How can thy words from balmy slumber start,
Reposing virtue, pillowed on the heart!
Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled,
And that were true which nature never told,
Let wisdom smile not on her conquered field;
No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed!
Oh! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,
The doom that bars us from a better fate;
But, sad as angels from the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in.

What is ambition? "Tis a glorious cheat! Angels of light walk not so dazzlingly

The sapphire walls of heaven. The unsearched mine Hath not such gems. Earth's constellated thrones

Have not such pomp of purple and of gold.

It hath no features. In its face is set
A mirror, and the gazer sees his own.
It looks a god, but it is like himself!
It hath a mien of empery, and smiles
Majestically sweet-but how like him!
It follows not with fortune. It is seen
Rarely or never in the rich man's hall.
It seeks the chamber of the gifted boy,
And lifts his humble window and comes in.
The narrow walls expand, and spread away
Into a kingly palace, and the roof
Lifts to the sky, and unseen fingers work
The ceilings with rich blazonry, and write
His name in burning letters over all.
And ever, as he shuts his wildered eyes,
The phantom comes and lays upon his lids
A spell that murders sleep, and in his ear
Whispers a deathless word, and on his brain
Breathes a fierce thirst no water will allay
He is its slave henceforth! His days are spent
In chaining down his heart, and watching where
To rise by human weaknesses. His nights
Bring him no rest in all their blessed hours.
His kindred are forgotten or estranged.
Unhealthful fires burn constant in his eye

His lip grows restless, and its smile is curled
Half into scorn,―till the bright, fiery boy,
That was a daily blessing but to see,
His spirit was so birdlike and so pure,
Is frozen, in the very flush of youth,
Into a cold, care-fretted, heartless man!

And what is its reward? At best, a name ! Praise-when the ear has grown too dull to hear; Gold-when the senses it should please are dead; Wreaths-when the hair they cover has grown gray'; Fame-when the heart it should have thrilled is numb. All things but love-when love is all we want, And close behind comes death, and ere we know That even these unavailing gifts are ours, He sends us, stripped and naked, to the grave'

40. OPPOSITION OF CHARACTERS.-Pollok.

One man there was-and many such you might
Have met-who never had a dozen thoughts
In all his life, and never changed their course;
But told them o'er, each in its 'customed place,
From morn till night, from youth till hoary age.
Little above the ox which grazed the field
His reason rose: so weak his memory,
The name his mother called him by, he scarce
Remembered; and his judgment so untaught,
That what at evening played along the swamp,
Fantastic, clad in robe of fiery hue,

He thought the devil in disguise, and fled
With quivering heart and winged footsteps home.
The word philosophy he never heard,

Or science; never heard of liberty,
Necessity, or laws of gravitation:
And never had an unbelieving doubt.
Beyond his native vale he never looked;

But thought the visual line that girt him round,
The world's extreme: and thought the silver moon,
That nightly o'er him led her virgin host,

No broader than his father's shield. He lived-
Lived where his father lived-died where he died;
Lived happy, and died happy, and was saved.
Be not surprised. He loved and served his God.

There was another, large of understanding,
Of memory infinite, of judgment deep:
Who knew all learning, and all science knew;
And all phenomena in heaven and earth,
Traced to their causes; traced the labyrinths
Of thought, association, passion, will;
And all the subtile, nice affinities

Of matter traced; its motions, virtues, laws;
And most familiarly and deeply talked
Of mental, moral, natural, divine.

Leaving the earth at will, he soared to heaven
And read the glorious visions of the skies;
And to the music of the rolling spheres
Intelligently listened; and gazed far back,
Into the awful depths of Deity.

Did all that mind assisted most, could do;
And yet in misery lived, in misery died.
Because he wanted holiness of heart.

A deeper lesson this to mortals taught,
And nearer cut the branches of their pride:
That not in mental, but in moral worth,
God excellence placed; and only to the good
To virtue, granted happiness alone.

What's hallowed ground?-where, mourned and missed The lips repose our love has kissed,—

But where's their memory's mansion?

Is't

Yon churchyard's bowers?

No! in ourselves their souls exist,

A part of ours.

A kiss can consecrate the ground

Where mated hearts are mutual bound:

The spot where love's first links were wound,
That ne'er are riven,

Is hallowed, down to earth's profound,
And up to heaven!

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
"Tis not the sculptured piles you heap:
In dews that heavens far-distant weep
Their turf may bloom;

Or genii twine beneath the deep

Their coral tomb.

But strew his ashes to the wind

Whose sword or voice has saved mankind-
And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high?

To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die.

Is't death to fall for freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies, in heaven's sight,
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?

A noble cause?

Give that and welcome war to brace
Her drums! and rend heaven's reeking space!
The colors planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though death's pale horse lead on the chase,
Shall still be dear.

What's hallowed ground? "Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!
Peace! independence! truth! go forth

Earth's compass round;

And your high-priesthood shall make earth
All hallowed ground!

42. CASSIUS INSTIGATING BRUTUS AGAINST CESAR. -Shanspeare.

Honor is the subject of my story—

I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but for my single self,

I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as myself.

I was born free as Cæsar; so were you;
We have both fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he
For, once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber, chafing with its shores,
Cæsar says to me," Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,

And swim to yonder point?"-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow; so indeed he did
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it;
With lusty sinews throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried," Help me, Cassius, or I sink."
I, as neas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber,
Did I the tired Cæsar; and this man

Is now become a god; and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis true this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their color fly;

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose its lustre; I did hear him groan,

Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
"Alas!" it cried-" Give me some drink, Titinius"-
As a sick girl.

Ye gods, it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,

And bear the palm alone.

?

Brutus and Cæsar!-What should be in that Cæsar? Why should that name be sounded more than yours Write them together: yours is as fair a name; Sound them: it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them: it is as heavy; conjure with 'em: Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.

Now in the name of all the gods at once