ment of the good people of Nieuw-Nederlandts ;* on the contrary, so high an opinion had they of the independent mind and vigorous intellect of their new governor, that they universally called him Hardkopping Piet,t or Peter the 5 Headstrong, a great compliment to his understanding! If from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, weatherbeaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lionhearted, generous-spirited old governor, either I have writ10 ten to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing conclusions. 5 10 15 20 25 LESSON LXIV.-ODE ON ART.-CHARLES SPRAGUE. When, from the sacred garden driven, An angel left her place in heaven, And crossed the wanderer's sunless path. And Nature gladdened, as she gazed. And point their spires of faith to heaven. To guard the shores its beauty graced; See towers of strength and domes of taste. And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. † Pronounced Peet. 5 10 With thoughts that swell his glowing soul, In fields of air he writes his name, And treads the chambers of the sky; He moves in greatness and in grace; LESSON LXV.-ROBERT BURNS.-F. G. HALLECK. The memory of Burns,-a name That calls, when brimmed her festal cup, A nation's glory, and her shame, In silent sadness up. A nation's glory,-be the rest Forgot, she's canonized his mind; And it is joy to speak the best We may of human kind. I've stood beside the cottage bed Where the Bard-peasant first drew breath And I have stood beside the pile, Bid thy thoughts hover o'er that spot, The pride that lifted Burns from earth, The rich, the brave, the strong; And if despondency weigh down Thy spirit's fluttering pinions then, Despair-thy name is written on There have been loftier themes than his, Purer and holier fires: Yet read the names that know not death; Than that which binds his hair. His is that language of the heart, In which the answering heart would speak, Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, Or the smile light the cheek; And his that music, to whose tone The common pulse of man keeps time, In cold or sunny clime. And who hath heard his song, nor knelt O'er the mind's sea, in calm and storm, O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers, O'er Passion's moments, bright and warm, O'er Reason's dark, cold hours; On fields where brave men "die or do," In halls where rings the banquet's mirth, What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed, Pure hopes, that lift the soul above, Come with his Cottar's hymn of praise, 5 10 All passions in our frames of clay And our own world, its gloom and glee, And death's sublimity. And Burns, though brief the race he ran, LESSON LXVI.-THE FUTURE LIFE.-W. C. BRYANT. Lines addressed to a deceased friend. How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps, 5 For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain, 10 Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven? In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind' In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 15 And larger movements of the unfettered mind, 20 Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? A happier lot than mine, and larger light, And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 25 For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, Shrink and consume the heart, as heat the scroll And wrath hath left its scar,-that fire of hell 10 Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? LESSON LXVII.—THE SPIRIT OF POETRY.-H. W. LONGFELLOW. There is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where'er the south wind blows; Where, underneath the white thorn in the glade, Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards |