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674. Loss or NATIONAL CHARACTER.
675. GOOD-NIGHT. The loss of a firm, national character, or the Good-night-to all the world! there's north degradation of a nation's honor, is the inevi.
Beneath the “over-going” sun, table prelude to her destruction.' Behold the
To whom, I feel, or hale, or spite, once proud fabric of the Roman empire; an empire, carrying its arts, and arms, into every
And so to all-a fair good night. part of the eastern continent; the monarchs Would I could say, good-night to pain, of mighty kingdoms, dragged at the wheels Good-night to evil and her train, of her triumphal chariots; her eagle, waving To cheerless poverty, and shame, over the ruins of desolated countries. Where
That I am yet unknown to fame! is her splendor, her wealth, her power, her glory? Extinguished-forever. Her mold- Would I could say, good-night to dreams, cring temples, the mournful vestiges of her That haunt me with delusive gleams, former grandeur, afford a shelter to her mut- That through the salle future's vail, tering monks. Where are her statesmen, her Like meteors, glimmer, but to fail. sages, her pbilosophers, her orators, her gene
Would I could say, a long good-night, rals? Go to their solitary tombs, and inquire. She lost her national character, and her de
To halting, between wrong, and right, struction followed. The ramparts of her na- And, like a giant, with new force, tional pride were broken down, and Vandal- Awake, prepared to run my course! isin desolated her classic fields.
But lime o'er good and ill sweeps on, Citizens will lose their respect and confidence, in our government, if it does not ex
And when few years have come, and gone, tend over them, the shield of an honorable, The past--will be to me as naught, national character. Corruption will creep in,
Whether remembered, or forgot. and sharpen party animosity. Ambitious Yet, let me hope, one faithful friend, leaders will seize upon the favorable moment.
O'er my last couch, in tears shall bend; The mad enthusiasm for revolution - will call into action the irritated spirit of our na
And, though no day for me was brigri, tion, and civil war must follow. The swords
Shall bid me then, a long good-night. of our countrymen may yet glitter on our
RESPECT TO OLD AGE. It happened at mountains, their blood may yet crimson our Athens, during a public representation of plains. Such, the warning voice of all antiquity, the wealth, that an old gentleman came too late,
some play,exhibited in honor of the commonexample of all republics proclaim-may be for a place suitable to his age, and quality: our fate. But let us no longer indulge these Many of the young gentlemen, who observed gloomy anticipations. The commencement the difficulty and confusion he was in, made of our liberty presages the dawn of a brighter signs to him, that they would accommodate period to the world. That bold, enterprising him, if he came where they sat. The good spirit, which conducted our heroes to peace; man bustled through the crowd accordingly; the empires of the world, still animates the was invited, the jest was, to sit close, and ex. bosoms of their descendants. Look back to pose him, as he stood out of countenance, to the moment, when they unbarred the dun- the whole audience. The frolic went round geons of the slave, and dashed his fetters all the Athenian benches. But, on those oc. to the earth, when the sword of a Washing- casions, there were also particular places reton leaped from its scabbard, to revenge the served for foreigners. When the good man slaughter of our country men. Place their skulked towards the boxes, appointed for the example before you. Let the sparks of Lacedemonians, that honest people, more virtheir veteran wisdom flash across
your tuous than polite, rose up all to a man, and minds, and the sacred altars of your liber- with the greatest respect, received him among ty, crowned wth immortal honors, rise be them. The Athenians, being suddenly touch fore you. Relying on the virtue, the coured with a sense of the Spartan virtue, and age, the patriotism, and the strength of our their own degeneracy, gave a thunder of apmore enlightened, and may hail the age as demonians practice it. ter will become more energetic, our citizens plause; and the old man cried out, " the Athe
nians understand what is good, but the Lacenot far distant, when will be heard, as the proudest exclamation of man: I am
A hungry, lean-fac'd villain,
thread-bare juggler, and a fortune teller; Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
A needy, hollow-eye'd, sharp looking wretch, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
A living dead man: this pernicious slave, It is the knell of my departed hours : (flood ?
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer; Where are they? with the years beyond the And gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse, It is the signal that demands despatch ;
And with no face, as 'twere outfac ng me, How much is to be done! my hopes and fears Cries out, I was possessid. --Shakspeare. Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down--on what ? a fathomless abyss; Sweet recreation basr'!, what doth ensue, A dread eternity! how surely mine!
But inoody and dull melancholy, And can eternity belong to me,
(Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair :) Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
And at hier heels, a huge infectious troop Reason gains all men, by compelling none. of pale distemperatures, and foes to life?
676. THE GHOVES: GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, The groves--were God's first temples. Ere man An emanation of the indweling Life, To hew the shail, and lay the architrave, [learned A vis:ble tohej-of the upholding Love, And sprend the roof above them.--ere he tramed That are, the soul of this wide universe. The lofty vault, to gather, and roll back,
My heart--isawed within me, when I think The sound of anthems.--in the darkling wood, Oi the great m racle tint still goes on, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, In silence, round ine--the perpetual work And offered, to the Mightiest, solemn thanks, Of thy ereat on, finished, yet renewedAnd supplication. For his simple heart
Forever. Writien on thy works, I read Might not resist the sacred influences,
The lesson of thy own eterni's. That, from the stilly twilight of the place, Lo! all grow old, and d.e: but see, aga 2, And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heav'n, Hlow, on the faltering footsteps of decay. Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Youth presse sever gay, and beautiful jouilOf the invisible breath, that swayed, at once, In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees All their green tops, stole over lum, and bowed Wave not less proudly, that their ancestors His spint--with the thought of boundless Power, Moulder, beneath them. Oh! there is not lost And inaccessible Majesty. Ah! wly
One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yel, Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect After the flight of untold centuries, God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore,
The freshness of her far beginning lies, Only, ainong the crowd, and under rooss, And yet shall lie. Life--mocks the idle hale That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, of his arch eneiny-Death; yea, seals himself Here, in the shadow of this aged wood,
Upon the sepulchre, and bloons, and sites, Offer one hymn; thrice happy, if it find
And of the trumphs of his ghastly for, Acceptance in his ear.
Makes his own nourishment. For he came fora Father, thy hand
From th: ne own liosom, and shall have no end. Hath reared these venerable columns; thou There have been loly men, who had themselves Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Deep in the woody w.lderness, and gave Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose Their lives 10 thought. and prayer, ull they outlved All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, The general'on, Iorn with them, nor sermed Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, Less aged, than the hoary trees, and rocks, And slot towards heav'n. The century-living crow, Around them; and there have been loiy men, Whose birth was in iheir tops. grew old, and died, Who deemed it were 130t well--to pass life thus Among their branches; till, ai last, they stood, But let me, onen, to these solitudes As note they stand, massy, and tall, and dark- Reure, and, in thy presence, reassure Fit shrine--for humble worshiper to hold My feeble virtue. Here, ils enemies, Communion with his Maker. Here are seen, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps, shrink, No traces of man's pomp, or pride; no silks And tremble, and are sull. Rustle, no jewels sline, nor envious cyes
O God! when thou Encounter; no fantastic carvings-show Dost scare the world with tempeste, set on fire The boast of our vain race-o change the form The heavens, with falling thunderbolis, or fill, Of thy fair works. But thou art here; thou fill'st With all the waters of the firieament, The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds, The swift dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, That run along the summits of these trees, And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, In music; thou art in the cooler breath,
Uprises the great deep and throws bunself Thai, from the inmosi darkness of the place, Upon the cont.nent, an overwhelms Comnes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, Its ciues;- who forgete noi, at the sght The fresh, most ground, are all instinct with thee. Of these tremenuous tokens of thy power,
Here, is continual worship; nature, here, His pride, and lays his siriles, and tollies by! In the tranquillity that thou dost love,
Oh! from the slemner aspects of thy face Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, Spare me, and mi ne ; nor let us need the wrath From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Of the mad, uncha ned elements, to teach Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs. Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, Wells solly forth, and visits the strong roots In these calm shades, thy milde majesty, Or hall the inghty forest, tells no tale
And to the beautiful order of thy works, Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Learn to contorm the order of our lires.-Drvant. Thy self without a witness, in these shades, Naturally, men are prone to spin 111 17 • or thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, selves a web of opinions out of the Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak- brain, and to have a relinion that may 'the By whose immovable siem I stand, and seem
led their own. Men are far readier tornar Almost annihilated-not a prince,
themselves a faith, than to receive that while
God hath formed to their hands, and they are In all the proud old world, beyond the deep,
far readier to receive a doctrine that tends o F'er wore his crown-as loftily as he
their carnal commodity, or honor, or delights, Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which than one that tends to self-denial. Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his rool Like dogs in a wheel, birds in a cage, or equir. Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare rels in a chain, ambitous men s tl cl mb and or the broad sun. That delicate forest-flower, climb, with great lalor, and incessant anx'ery With scented breath, and look, so like a smile, but never reach the top.
677. PHYSICAL EDICATION. That is, un- Tossed his beamed frontlet-to the sky; doubtedly, the wisest, and best regimen, A moment-gazed--adown the dale, which takes the infant from the cradle, and
A moment--snufled the la.uted gale, conducts him along, through childhood, and
A moment. listened to the cry, youth, up to high inaturity, in such a manner, as to give strength to his arm, swiftness to his
That thickened—as the chase drew nigh; teet, solidity and amplitude to his muscles,
Then, as the headmost toes appeared, symmetry to his frame, and expansion to his
With one brave bound--the copse he cleared vital energies. It is obvious, that this branch And, stretching forward, free, and far, of education comprehends, not only food and Sought the wild heaths--of Cam-Var.--Sooth clothing, but air, exercise, lodging, early rising, and whatever else is requisite, to the full
678. MODULATION. development of the physical constitution. "I'is not enough—the voice be sound, and clets, The diet must be simple, the apparel must 'Tis modulation, that must charm the ear. not be too warm, nor the bed too soft.
Let parents beware of too much restriction When desperate heroes grieve, with tedious moan in the management of their darling boy. Let And whine their sorrow's, in a see-saw tone, him, in choosing his play, follow the sugges- The same soft sounds—of unimpassioned woes, tions of nature. Let them not be discompos- Can only make the yawning hearers--doze. ed at the sight of his sand-hills in the road, The voice-all modes of passion can express, his snow-forts in February, and his mud-dams That marks the proper word, with proper stress : in April; nor when they chance to look out But none emphatic--can that speaker call, in the midst of an August shower, and see who lays an equal emphasis on all. him wading and sailing, and sporting along with the water-fowl. If they would make Some, o'er the tongue—the labored measures roll, him hardy and fearless, they must let him go Slow, and deliberale—as the parting toll; abroad as often as he pleases, in his early Point every stop, mark every pause so strong, boyhood, and amuse himself by the hour to Their words, like stage processions, stalk along. gether, in smoothing and twirling the boary locks of winter. Instead of keeping him all affectation—but creates disgust; shut up all day with a stove, and graduating And e’en in speaking, we may seem too just. his sleeping-room by Fahrenheit, they must In vain, for them, the pleasing measure flows, let him face the keen edge of a north-wind, Whose recitation-runs it all 10 prose; when the mercury is below cipher; and, in- Repeating--what the poet sets not down, stead of minding a little shivering, and com- The verse disjointing-from iis favorite noun, plaining, when he returns, cheer up his spir. its, and send him out again. In this way, While pause, and break, and repetition joit. they will teach him, that he was not born to To make a discord-in each tuneful line. live in the nursery, nor to brood over the fire; Some placid natures-fill the allotted scene but to range abroad, as free as the snow, and with lifeless drawls, insipid and serene; the air, and to gain warmth from exercise.
While others-thunder every couplet o'er, I love, and admire the youth, who turns not back from the howling wintry blast, nor and almost crack your ears—with rant, an! roa withers under the blaze of summer; 'who More nature, oft, and finer strokes are shown, never magnifies “mole-hills into mountains;" In the low wlisper, than tempestuous tone; but whose daring eye, exulting, scales the ea- And Hamlet's hollow voice, and fixed amaze, gle's airy cray, and who is ready to under- More powerful terror-to the mind conveys, take anything, that is prudent, and lawful, Than he, who, swollen with impetuous rage, within the range of possibility. Who would Bullies the bulky phantom of the stage. think of planting the mountain-oak-in a green-house? or of rearing the cedar of Leb- He, who, in earnest, studies o'er his part. anon-in a lady's flower-pot? Who does Will find true nature--cling about his heart. not know that, in order to attain their mighty The modes of grief--are not included allstrength, and majestic forms, they must free. In the white handkerchief, and mournful drawl; ly enjoy the rain, and the sunshine, and must A single look--more marks the internal woe, feel the rocking of the tempest?
Than all the windings of the lengthened--Oh!
Up to the face-the quick sensation flies, The stag, at eve, had drunk his fill,
And darts its meaning—from the speaking eyes: Where danced the moon, on Monan's rill,
Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair, And deep-his midnight lair had made,
And all the passions, all the soul is there.
NATURE'S WANTS ARE FEW.
Those few wants answered, bring sincere delights And faint from farther distance borne, But fools create themselves new appetites. Were heard the clanging hoof, and horn. Fancy and pride seek things at vast expense, Aschier, who hears his warder call, Which relish nor to reason nor to sense. * To arms! the foeman storm the wall,” When surfeit or unthankfulness destroys, The antlered monarch of the waste- In nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys, Sprung from his heathery couch, in haste. In fancy'ı airy land of noise and show, But, ere his fleet career he took,
Where nought but dreams, no real pleasures grow 'The dew-drops, from his fanks, he shook : Like cats in air-pumps, to subsisi we strive, Like crested leader, proud, and high, On joys loo thin to keep the soul alive.- Young,
679, A CURX FOR HARD TIMES. We By sweet experience know, are too fond of showing out in our families; That inarriage, riglıtly understood, and, in this way, our expenses far exceed our
Gives to the tender, and the good, incomes. Our daughters--must be dressed off in their silks and crapes, instead of their
A parad se below. linsey-Woolsey. Our young folks--are too Our babes, shall richest comfort bring; proud to be seen in a coarse dress, and their If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring extravagance is bringing ruin on our families. Whence pleasures ever rise : When you can induce your song to prefer We'll form their minds, with studious cars, young women, for their real worth, rather
To all that's manly, good, and fair, ihan for their show; when you can get them to choose a wife, who can make a good loaf
And train them for the skies. of bread, and a good pound of butter, in pref- While they our wisest hours engage, erence to a girl, who does nothing but dance They'll joy our youth, support our age about in her silks, and her laces; then, gen- And crown our hoary hairs: tlemen, you may expect to see a change for
They'll grow in virtue ev'ry day, the better. We must get back to the good old simplicity of former times, if we expect to see
And thus, our fondest loves repay, more prosperous days. The time was, even
And recompense our cares. since memory, when a simple note was good No borrow'd joys! they're all our owTA, for any amount of money, but now bonds and While, to the world, we live unknown, mortgages are thought almost no security ;
Or, by the world forgot; and this owing to the want of confidence. And wbat has caused this want of confi
Monarchs! we envy not your state; dence? Why, it is occasioned by the extrav
We look with pits--on the great, agant manner of living; by your families go
And bless our humbler lot. ing in debt beyond your ability to pay. Ex- Our portion is not large, indeed! amine this matter, gentlemen, and you will But then, how little do we need! find this to be the real cause. Teach your
For nature's calls are few : sons to be too proud to ride a hackney, which their father cannot pay for. Let them be
In this, the art of living lies, above being seen sporting in a gig, or a car
To want no more, that may suffice, riage, which their father is in debt for. Let And make that little do. them have this sort of independent pride, and We'll therefore relish, with content, I venture to say, that you will soon perceive a reformation. But, until the change com
Whate'er kind Providence has senh mences in this way in our families; until we
Nor air beyond our pow'r; begin the work ourselves, it is in vain to ex
For if our stock be very small, pect better times,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all, Now, gentlemen, if you think as I do on Nor lose the present hour. this subject, there is a way of showing that
To be resign'd, when ills betide, you do think so, and but one way; when you return to your homes, have independence
Patient, when favors are denied, enough to put these principles in practice;
And pleas'd, with favors givin: and I am sure you will not be disappointed. Dear Chloe, this is wiadom's part; 680. THE FIRE-SIDE.
This is that incense of the heart, Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd,
Whose fragrance-smells to heav'n
We'll ask no long protracted treat,
Since winter-life is seldom sweet;
But, when our feast is o'er,
Grateful from table we'll arise,
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes, From the gay world, wiell oft retire,
The relies of our store.
Thus, hand in hand, thro' life we'll go;
Its checker'd paths of joy and wo,
With cautious steps, we'll tread;
Quit ils vain scenes, without a tear,
Without a trouble, or a fear,
And mingle with the dead. Within our breast--this jewel lies;
While conscience, like a faithful friend, And they are fools, who roam :
Shall, thro' the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;
Like a kind angel, whepes-peace,
And smooth the bed of death Coton. When, with impatient wing she left Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendos That safe retreat, the ark;
crowu'd; Oiving her vain excursion o'er,
Ye fields, where summer spreads profus on round The disappointed bird, once more
Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale;
Ye bending swains, that dress the lowery vale:
Creation's heis, the world, the world is in ac.
691. THE NATURE OF ELOQUENCE. Shall smile-upon its keenest pains, When public bodies are to be addressed, on
And scorn redress." momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited,
I said to Death's uplifted dart, nothing is valuable in speech, further than it
** Aim sure! oh, why delay? is connected with high intellectual and mor
Thou will not find a fearful heart, al endowments. Clearness, force, and earn
A weak, reluctant prey; estness, are the qualities which produce con- For still the spirit, firm, and free, viction. True eloquence, indeed, does not Triumphant-in the last dismay, consist in speech. It cannot be brought from
Wrap --in its own eternity, tar. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain.
Shall, siniling, pass away." Words and phrases may be marshaled in OS3. PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA. every way, but they cannot compass it. It'Mid the light spray, their snorting camels stood, must exist in the man, in the subject, and in Nor bath'd a fetlock, in the nauseous flood: the occasion. Affected passion, intense ex- He comes--their leader comes ! the man of God, pression, the pomp of declamation, all may O'er the wide walers, linis his mighty rod, aspire after it, but cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a
And onward treads. The circling waves retrea fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth In hoarse, deep murnurs, from his holy feet; of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, And the chas'd surges, inly roaring, show native force.
The hard wet sund, and coral hills below. The graces taught in the schools, the costly With limbs, that falter, and with hearts, that swell, ornainents and studied contrivances of speech, shock and discust men, when their own lives, Down, down they pass-a steep, and slippery dell. and the fate of their wives, their children, and Around thein rise, in pristine chaos hurlu, their country, hang on the decision of the The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world ; hour. Then, words have lost their power, And flowers, that blush beneaih the ocean green, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory, And caves, the sea-calves' low-roord haunts, are contemptible. Even genius itself then feels Down.safelydown the narrow pass they tread;[seen rebuked, and subdued, as in the presence higher qualities.
The beruling waters-storm above their head; Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, self-While far behind, retires the sinking day, devotion is eloquent. The clear conception. And fades on Edom's hills, its latest ray. out-running the deductions of logic, the high Yet not from Israei-fled the friendly liglit, purpose, of firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, or dark to them, or cheerless came the night; speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the Sull, in their van, along that dreadful road, God. whole man onward, right onward to his ob- Bluz'd broad and fierce, the brandish'd rorch of ject,--this--is eloquence.-Webster.
Its meteor glare-a teníold lustre gave,
On the long mirror--of the rosy wave : 682. THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE.
While its blest beama-a sunlike heat supply, I said-10 Sorrow's awful storm,
Warm every cheek, and dance in every eye. That beat agaist my breast,
To them alone-for Misraim's wizard train “Riige on! thou may'st destroy this form, Invoke, for light, their monster-gods in vain : And lay it low--at rest;
Clouds heap'd on clinds, their struggling sighi con But still--the spirit that now brooks
And tensold darkness broods above their line. (line, Thy tempest, raging high,
Yet on they press, by reckless vengeance led, Undaunted, on ils fury looks-
And range, unconscious, through the ocean's bed, With steadfast eye.”
Till midway now---that strange, and fiery form, I said-to Penury's meagre train,
Show'd his dread visage, lightning through the " Come on! your threats I brave; My last, poor life-drop--you may drain, With withering splendor, blasted all their might, And crush me--to the grave;
And brake their chariot-wheels, and marred their Yet still, the spirit, that endures,
coursers' flight. Shall mark your force-the while,
"Fly, Misraimn. fly!" The ravenous floods they see, And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours, And, fiecer than the floods, the Deity. With bitter smile.”
* Fly, Misraim, fly!” From Edom's coral strand, I said—10 cold Neglect, and Scorn,
Again the prophet stretch'd his dreadiul wand: * Pass on! I heed you not ;
With one wild crash, the thundering waters sweep, Ye may pursue me, till my form,
And all--is waves-a dark, and lonely deep :And being--are forgot ;
Yel, o'er these lonely vaves, such marmurs past, Yei, sull-the spirit, which you sea
As morial wailing swell'd the nightly blast :
And strange, and sad, the whispering breezes bore Draws from its own nobility
The groans of Egypt-0 Arabia's shore.--Heer. Its high-born smiles." I said--o Friendship's menaced blow,
She never told her love, * Strike deep! my heart shall bear; Putlet concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Thou canst but add-one bitter wo
Feed on her damask cheek: she pind in though, To those-already there;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.