[fied 659. SPEECH OF BELIAL, DISSUADING WAR. I should be much for open war, oh peers, As not behind in hate, if what were urged, Main reason to persuade immediate war, Did not dissuade me more, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success; When he, who most excels in tact of arms, In what he counsels, and in what excels, Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair, And utter dissolution as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what revenge?-The towers of heaven are With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable: oft, on the bordering deep, Encamp their legions: or with obscure wing, Scout far and wide, into the realms of night, Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels, all hell should rise, With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light; yet our great enemy, All incorruptible, would, on his throne, Sit, unpolluted; and the etherial mold, Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hopeIs flat despair; we must exasperate The almighty victor-to spend all his rage, And that must end us; that-must be our cure,To be no more.-Sad cure!-for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts, that wander through eternity,To perish rather, swallowed up, and lost, In the wide tomb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense, and motion?-And who knows (Let this be good) whether our angry foe Can give it, or will ever? How he can, Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence, or unawares, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger saves To punish endless?" Wherefore cease ye then?" Say they, who counsel war; we are decreed, Reserved, and destined-to eternal wo: Whatever doing,-what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse?" Is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? What, when we fled amain, pursued and struck With heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought The deep to shelter us? this hell, then, seemed A refuge from those wounds! or, when we lay, Chained on the burning lake? that sure was worse. What if the breath, that kindled those grim fires, Awaked, should blow them into seven-fold rage, And plunge us in the flames? or, from above, Should intermitted vengeance-arm again His red right hand to plague us? what if all Her stores were opened, and this firmament Of hell-should spout her cataracts of fire, Impending horrors, threatening hideous fall, One day upon our heads; while we, perhaps, Designing, or exhorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey Of racking whirlwinde; or, for ever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains; There to corverse-with everlasting groans, 66 Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, POMPEII. How serenely slept the star-light on that lovely city! how breathlessly its pillared streets reposed in their security! how softly rippled the dark, green waves beyond! how cloudless spread aloft and blue the dreaming Campanian skies! Yet this was the last night for the gay Pompeii! the colony of the hoar Chaldean! the fabled city of Hercules! the delight of the voluptuous Roman! Age after age had rolled indestructive, unheeded, over its head; and now the last ray quivered on the dial plate of its doom! [door; 660. THE BEGGAR'S PETITION. Pity the sorrows | of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs | have borne him to your Whose days are dwindled | to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless your store. These tatter'd clothes | my poverty bespeak, These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; And many a furrow | in my grief-worn cheek, Has been the channel | to a flood of tears. Yon house, erected on the rising ground, With tempting aspect | drew me from my road, For plenty there | a residence has found, And grandeur | a magnificent abode. Hard is the fate of the infirm, and poor! Here, as I crav'd | a morsel of their bread, A pamper'd menial | drove me from the door, To seek a shelter | in an humbler shed. O take me to your hospitable dome; Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold! Short is my passage | to the friendly tomb; For I am poor, and miserably old. Should I reveal the sources of my grief, If soft humanity | e'er touch'd your breast, Your hands would not | withhold the kind reLcf, And tears of pity | would not be represt. Heav'n sends misfortunes; why should we repine? 'Tis Heav'n has bro't me | to the state you see; And your condition | may be soon like mine, The child of sorrow | and of misery. A little farm was my paternal lot; Then, like the lark, I sprightly hail'd the morn; But ah! oppression | forc'd me from my cot, My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. My daughter, once the comfort of my age, Lur'd by a villain | from her native home, Is cast, abandon'd, on the world's wide stage, And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam. My tender wife, sweet soother of my care! Struck with sad anguish | at the stern decree, Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair; And left the world | to wretchedness and me. Pity the sorrows | of a poor old man, [door; Whose trembling limbs | have borne him to you? Whose days are dwindled | to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless your store Canst thou administer-to a mind diseased? Pluck-from the memory-a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles-of the brain: And with some sweet-oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuffed bosom-of that perilous stuff, Which weighs-upon the heart? 661. CATO'S SENATE. What course to take. Our foe advances on us, Sempronius. My voice is still for war. slow, Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help; Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle, Cato. Let us appear-nor rash, nor diffident: Betrays-like treason. Let us shun 'cm both 662. GOD IN NATURE.-There is religion in every thing around us a calm and holy religion, in the unbreathing things of nature, which man would do well to imitate. It is a meek and blessed influence, stealing in as it were, unawares upon the heart. It comes quietly, and without excitement. It has no terror, no gloom in its approaches. It does not rouse up the passions; it is untrammeled by the creeds, and unshadowed by the superstitions of man. It is fresh from the hands of its author, glowing from the immediate pres ence of the Great Spirit, which pervades and quickens it. It is written on the arched sky. It looks out from every star. It is on the sailing cloud, and in the invisible wind. It is among the hills and valleys of the earth-where the shrubless mountain-top-pierces the thin atmosphere of eternal winter-or where the mighty forest fluctuates, before the strong wind, with its dark waves of green foliage. It is spread out like a legible language, upon the broad face of the unsleeping ocean. It is the poetry of nature. It is this which uplifts the spirit within us, until it is strong enough to overlook the shadows of our place of pro bation; which breaks, link after link, the chain that binds us to materiality; and which opens to our imagination a world of spiritual beauty and holiness. PLAY-PLACE OF EARLY DAYS. Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot, The baiting-place of wit, the halm of wo; 663. PATRICK HENRY'S SPEECH, 1775. No man-thinks more highly, than I do, of the patriotism, as well as the abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen, who have just addressed the house. But, different men-often see the same subject in different lights; and therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if entertaining, as I do, opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I should speak forth my sentiments-freely, and without reserve. This, sir, is no time for ceremony. The question before the house is one of awful moment to this country. For ny part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom, or slavery: and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject, ought to be the freedom of debate. It is only in this way we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God, and to our country. Were I to withhold my sentiments, at such a time as this, through fear of giving offence, I should consider myself as guilty of treason toward iny country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven; whom I revere above all earthly kings. It is natural for man-to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth; and listen-to the song of that syren, ul she transforms us-into beasts. Is this-the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for LIBERTY? Are we disposed to be of the umber of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things, which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it. insult; our supplications have beer disregarded 664. AMERICA. I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided; and that-is the lamp-of EXPERIENCE. I know of no way of judging of the future, but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been, in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years. to justify those hopes, with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves, and the house? Is it that insidious smile, with which our petition has teen lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove & snare-to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves--how this gracious reception of our petition-comports with those warlike preparations, which cover our waters, and darken our land. Are fleets, and armies, necessary to a work of love, and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war, and subjugation-the last arguments-to which kings resort. I ask, Still one great clime, in full and free defiance, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, it its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime, gentlemen assign any other, possible mouve for it? Above the fair Atlantic! she has taught Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of Her Esau brethren that the haughty flag, the world, to call for all this accumulation of na-The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag, [bought vies, and armies? No sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over-to bind, and rivet upon us, those chains, which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which t is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty, and humble supplication? What terms shall we find, which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, eir. deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm, We have petitioned; which is now coming on. we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and nave IMPLORED its interposition-to arrest the ty rannical hands of the ministry, and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonwances -have produced additional violence and Have we May strike to those whose red right hands have OF THE DREAD OF REFORM. The true and only 665. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. When the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul that slumbered To a holy, calm delightEre the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor-wallThen the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved-one, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more! He, the young and strong, who cherished By the road-side fell and perished, Who the cross of suffering bore- With those deep and tender eyes, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer- Such as these have lived and died! ciple. Instead of sweeping the globe, with the guilty purpose of oppressing the weak robbing the defenceless, exciting the sound of lamentation in the humble hut, and drawing forth the tears of the widow, and the orphan, let us do what is in our power-to promote the happiness of our fellow men. In the genuine spirit of brotherly affection, let us smoke the pipe of peace-with the untu tored wanderer of the western wildernessor, partake of bread, and salt, with the hardy native of the African desert. Mankind often complain, that they are unhappy; that they tread in a thorny path, and drink of a bitter stream. But whence do their sufferings, and sorrows flow? Do they not, in a great measure, proceed from their own selfish, and malignant passions? Remove the cause, and the effect will disappear. Banish malice, envy, hatred; let genuine good-will towards each other prevail, and a great portion of human misery -- will fade away, like darkness--before the rising sun. It will dissipate the gloom, which often clouds the countenance, and remove the grief, which often preys upon the heart.-Fergus 666. THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. All mankind are brethren. Every human being, who comes in our way, and stands in need of our aid, is entitled to our sympathy. Human nature, and distress, form a legitimate claim to our friendly assistance. We are not to withhold our brotherly affection, from any of our fellow men, because an imaginary line, a river, a ridge of mountains, or a channel of the ocean, may have separated their birth-place from ours; because their manners, customs, and political institutions are not the same with our own; because, by reason of differ-I ence of climate, and manner of life, their SKIN is tinged with a different color; because they offer their tribute of homage to the Creator in a different manner; or, because there is some difference, or shade of difference, between their religious rites, and opinions, and ours. The sentiment of universal benevolenceexpands the heart, humanizes the mind, and fosters every generous affection; but jealousy, malace, hatred, and other malignant passions pervert the soul, and cramp, and vitiate-the best feelings of our nature. They wage war with every manly, and liberal prin EDUCATION. If thou hast plucked a flower Of richest, rarest ray, And borne it from its garden bower, That glittering hoard of worth untold. There is a plant that fears No adverse season's strife, But with an inborn fragrance cheers There is a wealth that foils The robber's roving eye, O ye, whose brows are bright, Seek wisdom's lore sublime, THE LAND OF REST. Oh, when-shall I go to that land Where spirits-beatified dwell? Oh, when shall I join their bright band, And bid to this earth-a farewell? am weary of life-and its care, I am weary of life and its woe, Oh, when to that country so fair, To that country unknown, shall I go? A soft yellow light fills the air [there Of that land, which I long to behold; And the faces and forms-of the saints who are Are clothed-in its lustre of gold. Like angels they look-as they move, And like angels they pass the sweet hours For they are not mortals, but spirits, who rove In the light of those beautiful bowers. Face to face the truth comes out [w.nds, 667. THE PERFECT ORATOR. Imagine to 669. 1.ME-NEW YEAR. yourselves a Demosthenes, addressing the 'Tis midnight's holy hour; and silence, now most illustrious assembly in the world, upon Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er a point, whereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations depended. How awful such a meeting! how vast the subject! By the power of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost in the dignity of the orator; and the importance of the subject, for a while, superseded by the admiration of his talents. With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault, and subjugate, the | whole man; and, at once, captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions! To effect this, must be the utmost effort of the most improved state of human nature. Not a faculty that he possesses, but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work; all his external, testify their en ergies. The still-and pulseless world. Hark! on the Tis a time Within, the memory, the fancy, the judg ment, the passions, are all busy; without, For memory, and tears. Within the deep, every muscle, every nerve is exerted; not a Sull chambers of the heart, a spectre dim, feature, not a limb, but speaks. The organs Whose tones-are like the wizard's voice of Time, of the body, attuned to the exertions of the Heard from the tomb of ages, points its coldmind, thro' the kindred organs of the hearers, And solemn finger-to the beautiful instantaneously vibrate those energies-from | And holy visions, that have passed away, soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diversity of minds, in such a multitude, by the light-And left no shadow of their loveliness, ning of eloquence, they are melted into one mass; the whole assembly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry is-Let us march against Philip, let us fight for our liberties-let us conquer, or die. 668. WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS. When the black-letter'd list to the gods was presented, The list of what fate for each mortal intends, At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented, And clipp'd in three blessings, wife, children, and friends. in vain surly Pluto declared he was cheated, And justice divine could not compass her ends, The scheme of man's penance he swore was defeated, On the dead waste of life. That spectre-lifts It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged For earth becomes heaven with wife, children, and friends. The bright and joyous-and the tearful wail If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands rested, How blest was his home, with wife, children, and friends. But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow No warmth from the smiles of wife, children and friends. Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues. Of stricken ones-is heard, where erst, the song, Looking into the fire is very injurious to the eyes, particularly a coal fire. The stimulus of light and heat united, soon destroys the eyes. Looking at molten iron will soon destroy the sight. Reading in the twilight is injurious to the eyes, as they are obliged to make great ex• ertion. Reading or sewing with a side light, injures the eyes, as both eyes should be exposed to an equal degree of light. The reason is, the sympathy between the eyes is so great, that if the pupil of one is dilated by being kept partially in the shade, the one that is most exposed cannot contract itself sufficiently for Those who wish to preserve their sight, should protection, and will ultimately be injured. preserve their general health by correct habits, and give their eyes just work enough, with a due degree of light. |