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the great problem in human society, to settle, and that forever, the momentous question-whether mankind can be trusted with a truly popular system? One might almost think, without extravagance, that the departed wise and good of all places and times, are looking down from their happy seats to witness what shall now be done by us; that they who lavished their treasures and their blood of old, who labored and suffered, who spake and wrote, who fought and perished, in the one great cause of Freedom and Truth, are now hanging from their orbs on high, over the last solemn experiment of humanity. As I have wandered over the spots, once the scene of their labors, and mused among the prostrate columns of their senate houses and forums, I have seemed almost to hear a voice from the tombs of departed ages; from the sepulchres of the nations, which died before the sight. They exhort us, they adjure us to be 4 faithful to our trust. They implore us, by the long trials of struggling humanity, by the blessed memory of the depart ed; by the dear faith, which has been plighted by pure hands, to the holy cause of truth and man; by the awful secrets of the prison houses, where the sons of freedom have been immured; by the noble heads which have been brought to the block; by the wrecks of time, by the eloquent ruins of nations, they conjure us not to quench the light which is rising on the world. Greece cries to us, by the convulsed lips of her poisoned, dying Demosthenes; 5 and Rome pleads with us in the mute persuasion of her mangled Tully.-Yes, such is the exhortation which calls on us to exert our powers, to employ onr time, and consecrate our labors in the cause of our native land.

1

Soliloquy of Hamlet's Uncle.

Oh! my offence is rank, it smells to heaven :

It hath the primal, eldest curse upon't,

A brother's murder!—Pray I cannot,
Though inclination be as sharp as 'twill,
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood;

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens

2 To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?

And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
To be forestalled, ere we come to fall,

Or pardoned being down?—Then I'll look up;
My fault is past. But oh, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? "Forgive me my foul murder !"
That cannot be; since I am still possessed
Of those effects for which I did the murder;
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
3 May one be pardoned, and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law: but 'tis not so above :
There, is no shuffling there, the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence,- What then ?-what rests?
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
5 Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! oh bosom, black as death!
Oh limed soul; that struggling to be free,

Art more engaged! Help, angels! make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees: and, heart, with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new born babe ;

All may be well.

Shakspeare.

LESSON CVI.

Marco Bozzaris.

[He fell in an attack upon the Turkish Camp at Laspia, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were "To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain."

1 At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour,

When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power;

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore

The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams, his song of triumph heard ;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring ;-
Then pressed that monarch's throne,―a king:
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden bird,

2 An hour passed on-the Turk awoke ;
That bright dream was his last;

He woke to hear his sentry's shriek,

"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!"
He woke to die midst flame and smoke,
And shout, and groan and sabre stroke,
And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band,

"Strike-till the last armed foe expires;
Strike-for your altars and your fires;
Strike--for the green graves of your sires,
God-and your native land.

3 They fought-like brave men, long and well,
They piled that ground with Moslem slain;
They conquered-but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud—“ hurrah,”
And the red field was won.

Then saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

4 Come to the bridal chamber, Death!

Come to the mother, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;
Come when the blessed seals,
Which close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wait its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;-
Come when the heart beats high and warm,
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine,

And thou art terrible :-the tear

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine.

5 But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee-there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
We tell thy doom without a sigh;

For thou art Freedom's now and Fame's-
One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die.

LESSON CVII.

The Religious Cottage.-D. HUNTINGTON.

i "SEEST thou yon lonely cottage in the grove—
With little garden neatly planned before-
Its roof, deep shaded by the elms above,

Moss-grown, and decked with velvet verdure o'er ?
Go lift the willing latch-the scene explore-
Sweet peace, and love, and joy, thou there shalt find;
For there religion dwells; whose sacred lore
Leaves the proud wisdom of the world behind,
And pours a heavenly ray on every humble mind.

2 "When the bright morning gilds the eastern skies, Up springs the peasant from his calm repose : Forth to his honest toil he cheerful hies,

And tastes the sweets of nature as he goes-
But first, of Sharon's fairest, sweetest rose,

He breathes the fragrance, and pours forth the praise ;
Looks to the source whence every blessing flows,

Ponders the page which heavenly truth conveys,
And to its Author's hand commits his future ways.

3 "Nor yet in solitude his prayers ascend;

His faithful partner and their blooming train, The precious word with reverent minds attend The heaven-directed path of life to gain. Their voices mingle in the grateful strain— The lay of love and joy together sing,

To Him whose bounty clothes the smiling plain, Who spreads the beauties of the blooming spring, And tunes the warbling throats that make the valleys ring.

The Lord our God is full of might,
The winds obey his will;

He speaks, and in his heavenly height
The rolling sun stands still.
Rebel ye waves, and o'er the land
With threatening aspect roar;
The Lord uplifts his awful hand,
And chains you to the shore.

Ye winds of night your force combine,
Without his high behest

Ye shall not, in the lofty pine,

Disturb the sparrow's nest.

His voice sublime is heard afar

In distant peal it dies :

He yokes the whirlwind to his car,

And sweeps the howling skies.-Kirk White

LESSON CVIII.

Demetrius and the Craftsmen.-Bible.

AFTER these things were ended, Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had passed through Macedonia, and Achaia,

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