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Never, I ween, did swimmer,
In such an evil case,
Safe to the landing place.
By the brave heart within,
Bare bravely up his chin.
“Will not the villain drown ?
We should have sack'd the town !" “Heaven help him !" quoth Lars Porsena,
“And bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms
Was never seen before.
And now he feels the bottom;
Now on dry earth he stands;
To press his gory hands;
And noise of weeping loud,
Borne by the joyous crowd.
And trims his helmet's plume;
Goes flashing through the loom;
Still is the story told,
In the brave days of old.
A WOMAN NEVER VEXT.-WILLIAM ROWLEY.
The Woman never Vext states her Case to a Divine.
Wid. Sir, I did, and to this end.
Doc. This is my duty; pray speak your mind.
Wid. And as I speak, I must remember heaven That gave those blessings which I must relate;
Sir, you now behold a wondrous woman;
Doc. At the half-way 'twixt thirty and forty.
Wid. 'Twas not much amiss; yet nearest to the last.
Doc. Unparalleld; this gift is singular,
Wid. Aye, Sir, 'tis wonderful, but is it well?
Doc. 'Tis a good doubt; but make it not extreme.
Wid. It was, but very small; no sooner I
At his best good, that I esteemed best;
Doc. All this was happy, nor
Wid. One taste more I had, although but little,
Doc. This small.
Wid. Nay, sure, I am of this opinion,
THE SENSE OF BEAUTY-CHANNING.
Beauty is an all-pervading presence. It unfolds in the num berless flowers of the spring. It waves in the branches of the trees and the green blades of grass. It haunts the depths of the earth and sea, and gleams out in the hues of the shell and the precious stone. And not only these minute objects, but the ocean, the mountains, the clouds, the heavens, the stars, the rising and setting sun, all overflow with beauty. The universe is its temple; and those men who are alive to it, cannot lift their eyes without feeling themselves encompassed with it on every side. Now, this beauty is so precious, the enjoyments it gives are so refined and pure, so congenial with our tenderest and noble feelings, and so akin to worship, that it is painful to think of the multitude of men as living in the midst of it, and living almost as blind to it as if, instead of this fair earth and glorious sky, they were tenants of a dungeon. An infinite joy is lost to the world by the want of culture of this spiritual endowment. Suppose that I were to visit a cottage, and to see
eyes, and to
its walls lined with the choicest pictures of Raphael, and every spare nook filled with statues of the most exquisite workmanship, and that I were to learn that neither man, woman, nor child ever cast an eye at these miracles of art, how should I feel their privation; how should I want to open their help them to comprehend and feel the loveliness and grandeur which in vain courted their notice! But every husbandman is living in sight of the works of a diviner Artist; and how much would his existence be elevated, could he see the glory which shines forth in their forms, hues, proportions, and moral expression! I have spoken only of the beauty of nature, but how much of this mysterious charm is found in the elegant arts, and especially in literature? The best books have most beauty. The greatest truths are wronged if not linked with beauty, and they win their way most surely and deeply into the soul when arrayed in this their natural and fit attire. Now, no man receives the true culture of a man, in whom the sensibility to the beautiful is not cherished; and I know of no condition in life from which it should be excluded. Of all luxuries this is the cheapest and most at hand; and it seems to me to be most important to those conditions, where coarse labor tends to give a grossness to the mind. From the diffusion of the sense of beauty in ancient Greece, and of the taste for music in modern Germany, we learn that the people at large may partake of refined gratifications, which have hitherto been thought to be necessarily restricted to a few.
TAE POET OF THE FUTURE. ALEXANDER SMITH
I have a strain of a departed bard;