? A native of Ire- no longer affects him; and the angel smile of land, a man of letters, who fled from the his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom storms of his own country to find quiet in ours. with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt His history shews, that war is not the natu- and unseen. Greater objects have taken posral element of his mind; if it had been, he session of his soul-his imagination has been would never have exchanged Ireland for dazzled by visions of diadems, and stars, and America. So far is an army from furnishing garters, and titles of nobility: he has been the society, natural and proper to Mr. Blen- taught to burn with restless emulation at the nerhassett's character, that on his arrival in names of Cromwell, Cesar, and Bonaparte. America, he retired, even from the popula- His enchanted island is destined soon to retion of the Atlantic states, and sought quiet, lapse into a desert; and, in a few months, and solitude, in the bosom of our western for- we find the tender, and beautiful partner of ests. But he carried with him taste, and sci- his bosom, whom he lately "permitted not ence, and wealth; and "lo, the desert smiled." the winds of" summer "to visit too roughly," Possessing himself of a beautiful island in we find her shivering, at midnight, on the the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and dec- winter banks of the Ohio, and mingling her orates it with every romantic embellishment tears with the torrents, that froze as they fell. of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might Yet, this unfortunate man, thus deluded from have envied, blooms around him; music that his interest, and his happiness-thus seduced might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, from the paths of innocence, and peace-thus is his; an extensive library spreads its treas- confounded in the toils, which were deliberures before him; a philosophical apparatus ately spread for him, and overwhelmed by offers to him all the secrets, and mysteries of the mastering spirit, and genius of anothernature; peace, tranquillity, and innocence this man, thus ruined, and undone, and made shed their mingled delights around him; and, to play a subordinate part in this grand drama to crown the enchantment of the scene, a of guilt and treason-this man is to be called wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond the principal offender; while he, by whom he her sex, and graced with every accomplish-was thus plunged, and steeped in misery, is ment, that can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love, and made him the father of her children. The evidence would convince you, that this is but a faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocence, and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the heart-the destroyer comes he comes-to turn this paradise-into a hell-yet the flowers do not wither at his approach, and no monitory shuddering, through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor, warns him of the ruin, that is coming upon him. A stranger presents himself. Introduced to their civilities, by the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts, by the dignity, and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, comparatively innocent-a mere accessory. So 647. TALENTS ALWAYS ASCENDANT. | as unavailing, as would a human effort "to Talents, whenever they have had a suitable quench the stars."-Wirt. theatre, have never failed to emerge from obscurity, and assume their proper rank in the estimation of the world. The jealous pride of power may attempt to repress, and crush them; the base, and malignant rancor of impotent spleen, and envy-may strive to embarrass and retard their flight: but these efforts, so far from achieving their ignoble purpose, so far from producing a discernible obfiquity, in the ascent of genuine, and vigorous talents, will serve only to increase their momentum, and mark their transit, with an additional stream of glory. When the great earl of Chatham-first made his appearance in the house of commons, and began to astonish, and transport the British parliament, and the British nation, by the boldness, the force, and range of his thoughts, and the celestial fire, and pathos of his eloquence, it is well known, that the minister, Walpole, and his brother Horace, from motives very easily understood, exerted all their wit, all their oratory, all their acquirements of every description, sustained and enforced by the unfeeling" insolence of office," to heave a mountain on his gigantic genius, and hide it from the world. Poor and powerless attempt! The tables were turned. He rose upon them, in the might, and irresistible energy of his genius, and, in spite of all their convulsions, frantic agonies, and spasms, he strangled them, and their whole faction, with as much ease as Hercules did the serpent Python. Who can turn over the debates of the day, and read the account of this conflict between youthful ardor, and hoary-headed cunning, and power, without kindling in the cause of the tyro, and shouting at his victory? That they should have attempted to pass off the grand, yet solid and judicious operations of a mind like his, as being mere theatrical start and emotion; the giddy, hair-brained eccentricities of a romantic boy! That they should have had the presumption to suppose themselves capable of chaining down, to the floor of the parliament, a genius so etherial, towering and sublime, seems unaccountable! Why did they not, in the next breath, by way of crowning the climax of vanity, bid the magnificent fire-ball to descend from its exalted, and appropriate region, and perform its splendid tour along the surface of the earth? [sire 648. RICH AND POOR MAN. As Cræsus rich; I'm sure He could not pride himself upon his wit, What a confusion!-all stand up erect- "This is indeed, beyond my comprehension:" One friendly face he found, THE ABUSE OF AUTHORITY. O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous Talents, which are before the public, have nothing to dread, either from the jealous pride of power, or from the transient misrepresentations of party, spleen, or envy. In spite of opposition from any cause, their buoyant spirit will lift them to their proper grade. The man who comes fairly before the world, and who possesses the great, and vigorous stami11, which entitle him to a niche in the temple or glory, has no reason to dread the ultimate result; however slow his progress may be, he will, in the end, most indubitably receive that distinction. While the rest, "the swallows of science," the butterflies of genius, may flutter Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, for their spring; but they will soon pass Split the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, away, and be remembered no more. No en-Than the soft myrtle.-O, but man, proud man, terprising man, therefore, and least of all, the Drest in a little brief authority; truly great man, has reason to droop, or re- Most ignorant of what he 's most assur'd, pine, at any efforts, which he may suppose to be made, with the view to depress him. Let, His glassy essence,-like an angry ape, then, the tempest of envy, or of malice howl Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, around him. His genius will consecrate him; As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, and any attempt to extinguish that, will be Would all themselves laugh mortal.-Shakspeare. 649. THE MANIAC; MAD-HOUSE. For what I was-and what should be. I am not mad-I am not mad. He smiles--in scorn, and turns-the key; What! I,-the child of rank-and wealth, Am I the wretch-who clanks this chain, Bereft of freedom,-friends and health? Which never more-my heart must glad, A mother's face,-a mother's tongue? Nor how that suit--your sire forbade ; His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone! And art thou now forever--gone? I will be free! unbar the door! I am not mad ;-I am not mad. Now, now-my dungeon-grate he shakes. Your task is done!-I'm mad! I'm mad! [ing 650. THE ALPS. Proud monuments of God! sublime ye stand There, when the summer day's career was done, Where to still vales,the free streams leaped away. Where are the thronging hosts of other days, Yet, "Alps on Alps" still rise; the lofty home and fall, And empty crowns lie dim upon the pall; [roar; ADHERENCE TO TRUTH. Petrarch, a celebrated Italian poet, who flourished about four hundred years ago, recommended himself to the confidence and affection of Cardinal Colonna, in whose family he resided, by his candor, and strict adherence to truth. A violent quarrel occurred in the household of this nobleman; which was carried so far, that recourse was had to arms. The Cardinal wished to know the foundation of this affair; and that he might be able to decide with justice, he assembled all his people, and obliged them to bind themselves, by a most solemn oath on the gospels, to declare the whole truth. Every one, without exception, submitted to this determination; even the Bishop of Luna, brother to the Cardinal was not excused. Petrarch, in his turn, presenting himself to take the oath; the Cardinal closed the book, and said, "As to you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient." 'Tis done, and since 'tis done, 'tis past recall; And since 'tis past recall, must be forgotten. Never purchase friendship by gifts. |