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guish truth from error, good from evil! Enlighten my mind, O Lord! with thy brightness, which is truth itself, that I may cleave to the good, and abhor the evil. Teach me to know thee in spirit and in truth, so that I may show forth thy glory in all my works and ways.

6. Let me make an offering to thee, O Lord, of the blossoms of my early youth! Ere the days come “ in which I shall say, I have no pleasure in them,” let me praise thee in the freshness of my heart, and think of thee in all my moments of joy. Like the early dawn of a bright day to come, let my youth be glorious; so that in the mid-day I may find rest and peace, and at evening time there may be light. Blessed be thy name, O God, my Creator! Let all things bless thes and magnify thee, for thy goodness; world without end !

·

LX.- ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.

HEEL, v. t., to incline ; to lean. SHROUDS, n. pl., ropes to support a SHEATH, n., a scabbard.

I ship’s masts. Do not say srouds for shrouds ; fatl for fatal ; hunderd for hun'dred. In September, 1782, while at anchor off Spithead, near Portsmouth, in England, the

rectly related in the poem. She had been heeled over to one side, for soine slight repairs.
Toll for the brave! the brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave, fast by their native shore !
Eight hundred of the brave, whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel, and laid her on her side.
A land-breeze shook the shrouds, and she was overset ;
Down went the Royal George, with all her crew complete !
Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ;
His last sea-fight is fought—his work of glory done.
It was not in the battle ; no tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak; she ran upon no rock.
His sword was in its sheath, his fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down with twice four hundred men.
Weigh the vessel up, once dreaded by our foes!
And mingle with our cup the tear that England owes.
Her timbers yet are sound, and she may float again,
Full charged with England's thunder, and plow the distant

main. But Kempenfelt is gone; his victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred shall plow the wave no more.

WILLIAM COWPER. (1731 - 1800.)

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Cry Holiday ! Holiday ! let us be gay,

And share in the rapture of heaven and earth; For, see! what a sunshiny joy they display,

To welcome the Spring on the day of her birth ; While the elements, gladly outpouring their voice, Nature's pæan proclaim, and in chorus rejoice! Loud cărols each rill, as it leaps in its bed ;

The wind brings us music and balm from the south, And Earth in delight calls on Echo to spread

The tidings of joy with her many-tongued mouth; · Over sea, over shore, over mountain and plain,

Far, far doth she trumpet the jubilee strain.
Hark! hark to the robin! its magical call

Awakens the flowerets that slept in the dells ;
The snow-drop, the primrose, the hyacinth, all

Attune at the summons their silvery bells." Hushl ting-a-ring-ting! don't you hear how they sing? They are pealing a fairy-like welcome to Spring. The love-thrilling wood-birds are wild with delight; .

Like arrows loud whistling the swallows flit by;

The rapturous lark, as he soars out of sight,

Sends a flood of rich melody down from the sky.
In the air that they quaff, all the feathery throng
: Taste the spirit of Spring, that outbursts in a song.
To me do the same vernal whisperings breathe,

In all that I scent, that I hear, that I meet
Without and within me, above and beneath:

Every sense is imbued with a prophecy sweet Of the pomp and the pleasantness Earth shall assume When adorned, like a bride, in her flowery bloom. In this transport of nature each feeling takes part; .

I am thrilling with gratitude, reverence, joy; A new spring of youth seems to gush from my heart,

And the man is transformed all at once to a boy. 0! let me run wild, as in earlier years ; If my joy be withheld, I shall burst into tears.

HORACE Smith. (1779 — 1849.)

LXII. - OUR NATIVE LAND.

PELF, n., money ill gotten.

| EM-BEL'LISH, v. t., to adorn. PRI-ME'val, a., original ; first. Cap'ital, n., a chief city.

Avoid saying objex for ob'jects ; ne:7 for ne'er (as if nåré). 1. Sir, I dare not trust myself to speak of my country with the rapture which I habitually feel when I contem'plate her marvelous history. But this I will say, — that, on my return to it, after an absence of only four years, I was filled with wonder at all I saw and all I heard. What is to be compared with it? I found New York grown up to almost double its former size, with the air of a great capital, instead of a mere flourishing commercial town, as I had known it..

2. I listened to accounts of voyages of a thousand miles, in magnificent steamboats, on the waters of those great lakes, which, but the other day, I left sleeping in the primeval silence of nature, in the recesses of a vast wilderness; and I felt that there is a grandeur and a majesty in this irresistible onward march of a race, created, as I believe, and elected, to possess and people a continent, which belong to few other objects, either of the moral or material world.

3. We may become so accustomed to such things that they shall make as little impression upon our minds as the glories of the heavens above us; but, looking on them, lately, as with the eye of the stranger, I felt, what a recent English traveler is said to have remarked, that, far from being without poetry, as some have vainly alleged, our whole country is one great

poem.

4. Sir, it is so; and if there be a man who can think of what is doing, in all parts of this most blessed of all lands, to embellish and advance it, - who can contemplate that living mass of intelligence, activity, and improvement, as it rolls on, in its sure and steady progress, to the uttermost extremities of the West, -who can see scenes of savage desolation transformed, almost with the suddenness of enchantment, into those of fruitfulness and beauty, crowned with flourishing cities, filled with the noblest of all populations, - if there be a man, I say, that can witness all this, passing under his very eyes, without feeling his heart beat high, and his imagination warmed and transported by it, be sure that the raptures of song exist not for him.

"Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land '?
'Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand ?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well,
For him no minstrel raptures swell!

High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung." *

Hugh S. LEGA-RE. (1797 – 1843.)

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1. THERE is a sort of courage, to which — I frankly confess it - I do not lay claim; a boldness to which I dare not aspire; a valor which I can not covet. I can not lay myself down in the way of the welfare and happiness of my country. That, I can not, I have not the courage, to do. I can not interpose the power with which I may be invested, - a power conferred, not for my personal benefit or aggrandizement, but for my country's good, — to check her onward march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough, - I am too cowardly for that!

2. I would not, I dare not, lie down, and place my body across the path that leads my country to prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which a man may display in his

* From “ The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” by Sir Walter Scott.

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