51. CARDINAL WOLSEY.

[From THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES]

TN full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand,

Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand :
To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign,
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine;
Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows,
His smile alone security bestows;

Still to new heights his restless wishes tow'r,
Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r;
Till conquest, unresisted, ceased to please,
And rights submitted left him none to seize.

At length his sovereign frowns- the train of state Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate. Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly; Now drops at once the pride of awful state, The golden canopy, the glittering plate, The regal palace, the luxurious board, The liveried army, and the menial lord. With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, He seeks the refuge of monastic rest: Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.

DR. JOHNSON.

ONCE

52. THE PAPER KITE.

NCE on a time, a Paper Kite
Had mounted to a wondrous height,
Where, giddy with its elevation,

It thus express'd self-admiration:

66

See, how yon crowds of gazing people Admire my flight above the steeple ! How would they wonder, if they knew All that a kite like me can do! Were I but free, I'd take a flight, And pierce the clouds beyond their sight: But ah! like a poor pris'ner bound, My string confines me near the ground: I'd brave the eagle's tow'ring wing, Might I but fly without a string."

It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke, To break the string. at last it broke. Depriv'd at once of all its stay,

In vain it tried to soar away;
Unable its own weight to bear,
It flutter'd downwards through the air:
Unable its own course to guide,

The winds soon plung'd it in the tide.
Ah! foolish kite; thou hadst no wing!
How couldst thou fly without a string?

My heart replied: "O Lord, I see How much this kite resembles me! Forgetful that by thee I stand, Impatient of thy ruling hand,

How oft I've wish'd to break the lines
Thy wisdom to my lot assigns!
How oft indulged a vain desire

For something more, or something higher!
And, but for grace, and love divine,

A fate thus dreadful had been mine."

NEWTON.

53. THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

HEY grew in beauty side by side,

THE

They fill'd one home with glee;—
Their graves are sever'd, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.
The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight,—
Where are those dreamers now?

One 'midst the forests of the west,
By a dark stream is laid,—
The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one;
He lies where pearls lie deep:
He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest
Above the noble slain :

He wrapt his colours round his breast,

On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd;
She faded 'midst Italian flowers, —
The last of that bright band.

--

And parted thus they rest, who play'd
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they pray'd
Around one parent knee!

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheer'd with song the hearth,—
Alas! for love, if thou wert all,
And nought beyond, oh earth!

MRS. HEMANS.

54. THE JOURNEY TO EMMAUS.
[From CONVERSATION.]

T happen'd on a solemn eventide,

IT

Soon after He that was our Surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined,
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,
Sought their own village, busied as they went.
In musings worthy of the great event.

They spake of Him they loved; of Him whose life,
Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife:
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.

The recollection, like a vein of ore,

The farther traced, enrich'd them still the more. They thought Him, and they justly thought Him, one Sent to do more than He appear'd t' have done

G

To exalt a people, and to place them high
Above all else; and wonder'd He should die.

Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,
A Stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend,
And ask'd them, with a kind engaging air,
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share.
Inform'd, He gather'd up the broken thread,
And, truth and wisdom gracing all He said,
Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell,
That, reaching home, "The night," they said, "is near,
We must not now be parted— sojourn here."
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And, made so welcome at their simple feast,
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word,
And left them both exclaiming, ""Twas the Lord!
Did not our hearts feel all He deign'd to say ?
Did not they burn within us by the way?"

COWPER.

"MY

55. MY BIRTHDAY.

birthday!"—what a different sound
That word had in my youthful years!
And how, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears!
When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old;
And, as youth counts the shining links
That time around him binds so fast,
Pleased with the task, he little thinks

How hard that chain will press at last!