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when he thinks that the war, thus sanguinary in its operations, confessedly ruinous in its expenditure, was even still more odious in its principle! It was a war avowedly undertaken for the purpose of forcing France out of her undoubted right of choosing her own monarch; a war, which uprooted the very foundations of the English constitution; which libelled the most glorious era in our national anuals; which declared tyranny eternal, and announced to the people, amid the thunder of artillery, that, no matter how aggrieved, their only allowable attitude was that of supplication; which, when it told the French reformer of 1793, that his defeat was just, told the British reformer of 1688, his triumph was treason!

What else have you done? You have succeeded in dethroning Napoleon; and you have dethroned a monarch, who, with all his imputed crimes and vices, shed a splendour around royalty too powerful for the feeble vision of legitimacy even to bear. He had many faults: I do not seek to palliate them. He deserted his principles: 1 rejoice that he has suffered. But still let us be generous even in our enmities. How grand was his march! How magnificent his destiny! Say what we will, Sir, he will be the land-mark of our times in the eyes of posterity. The goal of other men's speed was his starting-post. Crowns were his playthings; thrones his footstool. He strode from victory to victory. His path was "a plane of continued elevations." Surpassing the boast of the too confident Roman, he but stamped upon the earth, and, not only armed men, but states and dynasties, and arts and sciences,―all that mind could imagine, or industry produce-started up, the creation of enchantment.

He has fallen. As the late Mr. Whitbread said " You made him, and he unmade himself”—his own ambition was his glorious conqueror. He attempted, with a sublime audacity, to grasp the fires of Heaven, and his heathen retri bution has been the vulture and the rock!

LESSON LI.

God is Every Where.-HUGH HUTTON.

OH! show me where is He,
The high and holy One,
To whom thou bend'st the knee,
And pray'st, "Thy will be done?"
I hear thy voice of praise,

And lo! no form is near;

Thine eyes I see thee raise,

But where doth God appear?

Oh! teach me who is God, and where his glories shine,
That I may kneel and pray, and call thy Father mine.
Gaze on that arch above-
The glittering vault admire!
Who taught those orbs to move?
Who lit their ceaseless fire?
Who guides the moon to run
In silence through the skies?
Who bids that dawning sun

In strength and beauty rise?

There view immensity !-behold, my God is there
The sun, the moon, the stars, his majesty declare!
See, where the mountains rise;
Where thundering torrents foam;
Where, veil'd in lowering skies,
The eagle makes his home!
Where savage nature dwells
My God is present too—
Through all her wildest dells
His footsteps I pursue.

He rear'd those giant cliffs-supplies that dashing stream-
Provides the daily food, which stills the wild bird's scream.

Look on that world of waves,
Where finny nations glide;
Within whose deep, dark caves,
The ocean-monsters hide!
His power is sovereign there,
To raise to quell the storm;

The depths his bounty share,

Where sport the scaly swarm:

Tempests and calms obey the same almighty voice,
Which rules the earth and skies, and bids the world rejoice

Nor eye nor thought can soar
Where moves not he in might ;—
He swells the thunder's roar,
He spreads the wings of night.
Oh! praise the works divine!
Bow down thy soul in prayer!
Nor ask for other sign,

That God is every where

The viewless Spirit he-immortal, holy, bless'd-
Oh! worship him in faith, and find eternal rest!

LESSON LII.

The Destruction of Sennacherib.-Byron.

THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host, on the morrow, lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed on the face of the foe, as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.

And there lay the steed, with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail ;
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted, like snow, in the glance of the Lord.

LESSON LIII.

Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouny.-COLE

RIDGE.

HAST thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course ?-so long he seems to pause
On thy bald, awful front, O sovereign Blanc !
The Arvé and Arveiron, at thy base

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form,
Risest from forth thy 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 chrystal 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,-
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing-there,

As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven!

Awake, my soul! Not only passive praise
Thou owest; not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks, and silent ecstasy. Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.

Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!
Oh! struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,

Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,—
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald, wake! O wake! and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad!
Who called you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
Forever shattered, and the same forever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam?

And who commanded-and the silence came-
"Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?"

Ye ice-falls! ye, that, from the mountain's brow,
Adown enormous ravines slope amain—
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious, as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?-
"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer; and let the ice-plains echo, "God!"
"God!" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder "God!"

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