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LESSON XXXII.

The Common Lot.-MONTGOMERY.

ONCE, in the flight of ages past,

There lived a man :-and who was he?Mortal, howe'er thy lot be cast,

That man resembled thee.

Unknown the region of his birth;

The land in which he died unknown. His name has perished from the earth; This truth survives alone :

That joy and grief, and hope and fear,
Alternate, triumphed in his breast;
His bliss and wo,—a smile, a tear :—
Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
The changing spirits' rise and fall,-
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He suffered, but his pangs are o'er;
Enjoyed, but his delights are fled;
Had friends,

his friends are now no more;

And foes, his foes are dead.

He loved,

but whom he loved, the grave

Hath lost in its unconscious womb: Oh! she was fair; but nought could save Her beauty from the tomb.

He saw whatever thou hast seen;
Encountered all that troubles thee:

He was whatever thou hast been:

He is what thou shalt be.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon and stars, the earth and main, Erewhile his portion, life and light,

To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye
That once their shades and glory threw,
Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,
Their ruins since the world began,

Of him afford no other trace

Than this,-THERE LIVED A MAN.

LESSON XXXIII.

The Deserted Wife.-J. G. PERCIVAL

HE comes not. I have watched the moon go down,

But yet he comes not. Once it was not so. He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow, The while he holds his riot in that town.

Yet he will come and chide, and I shall weep; And he will wake my infant from its sleep, To blend its feeble wailing with my tears. Oh! how I love a mother's watch to keep Over those sleeping eyes,-that smile, which cheers My heart, though sunk in sorrow fixed and deep!

I had a husband once, who loved me. Now

He ever wears a frown upon his brow.

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But yet I cannot hate. Oh! there were hours, When I could hang forever on his eye,

And Time, who stole with silent swiftness by,

Strowed, as he hurried on, his path with flowers.

I loved him then-he loved me too. My heart
Still finds its fondness kindle, if he smile;
The memory of our loves will ne'er depart;
And though he often sting me with a dart,

Venomed and barbed, and waste, upon the vile,
Caresses, which his babe and mine should share;
Though he should spurn me, I will calmly bear
His madness; and, should sickness come, and lay
Its paralyzing hand upon him, then

I would, with kindness, all my wrongs repay, Until the penitent should weep, and say, How injured and how faithful I had been.

LESSON XXXIV.

The Last Man.—CAMPBELL.

ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,

Before this mortal shall assume
Its immortality.

I saw a vision in my sleep,

That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adown the gulf of Time:

I saw the last of human mould,
That shall Creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime.

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan;
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man.

Some had expired in fight,-the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands,—

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In plague and famine some:

Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;

And ships were drifting, with the dead,

To shores where all was dumb.

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Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,

That shook the sere leaves from the wood,
As if a storm passed by,

Saying, "We're twins in death, proud Sun:
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,—

'Tis Mercy bids thee go;

For thou, ten thousand thousand years,
Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

"What though beneath thee man put forth
His pomp, his pride, his skill,

And arts that made fire, flood and earth,
The vassals of his will;-

Yet mourn not I thy parted sway,
Thou dim, discrowned king of day;

For all those trophied arts

And triumphs, that beneath thee sprang,
Healed not a passion or a pang,
Entailed on human hearts.

"Go, let Oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall

Life's tragedy again:

Its piteous pageants bring not back,

Nor waken flesh, upon the rack

Of pain anew to writhe;

Stretched in Disease's shapes abhorred,

Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.

"E'en I am weary, in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies,
Behold not me expire.

My lips, that speak thy dirge of death

Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast:

The eclipse of nature spreads my pall,-
The majesty of Darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost.

"This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark.
No; it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led Captivity,
Who robbed the grave of Victory,
And took the sting from Death.

"Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up,
On Nature's awful waste,

To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste—
Go, tell that night which hides thy face
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod,

The dark'ning universe defy
To quench his immortality,

Or shake his trust in God."

LESSON XXXV.

Government of the Temper.-MRS. CHAPONE.

THE principal virtues or vices of a woman, must be of a private and domestic kind. Within the circle of her own family and dependents lies her sphere of action; the scene of almost all those tasks and trials, which must determine her character and her fate, here and hereafter. Reflect, for a moment, how much the happiness of her husband, children and servants, must depend on her temper, and you will see

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