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youth had not been wasted in idleness, nor overcast by intemperance. He had been all his life a close and deep reader, as well as thinker; and, by the force of his own powers, had wrought up the raw materials, which he had gathered from books, with such exquisite skill and felicity, that he had added a hundred-fold to their original value, and justly made them his own.— Wm. Wirt.

3. Tributes To His Memory. — Brave, benevolent, wonderful old man! Well did our Congress declare of him, in the resolutions adopted on his death, on motion of James Madison, that "his native genius was not more an ornament to human nature, than his various exertions of it have been precious to science, to freedom, and to his country." Well, too, was it said by that matchless French orator, Mirabeau, in announcing the event to the National Assembly of France, which went into mourning on the occasion, that "antiquity would have raised altars to this mighty genius, who, to the advantage of mankind, compassing in his mind the heavens and the earth, was able to restrain alike thunderbolts and tyrants." — R. C. Winthrop.

CLVI. — A STORM ON THE MOUNTAINS.

1. The sky is changed ! —and such a change! 0, night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light

Of a dark eye in woman! far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!

2. And this is in the night:— Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be

A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,—
A portion of the tempest and of thee!
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
And njw again't is black, — and now, the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.

3. The morn is up again, the dewy morn,

With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom,
Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn,
And living as if earth contained no tomb, —

And glowing into day: we may resume The march of our existence: and thus I, Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room And food for meditation, nor pass by Much that may give us pause, if pondered fittingly.'

BTB02I

CLVII. — A WISHED-FOR RETREAT.

1. Give me, 0, indulgent Fate,
Give me, yet before I die,

A sweet but absolute retreat,—
'Mong paths so lost, and trees so high,
That the world may ne'er invade,
Through such windings and such shade,
My unshaken liberty!

2. No intruders thither come,

Who visit but to be from home,—
None who their vain moments pass,
Only studious of their glass!
Be no tidings thither brought!
But, silent as a midnight thought,
Where the world may ne'er invade,
Be those windings and that shade'

3. Courteous Fate! afford me there
A table spread without my care

With what the neighboring fields impart, Whose cleanliness be all its art. — Fruits, indeed (would Heaven bestow), All that did in Eden grow (All but the forbidden tree) Would be coveted by me; — Grapes, with juice so crowded up, As breaking through their native cup;Cherries, with the downy peach,—

All within my easy reach!

Whilst, creeping near the humble ground, Should the strawberry be found, Springing wheresoe'er I strayed, Through those windings and that shade!

4. Give me there (since Heaven has shown
It was not good to be alone) A partner suited to my mind, —
Solitary, pleased, and kind ; —
Who, partially, may something see,
Preferred to all the world, in me;

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Slighting, by my humble side,
fame and splendor, wealth and pride.
Rage, and jealousy, and hate, —
Transports of man's fallen state,
When by Satan's wiles betrayed, —
Fly those windings, and that shade.1

5. Let me, then, indulgent Fate!
Let me, still in my retreat,

Or aims that may contention breed,

Nor be my endeavors led By goods that perish with the dead!Fitly might the life of man Be, indeed, esteemed a span, If the present moment were

Of delight his only share;

If no other joys he knew Than what round about him grew: —

6. But, — as those who stars would trace
From a subterranean place,
Through some engine lift their eyes
To the outward glorious skies, —
So the immortal spirit may,
When descended to our clay,
From a rightly governed frame,
View the height from whence she came;
To her Paradise be caught,
And things unutterable taught!

7. Give me, then, in that retreat, —
Give me, O, indulgent Fate ! —
For all pleasures left behind,
Contemplations of the mind.
Let the fair, the gay, the vain,
Courtship and applause obtain;
Let the ambitious rule the earth;
Let the giddy fool have mirth;

On that more extensive joy,
When all Heaven _hall be si

•This i-dy, whose maiden name -vas Anne Ringsmill, died in 1720. Sh« ns the friend of Pope, who complimented her highly in some of his verses Vordsworth says of her, that she is " one of the very few original observer! f nature who appeared in an artificial age."

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From those windings and that

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COUNTESS OF WTOCHELSKA.'

CLVIII.—JOHN LITTLEJOHN.

1. John Littlejohn was stanch and strong,
Upright and downright, scorning wrong;
He gave good weight, and paid his way,
He thought for himself, and he said his say.
Whenever a rascal strove to pass,
Instead of silver, money of brass,
He took his hammer, and said, with a frown,
"The coin is spurious, nail it down."

2. John Littlejohn was firm and true,

You could not cheat him in " two and two ;"
When foolish arguers, might and main,
Darkened and twisted the clear and plain,
He saw through the mazes of their speech
The simple truth beyond their reach;
And crushing their logic, said, with a frown,
"Your coin is spurious, nail it down."

3. John Littlejohn maintained the right,
Through storm and shine, in the world's despite;
When fools or quacks desired his vote,

Dosed him with arguments, learned by rote,
Or by coaxing, threats, or promise, tried
To gain his support to the wrongful side,
"Nay, nay," said John, with an angry frown,
"Your coin is spurious, nail it down."

4. When told that kings had a right divine,
And that the people were herds of swine,
That nobles alone were fit to rule,

That the poor were unimproved by school,
That ceaseless toil was the proper fate
Of all but the wealthy and the great,
John shook his head, and said, with a frown,"The coin is spurious, nail it down."

5. When told that events might justify
A false and crooked policy,

That a decent hope of future good

Might excuse departure from rectitude,

That a lie, if white, was a small offence.

To be forgiven by men of sense,

"Nay, nay," said John, with a sigh and frown,

"The coin is spurious, nail it down." Mackat.

CLIX.—POETRY OF fflE SEASONS.
PART SECOND.

1. Sunrise In Summer. - Thomson.

But yonder comes the powerful king of day,

Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud,

The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow

Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach

Betoken glad. Lo! now apparent all,

Aslant the dew-bright earth and colored air

He looks in boundless majesty abroad,

And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays

On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams,

High gleaming from afar! Prime cheerer Light! ,

Of all material beings first and best!

Efflux divine! Nature's resplendent robe!

Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt

In unessential gloom; and thou, 0 Sun!

Soul of surrounding worlds! in whom best seen

Shines out thy Maker! May I sing of thee?

2. Welcome Of The Birds.Holmes.

Now bursts the song from every leafy glade,
The yielding season's bridal serenade;
Now flash the wings returning Summer calls
Through the deep arches of her forest halls.
The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate,
Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight;
Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings,
Feels the soft air, and spreads his idle wings.

3. To The Flowers.Horace Smith.

Day-stars! that ope your frownless eyes, to twinkle

From rainbow galaxies'" of earth's creation,
And dew-drops on her holy altars sprinkle
As a libation!

Your voiceless lips, O flowers! are living preachers,

Each cup a pulpit and each leaf a book, Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers From loneliest nook!

1 Thou wast not, Solomon, in all thy glory

Arrayed," the lilies cry, "in robes like ours! How vain your grandeur! Ah, how transitory Are human flowers!"

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