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- Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 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. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, "Yet a few days, and thee, That make the meadows green; and, poured round All that tread The globe, are but a handfull, to the tribes, So live, that when thy summons comes, to join To swell small things-to great; nay, out of nought, 686. BENEFITS OF AGRICULTURE. Agri- | culture-is the greatest among the arts; for it is first in supplying our necessities. It is the mother, and nurse-of all other arts. It favors and strengthens population; it creates and maintains manufactures; gives employment to navigation, and materials to commerce. It animates every species of industry, and opens-to nations the surest channels of opulence. It is also the strongest bond of well regulated society, the surest basis of internal peace, the natural association of good morals. We ought to count, among the benefits of agriculture, the charm, which the practice of it communicates to a country life. That charm, which has made the country, in our view, the retreat of the hero, the asylum of the sage, and the temple of the historic muse. The strong desire, the longing after the country, with which we find the bulk of mankind to be penetrated, points to it as the chosen abode of sublunary bliss. The sweet occupations of culture, with her varied products and attendant enjoyments, are, at least, a relief from the stifling atmosphere of the city, the monotony of subdivided employments, the anxious uncertainty of commerce, the vexations of ambition so often disappointed, of self-love so often mortified, of factitious pleasures, and unsubstantial vanities. Health, the first and best of all the blessings of life, is preserved and fortified by the practice of agriculture. That state of well-being, which we feel and cannot define; that selfsatisfied disposition, which depends, perhaps, on the perfect equilibrium, and easy play of vital forces, turns the slightest acts to pleasure, and makes every exertion of our faculties a source of enjoyment; this inestimable state of our bodily functions is most vigorous in the country, and if lost elsewhere, it is in the country we expect to recover it. The very theatre of agricultural avocations, gives them a value that is peculiar; for who can contemplate, without emotion, the magnificent spectacle of nature, when, arrayed in vernal hues, she renews the scenery of the world! All things revive her powerful voice -the meadow resumes its freshness and verdure; a living sap circulates through every budding tree; flowers spring to meet the warm caresses of Zephyr, and from their opening petals pour forth rich perfume. The songsters of the forest once more awake, and in tones of melody, again salute the coming dawn; and again they deliver to the evening echo their strains of tenderness and love. Can man-rational, sensitive man-can he remain unmoved by the surrounding presence! and where else, than in the country, can he behold, where else can he feel-this jubilee of nature, this universal joy!--MacNeven. Let me lead you from this place of sorrow, 687. THE AMERICAN FLAG. And set the stars of glory-there. Who rear'st aloft-thy regal form, When strive-the warriors of the storm, And rolls-the thunder-drum of heaven,Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given, To guard the banner of the free, To hover-in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke, And bid its blendings-shine, afar, Like rainbows-on the cloud of war, The harbingers-of victory! Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope-and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line-comes gleaming on. Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, Each soldier eye-shall brightly turn To where thy meteor glories burn; And, as his springing steps advance, Catch war, and vengeance-from the glance. And when the cannon-mouthings loud, Heave, in wild wreaths, the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise, and fall, Like shoots of flame-on midnight's pall; There shall thy victor glances glow, And cowering foes-shall fall beneath Each gallant arm, that strikes belowThat lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave, Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave: When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly-round the bellied sail, And frighted waves-rush wildly backBefore the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea, Shall look, at once, to heaven-and thee, And smile-to see thy splendors fly, In triumph-o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's only home! By angel hands-to valor given; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues--were born in heaven. Forever float--that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe-but falls before us, With Freedom's soil-beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner-streaming o'er us! His being was in her alone, And he not being, she was none. They joy'd one joy, one grief they griev'd, One love they lov'd, one life they liv'd. Bowl-rang to bowl,-steel-clanged to steel,--and rose a deafen- That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high.: 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. And what is death? I've dared him oft-before the Paynim spear, 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. An hundred hands were busy then, the banquet forth was spread, And rung-the heavy oaken floor, with many a martial tread; 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, 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. 691. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. A gentleman, Mr. President, speaking of Cesar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance, with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon ?" How came he to the brink of that river! How dared he cross it! Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river! Oh! but he paused upon the brink! He should have perished upon the brink, ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed! Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye, taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscience! 'Twas that made Cesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion! What compassion! The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to cut! Cesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Cesar's province. From what did it separate his province? From his country. Was that country a desert? No: it was cultivated and fertile; rich and populous! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, and generosity! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its inhabitant! Love was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhabitant! Liberty was its inhabitant! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon! What was Česar, that stood upon the bank of that stream? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country! No wonder that he paused -no wonder if, his imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood-instead of water; and heard groans, instead of murmurs! No wonder if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot! But, no!-he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged!-he crossed!and Rome was free no more!-Knowles. 692. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A chieftain-to the Highlands bound, "Now, who be ye-would cross Loch-Gyle, This dark-and stormy water?" And this--lord Ullin's daughter. My blood-would stain the heather. But still, as wilder grew the wind, And as the night-grew drearer, Their trampling-sounded nearer. But not an angry father." The boat-has left the stormy land, One lovely hand-she stretched for aid, And I'll forgive your Highland chief: The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left-lamenting.-Campbell. 693. PROGRESS OF GOVERNMENT. In government, as in science, it is useful, often to review its progress, and to revert, even to its simplest elements. It will be salutary, frequently to ascertain, how far society, and laws, in their present condition, accord with those, which we have been accustomed to consider, as their first and purest principles; how far, in the lapse of time, they may have deviated from their original form and structure. Even when we recur to inquiries, merely speculative, to imaginary" social contracts," to abstract rights, we may often gather instruction, and detect some concealed, or neglected truth, applicable to our own times, and to our own immediate condition. But when a government is derived, not from fictitious assumptions, not from ancient or obscure sources, or traditions, but, from actual, and specific agreement; when many, and various interests have been combined and compromised, and a written covenant has assured to many parties, rights, and powers, and privileges, it becomes a duty to revise this compact frequently and strictly, that prived, through inadvertence on the one part, no one entitled to its protection may be de or encroachment on the other, of his vested rights; and that no changes may be introduced into the compact, but by the actual consent of those, who are parties to the covenant. -Every spirit, as it is most pure, To habit in, and it more fairly dight This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? Some pious drops the closing eye requires : Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. 695. VICTIM BRIDE AND MISER. wake and weep, That earth-has no creations, like the figments of our sleep. 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 eyes, And deem'd it less a christian rite, than a pagan sacrifice; hold, He held it-with a miser's clutch; it was his darling gold; 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 But wins the heart and wakes the social sigh, Hope and fear, alternate, swayed his breast, He will not find one rose-to swell the wreath, that decks his 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 smiles on the lark as he upward flies; And forgets in its slumber the sports of the day. |