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712. TURKEY, ENGLAND, AND THE UNITED STATES.-Kossuth. No man, aware of the value of his destiny, can live satisfied, without freedom; but he, to whom God has given freedom, has got everything; if he has the will to use his freedom for the developement of his mind and the perfection of his happiness. This is the basis, upon which your free country has become a paradise, on which the eye and the heart may rest with joy, and which must strengthen the desire of every foreigner to become likewise free. During all my life, I had but one leading idea-LIBERTY. It was the aim of my life, of my existence, to secure its blessing to my People; though I knew these blessings but instinctively. Now, I see how liberty ennobles men, and beautifies nature. How should I not, then, be doubly determined, in spite of all danger, of all difficulties, to endure, to act, to struggle, and, if need be, to die, that ray People may become free? My People, whom I can say, with deep felt satisfaction, that there is no people on earth, who better deserve to be free. But, besides the bliss of liberty, there is also a glory allotted to you; and this is the proud position which you hold, not only to bear good will to those, who do not enjoy that happiness, but also, to offer the hand of friendship to their less fortunate brethren. This is indeed a great glory; for liberty raises us to the dignity of men. Being in this position, you, in your national and individual capacity, are able to carry into practical life, the divine doctrines of our Saviour:"Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." It is only thus that I can explain the grand phenomena, that so many noble-minded men, united in the love and enjoyment of freedom, can all join in the expression of their sympathy for the principles of freedom, of which they choose to consider me as an humble representative.

Without liberty, there can exist no lasting social order, no field for productive labor, no personal security, and no security for property. And if it is not the aim of society, to open the fields of productive labor, to grant security to persons and property, and thus, to develop man's mind, and ennoble his heart,-if this be not the aim of human society, then I do not know what aim it can have. How can mankind be contented, industrious, and happy, without freedom? But it is also not without reason, that all classes are united in sympathy, in order that that liberty, which, under different forms of government, but similar institutions, is the bliss and the pride of the English race, in both hemispheres, should likewise be allotted to other nations, to enjoy it under a government that best suits their wishes and their wants. Not without reason is this sympathy, not only because there is a moral solidarity in the destinies of nations, but also, because, where the productive power of a people, produces more than they can consume, such a country must have free intercourse, and an uninterrupted interchange of communication with the world, in order to secure the benefits of its labor, that, by the stoppage of one channel, there should arise a plethora, no less dangerous than consumption. Now, without the liberty of Europe, there is no such liberty of trade; which all despots fear, because the liberty of commerce is the great vehicle of political liberty. Freedom to trade-is only possible with freedom in Europe. It is fortunate, as well as glorious, when the material interests of a great nation are identical with the interests of the freedom of the world. This is a Providential Law. Even a single community can but enjoy welfare and security, when the interests of the whole country are in harmony with the interests of the individuals.

The people of Hungary have a future, because they have vitality and deserve to live; because their independence is necessary to the freedom of

Europe. It is to the future of my country, that I devote the activity I have regained, by my liberty from the bondage of Asia; and this liberty is due, in the first place, to the noble feelings of the Sultan of Turkey; who, in spite of the arrogant threats of Russia and Austria, has protected my life, and that of my companions; and who, at last, raising himself by the magnanimity of his inspirations, and his respect for the rights of humanity, above all threats, restored me to liberty, in the most dignified manner. While expressing my grateful acknowledgments to Turkey, I would also return my deep felt thanks for the magnanimous interferences of the Government of Great Britain and that of the United States, in such a high and generous manner, supported by the public spirit of the People of both countries, and even sanctioned by the magnanimous resolution of Congress, in obtaining the liberation of myself and of my associates. It is, therefore, with the warmest feelings of a grateful heart, I propose the toast-"TURKEY-ENGLAND-and the UNITED STATES."

712. HUNGARY'S GREAT STRUGGLES.-Kossuth. Three years ago, yonder house of Austria, which had chiefly me to thank, for not having been swept away by the revolution of Vienna, in Marcb. 1848,-having in return, answered by the most foul, most sacriligious conspiracy against the chartered rights, freedom, and national existence of my native land, it became my share, being then a member of the Ministry, with undisguised truth, to lay before the Parliament of Hungary, the immense danger of our bleeding country. Having made a sketch, which, however dreadful, could be but a faint shadow of the horrible reality, I proceeded to explain the terrible alternation, which our awful destiny left us, after a failure of all our attempts to avert the evil. Reluctant to present the neck of the realm to the deadly snake, aimed at its very life, and anxious to bear up against the horrors of fate, and manfully to fight the battle of legitimate defence,

scarcely had I spoken the word, scarcely had I added words, that the defence would require 200,000 men, and eighty millions of florins, when the spirit of freedom moved through the hall, and nearly 400 Representatives rose, as one man; and, lifting up their right arms toward God. solemnly declared-" We GRANT it; FREEDOM! or death."

Thus they spoke, and there they swore, in calm and silent majesty, awaiting what further word might fall from my lips. And for myself, it was my duty to speak, but the grandeur of the moment, and the rushing waves of sentiment, benumbed my tongue. A burning tear fell from my eyes, a sigh of adoration to the Almighty Lord flushed my lips, and, bowing before the majesty of my people, I left the tribunal silently, speechless and mute. [Here Kossuth paused a few moments, overpowered by his emotions, and then said,] Pardon me my emotions: the shadows of our martyrs passed before my eyes; I heard the millions of my native land once more shouting-"LIBERTY! or DEATH.”

As I was then, so I am now: I thank you, gentlemen, for the generous sympathy, with which, in my undeserving person, you honored the bleeding, the oppressed, but not broken Hungary; and I thank you warmly for the ray of hope, which the sympathy of your people casts on the night of our fate. But the words fail me; not only for want of a knowledge of your language, but chiefly because my sentiments are deep, and fervent, and true. The tongue of man is powerful enough to render the ideas which the human intellect conceives; but in the realm of true and deep sentiments, it is but a weak interpreter; these are inexpressible, Eke the endless glory of the Omnipotent

713. INDUSTRY AND ELOQUENCE. In the ancient republics of Greece and Rome, oratory-was a necessary branch of a finished education. A much smaller proportion of the citizens were educated, than among us; but of these a much larger number became orators. No man-could hope for distinction, or influence, and yet slight this art. The commanders of their armies were orators, as well as soldiers, and ruled-as well by their rhetorical, as by their military skill. There was no trusting with them-as with us, to a natural facility, or the acquisition of an accidental fluency-by actual practice. But they served an apprenticeship to the art. They passed through a regular course of instruction in schools. They submitted to long, and laborious discipline. They exercised themselves frequently, both before equals, and in the presence of teachers, who criticised, reproved, rebuked, excited emulation, and left nothing undone, which art, and perseverance could accomplish. The greatest orators of antiquity, so far from being favored by natural tendencies, except indeed, in their high intellectual endowments, had to struggle against natural obstacles; and, instead of growing up, spontaneously, to their unrivalled eminence, they forced themselves forward by the most discouraging, artificial

process.

714. THE FREEMAN.
He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves, besides. There's not a chain,
That hellish foes, confederate for his harm,
Can wind around him, but he casts it off,
With as much ease, as Samson, his green withes.
He looks abroad into the varied field
Of nature, and, though poor, perhaps, compared
With those, whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His-are the mountains, and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy,
With a propriety, that none can feel,
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say-" My Father made them al. !”
Are they not his, by a peculiar right,
And, by an emphasis of interest, his,
Whose eye--they fill with tears of holy joy,
Whose heart, with praise, and whose exalted mind,
With worthy thoughts-of that unwearied love,
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds, a world,
So clothed in beauty-for rebellious man?
Yes: ye may fill your garners-ye that reap
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good,
In senseless riot; but ye will not find,
In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance,
A liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong,
Appropriates nature, as his Father's work,
And has a richer use of yours than you.
He is, indeed, a freeman. Free, by birth,

Demosthenes-combatted an impediment
in speech, an ungainliness of gesture, which
at first-drove him from the forum in dis-
grace. Cicero-failed, at first, through weak-
ness of lungs, and an excessive vehemence of
manner, which wearied the hearers, and de-
feated his own purpose. These defects were
conquered by study, and discipline. He ex-Of no mean city; plann'd, or ere the hills
iled himself from home; and during his ab-
sence, in various lands, passed not a day
without a rhetorical exercise, seeking the
masters who were most severe in criticism,
as the surest means of leading him to the per-
fection, at which he aimed.

Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea,
With all his roaring multitude of waves.
His freedom-is the same in every state;
And no condition of this changeful life,
So manifold in cares, whose every day
Brings its own evil with it, makes it less:
For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain,
Nor penury, can cripple or confine.
No nook so narrow, but he spreads them there,
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds
His body bound; but knows not what a range
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain;
And that, to bind him, is a vain attempt,
Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwella.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW.

Such, too, was the education of their other great men. They were all, according to their ability and station, orators; orators, not by nature or accident, but by education, formed in a strict process of rhetorical training; admired and followed-even while Demosthenes and Cicero were living, and unknown now, only because it is not possible that any, but the first, should survive the ordeal of ages. The inference-to be drawn from these observations is, that if so many of those, who received an accomplished education, became To-day man's dress'd in gold and silver bright, accomplished orators, because, to become so was one purpose of their study; then, it is in Wrapt in a shroud before to-morrow-night: the power of a much larger proportion among To-day he's feeding on delicious food, us, to form themselves into creditable and ac-To-morrow dead, unable to do good! curate speakers. The inference should not be denied, until proved false by experiment. Let this art be made an object of attention, To day he 's honor'd, and in vast esteem, and young men train themselves to it, faithTo-morrow not a beggar values him; fully, and long; and if any of competent talents and tolerable science be found, at last, To-day his house, tho' large, he thinks but зmali, incapable of expressing themselves in con-To-morrow no command, no house at all; tinued, and connected discourse, so as to an-To-day has forty servants at his gate, swer the ends of public speaking, then, and To-morrow scorn'd, not one of them will wait! not till then, let it be said, that a peculiar To-day perfum'd, as sweet as any rose, talent, or natural aptitude-is requisite, the To-morrow stinks in everybody's ose; want of which- - must render effort vain; then, and not till then, let us acquiesce in To-day he's grand, majestic, all delight, this indolent, and timorous notion, which Ghastful and pale before to-morrow night; contradicts the whole testimony of antiquity, True, as the Scripture says, “man's 's 9 sau,? end all the experience of the world. Wirt. The present moment is the life of man.

To-day he 's nice, and scorns to feed on cruribg,
To-morrow he's himself a dish for worms;

715. CHARACTER OF BONAPARTE.

dictating peace on a raft to the czar of Russia, oi he was still the same military despot! contemplating defeat--at the gallows of Leipsig

He is fa len! We may now pause--before that splendid prodigy, which towered amongst us, like In this wonderful combination, his affectations some ancient ruin, whose frown-terrified the of literature must not be omitted. The jailerglance its magnificence attracted. Grand, gloomy of the press, he affected the patronage of letters; and peculiar, he sat upon the throne a sceptred the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosohermit, wrapt-in the solitude of his own ori-phy-the persecutor of authors, and the murderer ginality. A mind, bold, independent, and decis- of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of ve-a will, despotic in its dictates-an energy, learning the assassin of Palm, the silencer of that distanced expedition, and a conscience-plia- De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was ble to every touch of interest, marked the outline the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, of this extraordinary character,-the most extra- and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of ordinary, perhaps, that in the annals of this world, England. Such a medley of contradictions, and ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life, in at the same time such an individual consistency, the midst of a revolution, that quickened every were never united in the same character. A energy of a people who acknowledge no superior, royalist-a republican, and an emperor-a Mohe commenced his course, a stranger by birth, hammedan-a catholic and a patron of the synaand a scholar by charity! With no friend, but gogue-a subaltern and a sovereign-a traitor Lis sword, and no fortune, but his talents, he and a tyrant-a christian and an infidel-he was, rushed in the list-where rank, and wealth, and through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, imgenius-had arrayed themselves, and competi- patient, inflexible original-the same mysterious, tion-fled from him, as from the glance of desti- incomprehensible self-the man-without a modny. He knew no motive, but interest-he ac-el, and without a shadow.-Phillips. knowledged no criterion, but success--he worshiped no God, but ambition, and, with an eastern 716. THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. Pause, devotion, he knelt-at the shrine of his idolatry. for a while, ye travelers on the earth, to conSubsidiary to this, there was no creed, that he template the universe, in which you dwell, did not profess, there was no opinion, that he did and the glory of him, who created it. What not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he up- a scene of wonders-is here presented to held the crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he your view! If beheld with a religious eye, bowed before the cross: the orphan of St. Louis, what a temple-for the worship of the Alhe became the adopted child of the republic: and mighty! The earth is spread out before you, with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins-both reposing amidst the desolation of winter, or of the throne, and tribune, he reared the throne clad in the verdure of spring-smiling in of his despotism. A professed catholic, he im- the beauty of summer, or loaded with autum prisoned the pope; a pretended patriot, he impov-nal fruit;--opening to an endless variety of erished the country; and in the name of Brutus, beings-the treasures of their Maker's goodhe grasped, without remorse, and wore, without shame, the diadem of the Cesars! Through this ness, and ministering subsistence, and compantomime of policy, fortune played the clown to fort to every creature that lives. The heav nis caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beg- ens, also, declare the glory of the Lord. The gars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theo- sun cometh forth from his chambers-to scat ries took the color of his whim, and all that was ter the shades of night-inviting you to the venerable, and all that was novel, changed pla- renewal of your labors-adorning the face ces with the rapidity of a drama. Even appa- of nature and, as he advances to his meri rent defeat-assumed the appearance of victory-dian brightness, cherishing every herb, and his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny-ruin itself--only elevated him to empire. But if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; decision-flashed upon his councils; and it was the same to decide-and to perform. To inferior intellects-his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly impracticable; but, in his hands simplicity-marked their develop ment, and success- vindicated their adoption. His person-partook of the character of his mind; if the one-never yielded in the cabinet, the oth er-never bent in the field. Nature-had no obstacle, that he did not surmount, space-no opposition, that he did not spurn; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity! The whole continent-trembled-at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Scepticism-bowed to the prodigies of his performance; romance assumed the air of history; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful--for expectation, when the world-saw a subaltern of Corsica-waving his imperial flag-over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquitybecame commonplaces in his contemplation; kings were his people-nations were his outposts; and he disposed of cous, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were titular dignitaries f the chess-board! Amid all these changes, he stood-iummutable

every flower, that springeth from the bosom of the earth. Nor, when he retires again from your view, doth he leave the Creator without a witness. He only hides his own splendor, for a while, to disclose to you a more glorious scene-to show you the immensity of space, filled with worlds unnum bered, that your imaginations may wander, without a limit, in the vast creation of God.

What a field is here opened, for the exercise of every pious emotion! and how irresistibly do such contemplations as these, awaken the sensibility of the soul! Here, is infinite power-to impress you with awehere is infinite wisdom-to fill you with admiration-here is infinite goodness-to call forth your gratitude, and love. The corresthe affections of the human heart, is estab pondence between these great objects, and lished by nature itself; and they need only to be placed before us, that every religious feeling may be excited.-Moodie

There is so great a fever in goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough to make It mattered little, whether in the field, or in the fellowships accursed; much upon this riddrawing-room-with the mob, or the levee- dle runs the wisdom of the world. This wearing "cobin bonnet, or the iron crown- news is old enough, yet it is every day's Suren" g a Bragarza, o espousing a Hapsburg-news.--Shakspeare.

as adamant.

718. THUNDER STORM ON THE ALPS. It is the hush of night; and all between [clear, Thy margin, and the mountains, dusk, yet Mellow'd, and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darkened Jura, whose capped heights apPrecipitously steep; and drawing near, [pear There breathes-a living fragrance from the shore, [ear,

Of flowers-yet fresh with childhood; on the Brops the light drip of the suspended oar, [more. Or chirps the grasshopper-one good-right carol He is an evening reveller, who makes His life-an infancy, and sings his fill!

719. MATERNAL AFFECTION. Woman's charms are certainly many and powerful. ty, has an irresistible bewitchingness; the The expanding rose, just bursting into beaumeneal altar, awakens admiration and interblooming bride, led triumphantly to the hyest, and the blush of her cheek fills with delight;--but the charm of maternity, is moro sublime than all these.

Heaven has imprinted, in the mother's face. which claims kindred with the skies,the something beyond this world, something angelic smile, the tender look, the waking watchful eye, which keeps its fond vigil over her slumbering babe.

These are objects, which neither the pencil

At intervals, some bird-from out the brakes-nor the chisel, can touch, which poetry fails Starts into voice, a moment, then, is still. There seems a floating whisper, on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently, their tears of love instill, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse, Deep into Nature's breast, the spirit of her hues.

The sky is changed! and such a change! O night, [strong And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud: But every mountain-now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! And this is in the night: Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! Let me be A sharer in thy fierce, and far delight, A portion of the tempest, and of thee! How the lit lake shines! a phosphoric sea! And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again-'tis black, and now, the glee Of the loud hills-shakes with its mountainmirth,

[birth.

As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's Now, where the swift Rhone-cleaves his way [parted

between

hearted!

Heights, which appear as lovers, who have In hate, whose mining depths-so intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken[thwarted, Though in their souls, which thus each other Love was the very root-of the fond rage, Which blighted their life's bloom, and then, departed!

Itself expired, but leaving them an age [wage! Of years, all winters! war-within themselves to Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, [stand: The mightiest of the storms hath taken his For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around! of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath His lightnings, as if he did understand, [forked That in such gaps as desolation worked, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked.-Byron.

Earth smile around, with boundless bounty blest, And Heaven-beholds its image-in his breast.

to exalt, which the most eloquent tongue, in vain, would eulogize, and on which all description becomes ineffective. In the heart of man lies this lovely picture; it lives in his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye looks around in vain for such another object

on earth.

Maternity, extatic sound! so twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb, ere we forget it! 'tis our first love; 'tis part of our religion. Nature has set the mother upon such a pinnacle, that our infant eyes, and arms, are first uplifted to it; we cling to it in manhood; we almost worship it in old age. He, who can enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its mother's beauty--nourished by the tide of life, which flows through the generous veins, without a pant ing bosom and a grateful eye, is no man, but a monster.

720. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again, thou usher'st in the day,

My Mary, from my soul was torn O, Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest } Seest thou thy lover, lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans, that rend his breast } That sacred hour-can I forget,

Can 1 forget the hallow'd grove. Where, by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love! Eternity-will not efface

Those records dear, of transports past; Thy image, at our last embrace!

Ah little thought we, 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, O'erhung with wild woods' thick'ning green}

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Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene
The flowers sprang-wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love-on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
Time, but the impression deeper makes,
And fondly broods, with miser care!
As streams-their channels deeper wear.
My Mary dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest }
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his treast 1
Ill-doers-are-thinkers.

721. RICHARD.

Remember you've worn them; and just car. It be
To take all my trinkets, and not to take me?
Nay, don't throw them at me!-You'l break-
do not start-
[heart!

Now-is the winter-of our discontent-
Made glorious summer-by this sun of York;
And all the clouds, that lower'd upon our house,
In the deep bosom-of the ocean-buried:
Now, are our brows-bound with victoriousNot have me! Not love me! Not go to the church!

wreaths;

Our bruised arms-hung up for monuments :
Our stern alarums-chang'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches-to delightful measures:
Grim-visag'd war-hath smooth'd his wrinkled
front;

And now-instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls-of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly-in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.-
But I that am not shap'd-for sportive tricks,
Nor made, to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's ma-
To strut before a wanton, ambling nymph; [jesty,
1, that am curtail'd-of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature-by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd. sent, before my time,
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that-so lamely, and unfashionably,
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;
Why I, in this weak-piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time;
Unless to spy iny shadow--in the sun,
And descant--on mine own deformity;
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair-well spoken days,
I am determined to prove-a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence, and the king,
In deadly hate--the one, against the other:
And if king Edward-be as true and just,
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day--should Clarence closely be mew'd up;
About a prophecy, which says that G [George]
Of Edward's heir-the murderer shall be. [comes.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul; here Clarence

722. THE REJECTED.

I don't mean my gifts-but you will break my

Sure, never was lover so left in the lurch!
My brain is distracted, my feelings are hurt;
Oh, madam, don't tempt me to call you-a flirt.
Remember my letters; my passion they told
Yes, all sorts of letters, save letters of gold;
The amount of my notes, too-the notes that i
penned,-

Not bank notes-no, truly, I had none to send!
Not have me! Not love me! And is it, then
That opulent Age is the lover for you?
[true
'Gainst rivalry's bloom I would strive-'tis too
To yield to the terrors of rivalry's crutch. [much
Remember-remember I might call him out;

But, madam, you are not worth fighting about;
My sword shall be stainless, in blade, and in hilt,
I thought you a jewel-I find you-a jilt.
723. DESERTED WIFE.

He comes not-I have watched the moon go down,
But yet, he comes not.-Once, it was not so.
He thinks not, how these bitter tears do flow,
The while he holds his riot in that town.
Yet he will come, and chide, and I shall weep;
And he will wake my infant from its sleep,
To blend its feeble wailing with my tears.
O! how I love a mother's watch to keep, [cheers
Over those sleeping eyes, that smile, which
My heart, though sunk in sorrow, fix'd, and deep.
I had a husband once, who loved me ;-now,
He ever wears a frown upon his brow,
And feeds his passion-on a wanton's lip,
As bees, from laurel flowers, a poison sip;
But yet, I cannot hate-O! there were hours,
When I could hang, forever, on his eye,
And time, who stole, with silent swiftness by,
Strew'd, as he hurried on, his path with flowers
I loved him then-he loved me too. My heart
Still finds its fondness kindle, if he smile;
The memory of our loves-will ne'er depart;
And though he often sting me with a dart,
Venom'd, and barb'd, and waste upon the vile

Caresses, which his babe and mine should share;
Though he should spurn me, I will calmly bear
His madness,-and should sickness come, and
Its paralyzing hand upon him, then,
[lay

I would, with kindness, all my wrongs repay,
Until the penitent should weep, and say,
How injured, and how faithful I had been!

Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I
Sure, never was lover so strangely misled. [said?
Rejected and just when I hoped to be blessed!
You can't be in earnest! It must be a jest.
Remember-remember how often I've knelt,
Explicitly telling you all that I felt,
And talked about poison, in accents so wild,
So very like torture, you started-and smiled.
DISCOVERIES. From time to time, a
Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I chosen hand, sometimes directed by chance,
All natural nourishment did I not shun ?[ done? but more commonly guided by reflection, ex-
My figure is wasted; my spirits are lost; [ghost.periment and research, touches a spring, till
then unperceived; and through what seemed
And my eyes are deep sunk, like the eyes of a a blank and impenetrable wall,--the barrier
Remember, remember-ay, madam, you must--to all further progress,--a door is thrown
I once was exceedingly stout, and robust;
I rode by your palfrey, I came at your call,
And nightly went with you, to banquet and ball.
Not have me! Not love me! Rejected! Refused!
Sure, never was lever so strangely ill-used!
Consider my presents-I don't mean to boast-
But, madam, consider the money they cost!

open into some before unexplored hall in the sacred temple of truth. The multitude rushes in, and wonders that the portals could have remained concealed so long. When a brilliant discovery or invention is proclaimed, men are astonished to think how long they had lived on its confines, without penetrating its nature.

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