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47. ADDRESS TO THE MOON.-Ossian.

1. Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! the silence of thy face is pleasant! Thou comest forth in loveliness. The stars attend thy blue course in the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, O moon. They brighten their darkbrown sides. Who is like thee in heaven, light of the silent night! The stars in thy presence turn away their sparkling eyes.

2. Whither dost thou retire from thy course, when the darkness of thy countenance grows? Hast thou thy hall, like Ossian? Dwellest thou in the shadow of grief? Have thy sisters fallen from heaven? Are they who rejoice with thee at night, no more? Yes; they have fallen, fair light! and thou dost often retire to mourn. But thou thyself shalt fail, one night, and leave thy blue path in heaven.

3. The stars will then lift their heads and rejoice. Thou art now clothed with thy brightness. Look from thy gates in the sky. Burst the clouds, O wind, that the daughter of night may look forth; that the shaggy mountains may brighten, and the ocean roll its white waves in light.

The elocution of Ossian's beautiful address to the Moon, should be very similar to that of his address to the Sun. That is the 14th piece, and the reader is referred to the writer's note appended to it.

48. CONCLUSION OF DANIEL WEBSTER'S SPEECH.

Gentlemen: A hundred years hence, other disciples of Washington will celebrate his birth, with no less of sincere admiration, than we now commemorate it. When they shall meet, as we now meet, to do themselves and him the honor, so surely as they shall see the blue summits of his native mountains rise in the horizon, so surely as they shall behold the river on whose banks he lived, and on whose banks he rests, still flow to the sea; so surely may they see, as we now see, the flag of the Union floating on the top of the capitol; and then, as now, may the sun in his course, visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than this our own country.

The speech from which this short and eloquent extract is taken, was made at Washington, on the 22d of February, 1832, it being the centennial birth day of George Washington.

49. EDUCATION.-Charles Phillips.

1. Education is a companion which no misfortune can depress, no clime destroy, no enemy alienate, no despotism enslave; at home a friend, abroad an introduction, in solitude a solace, in society an ornament; it chastens vice, it guides virtue, it gives at once a grace and government to genius.

2. Without it, what is man? A splendid slave! a reasoning savage, vascillating between the dignity of an intelligence derived from God, and the degradation of passions participated with brutes; and in the accident of their alternate ascendency, shuddering at the terrors of an hereafter, or embracing the horrid hope of annihilation.

3. What is this wondrous world of his residence? "A mighty maze, and all without a plan ;" a dark, and desolate, and dreary cavern, without wealth, or ornament, or order. But light up within it the torch of knowledge and how wondrous the transition!

4. The seasons change, the atmosphere breathes, the landscape lives, earth unfolds its fruits, ocean rolls in its magnificence, the heavens display their constellated canopy, and the grand, animated spectacle of nature rises revealed before him, its varieties regulated, and its mysteries resolved!

5. The phenomena which bewilder, the prejudices which debase, the superstitions which enslave, vanish before education. Like the holy symbol which blazed upon the cloud before the hesitating Constantine, if man follow but its precepts, purely, it will not only lead him to the victories of this world, but open the very portals of Omnipotence for his admission.

50. THE SACKING OF PRAGUE.-Thomas Campbell,

1. Oh! sacred truth thy triumph ceas'd awhile, And hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile,

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When leagu'd oppression pour'd to northern wars
Her whisker'd panders, and her fierce hussars,
Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn!
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,
Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man!

2. Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd,
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,—
Oh! Heav'n, he cried, my bleeding country save!
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,
Rise fellow-men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high,
And swear for her to live! with her to die!

3. He said, and on the rampart heights array'd
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd;
Firm-pac'd and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or death,-the watchword and reply;
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm!

4. In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!

From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew ;-
Oh! bloodiest picture in the "Book of Time,"
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a gen'rous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!

Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear,
Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career;
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell;
And freedom shrieked-as Kosciusko fell!

5. The sun went down, nor ceas'd the carnage there,
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air-
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow;
His blood-dy'd waters murmuring far below;
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away,
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!

Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!
Earth shook-red meteors flash'd along the sky,
And conscious nature shudder'd at the cry!

6. Oh! righteous Heaven! ere freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save?

Where was thine arm, O vengeance! where thy rod,
That smote the foes of Zion and of God;

That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yok'd in wrath, and thunder'd from afar?
Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host
Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast;
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow,
And heav'd an ocean on their march below?

7. Departed spirits of the mighty dead!
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!

Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in the sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to freedom's cause return
The patriot Tell-the Bruce of Bannockburn!

8. Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see
That man hath yet a soul-and dare be free!
A little while, along thy sadd'ning plains,
The starless night of desolation reigns;
Truth shall restore the light by nature giv'n,
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heav'n!
Prone to the dust oppression shall be hurl'd,-
Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world!

The "Sacking of Prague" requires the voice to undergo sudden changes, both in pitch and quantity.

51. CONCLUSION OF HENRY CLAY'S SPEECH AT LEXINGTON, KY.

1. My friends and fellow-citizens, I cannot part from you, on possibly this last occasion of my ever publicly addressing

you, without reiterating the expression of my thanks, from a heart overflowing with gratitude. I came among you now more than thirty years ago, an orphan boy, pennyless, a stranger to you all, without friends, without the favor of the great.

2. You took me up, cherished me, caressed me, protected me, honored me. You have constantly poured upon me, a bold and unabated stream of innumerable favors. Time, which wears out every thing, has increased and strengthened your affections for me.

3. When I seemed deserted by almost the whole world, and assailed by almost every tongue, and pen, and press; you have fearlessly and manfully stood by me, with unsurpassed zeal, and undiminished friendship. When I felt as if I should sink beneath the storm of abuse and detraction, which was violently raging around me, I have found myself upheld and sustained, by your encouraging voices and your approving smiles

4. I have doubtless committed many faults and indiscretions, over which, you have thrown the broad mantle of your charity. But I can say, and in the presence of my God, and of this assembled multitude, I will say, that I have honestly and faithfully served my country; that I have never wronged it; and that however unprepared I lament that I am, to appear in the Divine presence, on other accounts, I invoke the stern justice of His judgment on my public conduct, without the smallest apprehension of His depleasure.

Mr. Clay's speech, from which the above extract is taken, was made at "Fowler's Garden," near Lexington, Kentucky, on the 16th of May, 1829, on the occasion of a public dinner being given him, which was soon after his term as secretary of state expired, on his return to his adopted state. His health, at that time, was so delicate, that he observed to me, he thought it doubtful whether he should live another year. In concluding his speech, he spoke under the influence of deep emotion. Thousands were in attendance; and when the orator said, "I came among you an orphan boy," &c., almost every eye was impearled with tears. Mr. Clay's scorning to forget the humble origin from which he rose to be a member of the house of representatives, speaker of the house, secretary of state, and a senator in congress, may be regarded as a happy exhibition of grateful sympathy. His voice is uncommonly deep, musical, and powerful; and his gestures are very animated, and perfectly natural and graceful, .

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