684. GREEK LITERATURE. It is impos- And, lost each human trace, surrendering up sible to contemplate the annals of Greek lit-Thine individual being, shalt thou go, erature, and art, without being struck with To mix forever with the elements, them, as by far the most extraordinary, and To be a brother-to th' insensible rock, brilliant phenomenon, in the history of the hu- And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain man mind. The very language, even in its primitive simplicity, as it came down from the Turns with his share, and treads upon. rhapsodists, who celebrated the exploits of Hercules, and Theseus, was as great a wonder, as any it records.

The oak-
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.
Yet not, to thy eternal resting place,

Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings,
The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All-in one-mighty sepulchre.

All the other tongues, that civilized men have spoken, are poor, and feeble, and bar-Shalt thou retire, alone-nor could'st thou wish barous, in comparison of it. Its compass, and flexibility, its riches, and its powers, are altogether unlimited. It not only expresses, with precision, all that is thought, or known, at any given period, but it enlarges itself naturally, with the progress of science, and affords, as if without an effort, a new phrase, or a systematic nomenclature, whenever one is called for.

The hills,

[all,

Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between; It is equally adapted to every variety of The venerable woods; rivers, that move style, and subject, to the most shadowy sub-In majesty, and the complaining brooks tlety of distinction, and the utmost exactness of definition, as well as to the energy, and the pathos of popular eloquence, to the majesty, the elevation, the variety of the Epic, and the boldest license of the Dithyrambic, no less than to the sweetness of the Elegy, the simplicity of the Pastoral, or the heedless gayety, and delicate characterization of Comedy.

Above all, what is an unspeakable charm, a sort of naivete is peculiar to it, and appears in all those various styles, and is quite as becoming, and agreeable, in an historian, or a philosopher, Xenophon for instance, as in the light and jocund numbers of Anacreon.

Indeed, were there no other object, in learning Greek, but to see-to what perfection language is capable of being carried, not only as a medium of communication, but as an instrument of thought, we see not why the time of a young man would not be just as well bestowed, in acquiring a knowledge of it, for all the purposes, at least of a liberal, or elementary education, as in learning algebra, another specimen of a language, or arrangement of signs perfect in its kind.-Legare.

685. OUR EXIT: THANATOPSIS.
To him, who, in the love of nature, holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours,
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile,
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his dark musings, with a mild,
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.

When thoughts

Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;
Go forth into the open sky, and list
To nature's teaching, while, from all around,
Comes a still voice-

"Yet a few days, and thee,
The all-beholding sun shall see no more,
In all his course; nor yet, in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;

That make the meadows green; and, poured round
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all-
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages.

All that tread

The globe, are but a handfull, to the tribes,
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or, lose thyself in the continuous woods,
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save its own dashings-yet-the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep: the dead-reign there-alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what, if thou shalt fall,
Unnoticed by the living; and no friend-
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh,
When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care
Plod on; and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet, all these shall leave
Their mirth, and their enjoyments, and shall come,
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth, in life's green spring, and he, who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age, cut off,-
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes, to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber, in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, [ed,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained, and sooth-
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one, who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down-to pleasant dreams."
It is jealousy's-peculiar nature,

To swell small things-to great; nay, out of nought,
To conjure much, and then, lose its reason-
Amid the hideous phantoms,-it has formed.

Bowl-rang to bowl,-steel-clanged to steel,--and rose a deafen-
ing cry,

That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high.:
"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?-Slaves, traitors! have ye flown?
Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone!
But I defy him:-let him come!" Down rang the massy cup,
While, from its sheath, the ready blade came flashing half-way up;
And, with the black, and heavy plumes-scarce trembling on his

head,

There-in his dark, carved, oaken chair, Old Rudiger sat, dead. 690. QUEEN MAB.

688. TRIBUTE TO WASHINGTON. Hard, hard indeed, was the contest for freedom, and the struggle for independence. The golden sun of liberty-had nearly set, in the gloom of an eternal night, ere its radiant beams illumined our western horizon. Had not the tutelar saint of Columbia-hovered around the American camp, and presided over her destinies, freedom must have met with an untimely grave. Never, can we sufficiently admire the wisdom of those statesmen, and the skill, and bravery, of those unconquerable ve-O then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. terans, who, by their unwearied exertions in She is the fairy's midwife, and she comes the cabinet, and in the field, achieved for us the glorious revolution. Never, can we duly On the forefinger of an alderman; In shape, no bigger than an agate-stone, appreciate the merits of a Washington; who, with but a handfull of undisciplined yeomanry, Drawn with a team of little atomies, triumphed over a royal army, and prostrated Athwart men's noses, as they lie asleep: the lion of England at the feet of the Ameri- Her wagon spokes-made of long spinner's legs; can eagle. His name, so terrible to his foes, The cover-of the wings of grasshoppers; so welcome to his friends,--shall live forever The traces-of the smallest spiders web; upon the brightest page of the historian, and The collars-of the moonshine's watery beams; be remembered, with the warmest emotions of gratitude, and pleasure, by those, whom Her whip-of cricket's bone; her lash-of film; he had contributed to make happy, and by Her wagoner-a small gray-coated gnat, all mankind, when kings, and princes, and Not half so big-as a round-little worm, nobles, for ages, shall have sunk into their Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; merited oblivion. Unlike them, he needs not Her chariot-is an empty hazel-nut, the assistance of the sculptor, or the architect, Made by the joiner-squirrel, or old grub, to perpetuate his memory: he needs no princely dome, no monumental pile, no state-Time out of mind, the fairies' coach-makers. ly pyramid, whose towering height shall And in this state she gallops, night by night, pierce the stormy clouds, and rear its lofty Thro' lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: head to heaven, to tell posterity his fame. On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies strait His deeds, his worthy deeds, alone have ren- O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; dered him immortal! When oblivion shall O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; have swept away thrones, kingdoms, and Sometimes, she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, principalities--when human greatness, and grandeur, and glory, shall have mouldered in- And then, dreams he of smelling out a suit: to dust,--eternity itself shall catch the glow- And sometimes comes she, with a tithe-pig's tail, ing theme, and dwell with increasing rapture Tickling the parson, as he lies asleep; on his name!--Gen. Harrison. Then dreams he-of another benefice. Sometimes, she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathoms deep; and then anon Drums in his ears, at which he starts, and wakes; And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, And sleeps again.-Shakspeare.

689. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.
O'er a low couch-the setting sun-had thrown its latest ray,
Where, in his last-strong agony-a dying warrior lay,
The stern-old Baron Rudiger, whose frame-had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain, till time, and toil-its iron strength had spent.
"They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er,
That I shall mount my noble steed, and lead my band no more;
They come, and to my beard-they dare to tell me now, that I,
Their own liege lord, and master born,-that I, ha! ha! must die.

And what is death? I've dared him oft-before the Paynim spear,
I've met him, faced him, scorn'd him, when the fight was raging

Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here?

hot,

I'll try his might-I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not.
Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower,-and fire the culverin,-
But each retainer-arm with speed,-call every vassal in,
Up with my banner on the wall,--the banquet board prepare,-
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

An hundred hands were busy then, the banquet forth was spread,

And rung-the heavy oaken floor, with many a martial tread;
While from the rich, dark tracery-along the vaulted wall,

Lights-gleamed on harness, plume and spear, o'er the proud old

Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate-the mailed retainers pour'd,
On thro' the portal's frowning arch, and throng'd around the board.
While, at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate.
"Fill every breaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine,
There's life, and strength-in every drop,-thanksgiving to the vine!
Are ye all there, my vassals true?-mine eyes are waxing dim;-
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim.
Ye're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword,
And let me hear your faithful steel clash, once around my board:
I hear it faintly:-Louder yet!-What clogs my heavy breath?
Up all-and shout for Rudiger, Defiance unto Death ["

of youth--is slowly wasting away into the YOUTH AND AGE. When the summer day nightfall of age, and the shadows of past years grow deeper and deeper, as life wears to its close, it is pleasant to look back, through the vista of time, upon the sorrows and felicities of our earlier years. If we have a home to shelter, and hearts to rejoice with us, and friends have been gathered together around wayfaring will have been worn and smoothed our firesides, then, the rough places of our away, in the twilight of life, while the sunny spots we have passed through, will grow brighter and more beautiful. Happy, indeed, are they, whose interference with the world has not changed the tone of their holier feelings, or broken those musical chords of the heart, whose vibrations are so melodious, so tender and touching, in the evening of age. When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose. Each change of many-color'd life he drew; Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new: Existence-saw him spurn her bounded reign; And panting Time-toil'd after him in vain.

695. VICTIM BRIDE AND MISER.

wake and weep,

That earth-has no creations, like the figments of our sleep.
Her father-lov'd he not his child-above all earthly things?
As traders love the merchandize, from which their profit springs:
Old age came by, with tottering step, and, for sordid gold,
With which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was sold;
And thus, (for oh! her sire's stern heart-was steel'd against her
prayer,)
The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her despair.
I saw them through the church-yard pass, and such a nuptial train,
I would not for the wealth of worlds, should greet my sight again;
The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve-in Eden's bowers,
Shed bitter tears-upon the path they should have strown with

694. ADVANTAGES OF KNOWLEDGE. Knowledge, in general, expands the mind, I saw her-in her summer bower, and oh! upon my sight, exalts the faculties, refines the taste of pleas-Methought there never beam'd a form more beautiful, and bright; ure, and opens innumerable sources of intel-So young, so fair, she seemed like one of those aerial things, lectual enjoyment. By means of it, we be- That dwell-but in the poet's high, and wild imaginings; come less dependent for satisfaction upon or, like one of those forms, we meet in dreams, from which we the sensitive appetites; the gross pleasures of sense are more easily despised, and we are made to feel the superiority of the spiritual to the material part of our nature. Instead of being continually solicited by the influence, and irritation of sensible objects, the mind can retire within herself, and expatiate in the cool and quiet walks of contemplation. The poor man, who can read, and who possesses a taste for reading, can find entertainment at home, without being tempted to repair to the public house for that purpose. His mind can find him employment, when his body is at rest; he does not lie prostrate, and afloat, on the current of incidents, liable to be carried, whithersoever the impulse of appetite may direct. There is, in the mind of such a man, an intellectual spring, urging him to the pursuit of mental good; and if the minds of his family, also, are a little cultivated, conversation becomes the more interesting, and the sphere of domestic enjoyment enlarged.

flowers;

Who had not thought, that white-rob'd band—the funeral array
Of one-an early doom had call'd-from life's gay scene away?
The priest-beheld the bridal pair before the altar stand,
And sight, as he drew forth his book, with slow, reluctant hand;
He saw the bride's flow'r-wreath'd hair, he mark'd her streaming

eyes,

And deem'd it less a christian rite, than a pagan sacrifice;
And when he called on Abraham's God to bless the wodded pair,
It seem'd a very mockery—to breath so vain a prayer.

hold,

He held it-with a miser's clutch; it was his darling gold;
His shrivell'd hand-was wet with tears, she shed, alas! in vain,
And trembled like an autumn leaf-beneath the beating rain.
I've seen her since that fatal morn: her golden fetters rest-
As e'en the weight of incubus-upon her aching breast;
And when the victor (death,) shall come, to deal the welcome
blow,
[brow;

The calm satisfaction, which books afford,I saw the palsy'd bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensign dress'd, puts him into a disposition to relish, more A shroud-were fitter garment far-for him, than bridal vest; exquisitely, the tranquil delight, inseparable I marked him, when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose his from the indulgence of conjugal, and parental affection: and as he will be more respectable, in the eyes of his family, than he, who can teach them nothing, he will be naturally induced to cultivate, whatever may preserve, and shun whatever would impair that respect. He, who is inured to reflection, will carry his views beyond the present hour; he will extend his prospect a little into futurity, and be disposed to make some provision for his approaching wants; whence will result, an increased motive to industry, together with a care to husband his earnings, and to avoid unnecessary expense.

The poor man who has gained a taste for good books, will, in all likelihood, become thoughtful, and when you have given the poor a habit of thinking, you have conferred on them a much greater favor, than by the gift of a large sum of money; since you have put them in possession of the principle of all legitimate prosperity.-R. Hall.

TIME'S SOFTENING POWER.

As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower
Awes not so deeply in its morning hour,
As when the shades of time serenely fall
On every broken arch and ivied wall;
The tender images we love to trace,
Steal from each year a melancholy grace!
And as the sparks of social love expand;
As the heart opens in a foreign land,
And with a brother's warmth, a brother's smile,
The stranger greets each native of his isle;
So scenes of life, when present and confest,
Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;
Yet not an image, when remotely viewed,
However trivial and however rude,

But wins the heart and wakes the social sigh,
With every claim of close affinity.

Hope and fear, alternate, swayed his breast,
Like light-and shade-upon a waving field,
Coursing each other, when the flying clouds,
Now hide-and now reveal-the sun.

He will not find one rose-to swell the wreath, that decks his
For oh! her cheek is blanched with grief, that time-may not

assuage;

[age.

Thus early-beauty-sheds her bloom-on the wintry breast of

696. THE DEW-DROP IN SPRING.

How pure! how bright is the tiny thing!
It beams where the birds of the morning sing;
It looks like the tear from an angel's eye,
Or a pearl that has dropped from the vernal sky,
To deck the silvery robe of the dawn,
As it weds the flowers on the grassy lawn.
In the silver cup of the daisy it lies;

It smiles on the lark as he upward flies;
In a chariot of cloud it shall glide to the sun;
On a pathway of incense its course shall be run;
It returns again on a sunset ray,

And forgets in its slumber the sports of the day.
The emblem of virtue unsullied, it seems-
The emblem of beauty we see in our dreams;
"Tis a pledge of faith, by the breeze to be given,
With amorous sighs to the clouds of heaven.
Oh, who can tell, but the fairies keep
Their nightly watch where the dew-drops sleep?
When the rose unfolds its voluptuous charm,
When the sun is high, and the earth grows warm,
'Tis then that the dew-drop shines most bright,
"Tis then that it rivals the diamond's light,
As it bids farewell to the fairy scene,
And melts into air where its bower has been.
All men-think all men mortal, but themselves;
Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate,
Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread.