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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 raaterials, 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 thia 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 STOKM ON THE MOUNTAINS.
1. The sky is changed ! —and such a change! 0, night,
Of a dark eye in woman! far along,
2. And this is in the night: — Most glorious night!
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, —
3. The morn is up again, the dewy morn,
With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom
And glowing into day : we may resume
And food for meditation, nor pass by
CLVII. - A WISHED-FOR RETREAT.
1. Give me, 0, indulgent Fate,
Give me, yet before I die,
2. No intruders thither come,
Who visit but to be from home, –
3. Courteous Fate! afford me there
A table spread without my care
Through those windings and that shade! 4. Give me there (since Heaven has shown
It was not good to be alone)
Slighting, by my humble side,
5. Let me, then, indulgent Fate !
Let me, still in my retreat,
6. But, – as those who stars would trace
From a subterranean place,
Give me, then, in that retreat, -
COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA."
*This lady, whose maiden name yas Anne Kingsmill, died in 1720. Sho ras 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 observers f nature who appeared in an artificial age.”
1. John Littlejohn was stanch and strong,
2 John Littlejohn was firm and true,
You could not cheat him in " two and two ;"
3. John Littlejohn maintained the right,
Dosed him with arguments, learned by rote,
4. When told that kings had a right divine,
That the poor were unimproved by school,
5. When told that events might justify
That a decent hope of future good
Might excuse departure rrom 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. — POETfiY OP fHB SEASONS.
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-lfight 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 Deings first and best!
Efflux divine! Nature's resplendent robo!
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,
3. To The Flowers.—Horace Smilh.
Day-stars! that ope your frownless eyes, to twinkle
From rainbow galaxies" of earth's creation,
Tour voiceless lips, 0 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!"