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694. ADVANTAGES OF KNOWLEDGE. Knowledge, in general, expands the mind, exalts the faculties, refines the taste of pleasure, and opens innumerable sources of intellectual enjoyment. By means of it, we become less dependent for satisfaction upon the sensitive appetites; the gross pleasures of sense are more easily despised, and we are made to feel the superiority of the spiritual to the material part of our nature. Instead of being continually solicited by the influence, and irritation of sensible objects, the mind can retire within herself, and expatiate in the cool and quiet walks of contemplation. The poor man, who can read, and who possesses a taste for reading, can find entertainment at home, without being tempted to repair to the public house for that purpose. His mind can find him employment, when his body is at rest; he does not lie prostrate, and afloat, on the current of incidents, liable to be carried, whithersoever the impulse of appetite may direct. There is, in the mind of such a man, an intellectual spring, urging him to the pursuit of mental good; and if the minds of his family, also, are a little cultivated, conversation becomes the more interesting, and the sphere of domestic enjoyment enlarged.

The calm satisfaction, which books afford, puts him into a disposition to relish, more exquisitely, the tranquil delight, inseparable from the indulgence of conjugal, and parental affection: and as he will be more respectable, in the eyes of his family, than he, who can teach them nothing, he will be naturally induced to cultivate, whatever may preserve, and shun whatever would impair that respect. He, who is inured to reflection, will carry his views beyond the present hour; he will extend his prospect a little into futurity, and be disposed to make some provision for his approaching wants; whence will result, an increased motive to industry, together with a care to husband his earnings, and to avoid unnecessary expense.

The poor man who has gained a taste for good books, will, in all likelihood, become thoughtful, and when you have given the poor a habit of thinking, you have conferred on them a much greater favor, than by the gift of a large sum of money; since you have put them in possession of the principle of all legitimate prosperity.-R. Hall.

TIME'S SOFTENING POWER.

As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower
Awes not so deeply in its morning hour,
As when the shades of time serenely fall
On every broken arch and ivied wall;
The tender images we love to trace,
Steal from each year a melancholy grace!
And as the sparks of social love expand;
As the heart opens in a foreign land,
And with a brother's warmth, a brother's smile,
The stranger greets each native of his isle;
So scenes of life, when present and confest,
Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;
Yet not an image, when remotely viewed,
However trivial and however rude,

But wins the heart and wakes the social sigh,
With every claim of close affinity.

Hope and fear, alternate, swayed his breast,
Like light-and shade-upon a waving field,
Coursing each other, when the flying clouds,
Now hide-and now reveal-the sun.

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That earth-has no creations, like the figments of our sleep.
Her father-lov'd he not his child-above all earthly things?
As traders love the merchandize, from which their profit springs:
old age came by, with tottering step, and, for sordid gold,
With which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was sold
And thus, (for oh! her sire's stern heart-was steel'd against her
prayer,)

The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her despair.
I saw them through the church-yard pass, and such a nuptial train,
I would not for the wealth of worlds, should greet my sight again;
The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve-in Eden's bowers,
Shed bitter tears-upon the path they should have strown with

flowers;

Who had not thought, that white-rob'd band-the funeral array
Of one-an early doom had call'd-from life's gay scene away?
The priest-beheld the bridal pair before the altar stand,
And sigh'd, as he drew forth his book, with slow, reluctant hand ;
He saw the bride's flow'r-wreath'd hair, he mark'd her streaming

eyes,

And deem'd it less a christian rite, than a pagan sacrifice;
And when he called on Abraham's God to bless the wedded pair,
It seem'd a very mockery-to breath so vain a prayer.
I saw the palsy'd bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensign dress'd,
A shroud-were fitter garment far-for him, than bridal vest;
I marked him, when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose his
hold,

He held it-with a miser's clutch; it was his darling gold;
His shrivell'd hand-was wet with tears, she shed, alas! in vain,
And trembled like an autumn leaf-beneath the beating rain.
I've seen her since that fatal morn: her golden fetters rest—
As e'en the weight of incubus-upon her aching breast;
And when the victor (death,) shall come, to deal the welcome
[brow;
He will not find one rose-to swell the wreath, that decks his
For oh! her cheek is blanched with grief, that time-may not

blow,

assuage;

[age.

Thus early-beauty-sheds her bloom-on the wintry breast of

696. THE DEW-DROP IN SPRING.
How pure! how bright is the tiny thing!
It beams where the birds of the morning sing;
It looks like the tear from an angel's eye,
Or a pearl that has dropped from the vernal sky,
To deck the silvery robe of the dawn,
As it weds the flowers on the grassy lawn.
In the silver cup of the daisy it lies;

It smiles on the lark as he upward flies;
In a chariot of cloud it shall glide to the sun;
On a pathway of incense its course shall be run;
It returns again on a sunset ray,

And forgets in its slumber the sports of the day.
The emblem of virtue unsullied, it seems-
The emblem of beauty we see in our dreams;
'Tis a pledge of faith, by the breeze to be given,
With amorous sighs to the clouds of heaven.
Oh, who can tell, but the fairies keep
Their nightly watch where the dew-drops sleep?
When the rose unfolds its voluptuous charm,
When the sun is high, and the earth grows warm,
'Tis then that the dew-drop shines most bright,
"Tis then that it rivals the diamond's light,
As it bids farewell to the fairy scene,
And melts into air where its bower has been.
All men-think all men mortal, but themselves;
Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate,
Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread.

697. SPECIMEN OF INDIAN LANGUAGE. We are happy, in having buried, under ground, the red axe, that has so often been dyed-with the blood of our brethren. Now, in this fort, we inter the axe, and plant the tree of Peace. We plant a tree, whose top will reach the sun, and its branches spread abroad, so that it shall be seen afar off. May its growth never be stifled and choked; but may it shade both your country and ours with its leaves. Let us make fast its roots, and extend them to the uttermost of your colonies. If the French should come to shake this tree, we should know it by the motion of its roots reaching into our country. May the Great Spirit-allow us to rest, in tranquillity, upon our mats, and never again dig up the axe, to cut down the tree of Peace! Let the earth be trod hard over it, where it lies buried. Let a strong stream run under the pit, to wash the evil away, out of our sight and remembrance. The fire, that had long burned in Albany, is extinguished. The bloody bed is washed clean, and the tears are wiped from our eyes. We now renew the covenant-chain of friendship. Let it be kept bright and clean as silver, and not suffered to contract any rust. Let not any one pull away his arm from it.

MARSEILLES HYMN OF LIBERTY.

Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory!

Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires, hoary,
Behold their tears-and hear their cries.
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty-lie bleeding?
To arms to ARMS! ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath:
March on, march on, all hearts resolv'd,
On VICTORY-or death.

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings, confederate, raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities-blaze,
And shall we basely-view the ruin,

While lawless force with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation-far and wide,
With crimes and blood, his hands imbruing?
To arms! to ARMS! ye brave, &c.
With luxury and pride surrounded,
The vile-insatiate despots dare,
Their thirst of power and gold unbounded,
To mete, and vend--the light--and air.
Like beasts of burden-would they load us,
Like gods--would bid their slaves adore,
But man-is man, and who is more?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us?
To arms! to ARMS! ye brave, &c.
Oh, LIBERTY, can man resign thee,

Once-having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee;
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long--the world has wept, bewailing,

That falsehood's dagger-tyrants wield,
But FREEDOM-is our sword, and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms! to ARMS! ye brave, &c.

698. OTHELLO'S APOLOGY. Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors: My very noble, and approv'd good masters: That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her : The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent; no more.

peace:

Rude am I in speech, And little blessed with the set phrase of For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, [us'd

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle;
And therefore, little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking of myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will, a round, unvarnish'd tale deliver,
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what
charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For such proceedings I am charg'd withal)
I won his daughter with.

Her father lov'd me; oft invited me ;
Still questioned me the story of my life,
From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I had past.

I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days,
To the very moment, that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances:
Of moving accidents by flood, and field:
Of hairbreath 'scapes, in the imminent deadly
Of being taken by the insolent foe, [breach;
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel's history.

All these to hear,
Would Desdemona seriously incline;

But still the house affairs would draw her thence,
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear,
Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels, she had something heard,
But not distinctly.

I did consent;

And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke,
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains, a world of sighs.
She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing
"Twas pitiful; 'twas wondrous pitiful; [strange;
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd
That heaven-had made her such a man.
She thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake ;
She lov'd me, for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This is the only witchcraft, which I've used.
Some, light of heart, may scorn, in later years,
Those dear memorials-of a calmer time;
While others-water them with life's last tears,
And bear their faded charms from clime to clime

699. MAJESTY OF THE LAW. How im

posing is the majesty of the law! how calm her dignity; how vast-her power; how firm, and tranquil, in her reign! It is not by fleets, and arms, by devastation, and wrong, by op pression, and blood-she maintains her sway, and executes her decrees. Sustained by justice, reason, and the great interests of man, she but speaks, and is obeyed. Even those, who do not approve, hesitate not-to support her; and the individual, upon whom her judgment falls, knows, that submission-is not only a duty, he must perform, but, that the security, and enjoyment, of all that is dear to him, depend upon it.

A mind-accustomed to acknowledge no power, but physical force, no obedience, but personal fear, must view, with astonishment, a feeble individual, sitting, with no parade of strength, surrounded by no visible agents of power, issuing his decrees with oracular authority; while the rich, and the great, the first and the meanest-await, alike, to perform his will. Still more wonderful is it-to behold the co-ordinate officers of the same government, yielding their pretensions to his higher influence: the executive, the usual depository instrument of power; the legislature even the representative of the people, yield a respectful acquiescence- -to the judgments of the tribunals of the law, pronounced by the minister, and expounder of the law. Is it enough for him to say-"It is the opinion of the court-" and the farthest corner of our republic-feels, and obeys the mandate. What a sublime spectacle! This is indeed, the empire of the law; and safe, and happy-are all they, who dwell within it.-Hopkinson.

700. SPEECH OF CATILINE, BEFORE THE ROMAN
SENATE, ON HEARING HIS SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT.
"Banish'd--from Rome!"-what's banish'd, but set
From daily contact-of the things I loathe! [free
"Tried-and convicted traitor!"-Who says this?
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head? [chain!
"Banished!"—I thank you for 't. It breaks my
I held some slack allegiance till this hour-
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords;
I scorn-to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you-in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you :-here I fling
Hatred, and full defiance in your face.
Your consul's merciful. For this-all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline.
"Traitor!" I go-but I return. This-trial!
Here I devote your senate! I've had wrongs,
To stir a fever in the blood of age,

Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel.
This day's the birth of sorrows!-This hour's work
Will breed proscriptions.-Look to your hearths,
my lords,

For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus! all shames, and crimes;
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch, and axe,
Making his wild sport--of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy-comes down on you, like Night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.-Croly.

701. DOCTOR AND PUPIL.

A pupil of the Esculapian school,
Was just prepared to quit his master's rule:
Not that he knew his trade, as it appears,
But that he then had learnt it seven years.
One morn, he thus addressed his master:
"Dear sir, my honored father bids me say,
If I could now and then a visit pay,
He thinks, with you,-to notice how you do,
My business I might learn a little faster."
"The thought is happy," the preceptor cries;
"A better method he could scarce devise;
So Bob," (his pupil's name) "it shall be so;
And when I next pay visits, you shall go."
To bring that hour, alas! time briskly fled:
With dire intent away they went,
And now, behold them at a patient's bed
The master-doctor solemnly perused
His victim's face, and o'er his symptoms mused;
Looked wise, said nothing-an unerring way,
When people nothing have to say:
Then felt his pulse, and smelt his cane,
And paused, and blinked, and smelt again,

And briefly of his corps performed each motion; Manoeuvres that for Death's platoon are meant: A kind of a Make-ready-and-Present,

Before the fell discharge of pill and potion. At length, the patient's wife he thus addressed: "Madam, your husband's danger's great, And (what will never his complaint abate,) The man's been eating oysters, I perceive.""Dear! you 're a witch, I verily believe," Madam replied, and to the truth confessed. Skill so prodigious, Bobby, too, admired; And home returning, of the sage inquired

How these same oysters came into his head? « Psha! my dear Bob, the thing was plainSure that can ne'er distress thy brain;

I saw the shells lie underneath the bed."

So wise, by such a lesson grown,
Next day, Bob ventured out alone,

And to the self-same sufferer paid his courtBut soon, with haste and wonder out of breath, Returned the stripling minister of death,

And to his master made this dread report: "Why, sir, we ne'er can keep that patient under; Zounds! such a man I never came across! The fellow must be dying, and no wonder,

For ne'er believe me if he has n't eat a horse!" "A horse!" the elder man of physic cried, As if he meant his pupil to deride"How got so wild a notion in your head?" "How! think not in my duty I was idle; Like you, I took a peep beneath the bed,

And there I saw a saddle and a bridle!"

Mr. Locke was asked, how he had contrived to accumulate a mine of knowledge so rich, yet so extensive and so deep. He replied, that he attributed what little he knew to the not having been ashamed to ask for information, and to the rule he had laid down, of conversing with all descriptions of men, on those topics chiefly, that formed their own peculiar professions or pursuits.

With

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

When marshaled-on the nightly plain,
The glittering host-bestud the sky;
One star alone, of all the train,

702. THE RESURRECTION OF THE LORD. | And the fell blast, that sweeps Arabian sands, Twice--had the sun--gone down upon the It withered-every floweret of the vale. earth, and all as yet, was silent--at the sepulchre. Death-held his sceptre-over the I saw it tread upon a lily fair, Son of God. Still--and silent-the hours A maid--of whom the world-could say no harm; passed on; the guards-stood at their post; And, when she sunk-beneath the mortal wound, the rays of the midnight moon-gleamed on It broke-into the sacred sepulchre, their helmets, and on their spears. The ene- And dragged its victim--from the hallowed grave, mies of Christ-exulted in their success; the For public eyes to gaze on. It hath wept, hearts of his friends-were sunk in despon-That from the earth-its victim passed away, dency; the spirits of glory--waited, in anx- Ere it had taken vengeance—on his virtues. ious suspense-to behold the event, and wondered at the depth of the ways of God. Yea, I have seen this cursed child of Envy. At length, the morning star, arising in the Breathe mildew-on the sacred fame--of him, east, announced the approach of light. The Who once had been his country's benefactor; third day-began to duwn upon the world; And, on the sepulchre-of his repose, when, on a sudden, the earth-trembled-to Bedewed with many a tributary tear, its centre; and the powers of heaven were Dance, in the moonlight of a summer's sky, shaken; an angel of God-descended; the guards-shrunk back-from the terror of savage satisfaction.-Milford Bard. his presence, and fell prostrate on the ground. "His countenance-was like lightning, and his raiment--white as snow." He rolled away the stone from the door of the sepulchre, and sat upon it. But who is this, that cometh forth from the tomb, with dyed garments from the bed of death? He, that is glorious in his appearance, walking in the greatness of his strength? It is thy prince, O Zion! Christian, it is your Lord! He hath trodden the wine-press alone; he hath stained his raiment with blood; but now, as the first born-from the womb of nature, he meets-the morning of his resurrection. He arises a conqueror-from the grave; he returns with blessings-from the world of spirits; he brings salvation-to the sons of men. Never did the returning sun-usher in a day so glorious. It was the jubilee-of the universe. The morning stars sung together, and all the sons of God shouted aloud--for joy. The Father of mercies--looked down from his throne in the heavens; with complacency he beheld his world--restored; he saw his work, that it was good. Then, did the desert rejoice, the face of nature was gladdened before him, when the blessings of the Eternal descended, as the dews of heaven, for the refreshing of the nations.

703. SLANDER.
What is slander?

Tis an assassin-at the midnight hour
Urged on by Envy, that, with footstep soft,
Steals on the slumber-of sweet innocence,
And with the dark drawn dagger of the mind,
Drinks deep-the crimson current of the heart.
It is a worm, that crawls on beauty's cheek,
Like the vile viper-in a vale of flowers,
And riots in ambrosial blossoms there.
It is a coward-in a coat of mail,
That wages war—against the brave, and wise,
And, like the long lean lizard, that will mar
The lion's sleep, it wounds the noblest breast.
Oft have I seen-this demon of the soul,
This murderer of sleep, with visage smooth,
And countenance-serene as heaven's own sky;
But storms-were raving-in the world of thought:
Oft, have I seen a smile-upon its brow;
But, like the lightning-from a stormy cloud,
It shocked the soul-and disappeared in darkness.
Oft, have I seen it weep--at tales of wo, [anguish;
And sigh-as 'twere the heart-would break with
But, like the drop, that drips from Java's tree,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to God-the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone, the Savior speaks,
It is the star of Bethlehem.
Once, on the raging seas I rode ;

The storm was loud, the night was dark,
The ocean yawned, and rudely blow'd
The wind, that tossed my foundering bark.
Deep horror, then, my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly, a star arose,

It was the star of Bethlehem.
It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease,
And through the storm, and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.
Now, safely moor'd-my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
Forever, and forever more,

The star, the star of Bethlehem.-White!
EVE'S LOVE FOR ADAM.

To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd:
"My author and disposer, what thou bid'st
Unargued I obey: so God ordains;

God is thy law, thou mine: to know no more
Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise.
With thee conversing I forget all time;
All seasons and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild; then silent night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these gems of heaven, her starry train:
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night,
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,
Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.

1

704. THE FEMALE CHARACTER. If we glance at those domestic relations, which woman sustains, she appears in an attitude highly interesting. Is she a daughter? She has a strong hold on the parental bosom. By her kind, discreet, obedient, dutiful conduct, she contributes greatly to the happiness of those, who tenderly love her, and who are her natural guardians, and guides. Or, by the opposite conduct, she disappoints their hopes, and pierces their hearts with sorrow. Just in proportion to the superior strength, and tenderness of parental affection, is the happiness or misery resulting from the kind, or unkind deportment of a daughter.

Is she a sister? If intelligent and virtuous, she sheds the most kindly influence on the little circle of kindred spirits in which she daily moves. Is she a wife? The relation is most endearing, and its duties most important. Taken, originally, from man's heart, she is ever to be his most kind, affectionate and faithful partner. To contribute to his happiness, is always to be her first earthly care. It is hers, not merely to amuse his leisure hours, but to be his intelligent companion, friend, and counsellor; his second self; his constant and substantial helper, both as to the concerns of this life, and as to his eternal interests. She is to do him good, all the days of her life. And by so doing, to dwell in his heart. Is she a mother? It is hers, in no small degree, to form the character of the next generation. Constantly with her children, having the chief care of them in their infancy, and early childhood,--the most susceptible, the forming period of life,-to her, in an important sense, are committed the character, and the destiny-of individuals, and nations. Many of the most distinguished, and of the most excellent men, this, or any country has produced, were indebted, under God, chiefly to the exertions of their mothers, during their early childhood.

Thus viewed in her domestic relations, woman appears in a highly interesting light. So she does, when seen in other stations. See her taking an active part in various benevolent associations. There, she exerts an influence in the cause of humanity, and of religion, the most powerful, and beneficial. Like an angel of mercy on the wing, she performs her part with promptitude and compassion.

705. THE CONSTANY OF WOMAN. Woman! Blest partner our joys and woes! Even in the darkest hour of earthly ill, Untarnished yet, thy fond affection glows, Throbs with each pulse, and beats with every thrill! [still,

Bright o'er the wasted scene thou hoverest Angel of comfort to the failing soul; Undaunted by the tempest, wild and chill, That pours its restless and disastrous roll. [howl. O'er all that blooms below, with sad and hollow

When sorro' rends the heart, when fev'rish pain Wrings the hot drops of anguish from the brow, To soothe the soul, to cool the burning brain, O! who so welcome and so prompt as thou! The battle's hurried scene, and angry glow,The death-encircled pillow of distress,The lonely moments of secluded woAlike thy care and constancy confess, [bless. Alike thy pitying hand and fearless friendship

706. ALEXANDER SELKIRK. I am monarch-of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute; From the centre-all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. Oh solitude! where are the charins,

That sages-have seen in thy face? Better dwell-in the midst of alarms, Than reign-in this horrible place. I am out-of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey-alone; Never hear the sweet music of speech; I start at the sound of my own. The beasts, that roam over the plain, My form, with indifference see: They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness-is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove, How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows-I then might assuage,

In the ways of religion and truth; Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheer'd--by the sallies of youth. Religion! what treasure untold,

Resides in that heavenly word! More precious-than silver or gold,

Or all, that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell, These valleys, and rocks, never heard ; Ne'er sigh'd-at the sound of a knell,

Or smil'd, when a sabbath appear'd. Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore, Some cordial, endearing report,

Of a land, I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send, A wish, or a thought after me? O tell me, I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compar'd with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-wing'd arrows of light;
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment, I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection at hand,
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl-is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here-is a season of rest,
And I--to my cabin repair.
There's mercy--in every place;
And mercy-encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.-Cowper.

BATTLE.

Now shield-with shield, with helmet,-helmet To armor-armor, lance to lance oppos'd; [clos'd, Host-against host, the shadowy squadrons drew; The sounding darts-in iron tempest flew. Victors, and vanquish'd, join promiscuous cries, And thrilling shouts--and dying groans arise : With streaming blood, the slipp'ry fields are dy'd, And slaughter'd heroes, swell the dreadful tide.

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