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And perish as the quickening breath of God
Fills them or is withdrawn. The red man, too,
Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long,
And nearer to the Rocky Mountains sought
A wider hunting-ground.

8. The beaver builds

No longer by these streams, but far away,
On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back
The white man's face, among Missouri's springs,
And pools whose issues swell the Oregon,

He rears his little Venice.*

9. In these plains

The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues
Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp,

Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake
The earth with thundering steps — yet here I meet
His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool.
10. Still this great solitude is quick with life.
Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers
They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds,

And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of man,
Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground,
Startlingly beautiful.

11. The graceful deer

Bounds to the wood at my approach. The bee,

A more adventurous colonist than man,

With whom he came across the eastern deep,
Fills the savannas with his murmurings,
And hides his sweets, as in the golden age,
Within the hollow oak.

12. I listen long

To his domestic hum, and think I hear

The sound of that advancing multitude

Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground
Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice

Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn

Of Sabbath worshipers.

13. The low of herds
Blends with the rustling of the
Over the dark-brown furrows.
A fresher wind sweeps by, and
And I am in the wilderness alone.

heavy grain
All at once
breaks my dream,

* The habitations of the beaver are surrounded by water, like Venice, a city built on more than seventy islands.

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1. ONCE, in the flight of ages past,
There lived a man: and who was he?
Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,
That man resembled thee.

2. Unknown the region of his birth,
The land in which he died unknown:
His name has perished from the earth;
This truth survives alone.:

That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear,
Alternate triumphed in his breast;
His bliss and woe —a smile, a tear!
Oblivion hides the rest.

3. The bounding pulse, the languid limb, The changing spirits' rise and fall;

We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He suffered

Had friends

And foes

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but his pangs are o'er;

but his delights are fled;

- his friends are now no more; his foes are dead.

4. He loved—but whom he loved the grave

Hath lost in its unconscious womb:

O, she was fair! but nought could save

Her beauty from the tomb.

He saw whatever thou hast seen;
Encountered all that troubles thee:

He was

- whatever thou hast been;

He is what thou shalt be.

5. The rolling seasons, day and night, Sun, moon and stars, the earth and main, Erewhile his portion, life and light,

To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye
That once their shades and glory threw,
Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,

Their ruins, since the world began,

Of him afford no other trace

Than this - there lived a man!

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1. SOME fretful tempers wince at every touch, -
You always do too little or too much :
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain,
Your elevated voice goes through the brain;
You fall at once into a lower key,

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That's worse, the drone-pipe of an humble-bee.
2. The southern sash admits too strong a light;
You rise and drop the curtain, now 't is night.
He shakes with cold; you stir the fire, and strive
To make a blaze, that's roasting him alive.

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Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ;

With sole, that's just the sort he would not wish.
3. He takes what he at first professed to loathe,
And in due time feeds heartily on both;
Yet still o'erclouded with a constant frown,
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down.
Your hope to please him vain on every plan,
Himself should work that wonder, if he can.

4. Alas! his efforts double his distress.
He likes yours little, and his own still less;
Thus always teasing others, always teased,
His only pleasure is to be displeased.

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1. 'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat To peep at such a world; to see the stir

Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates
At a safe distance, where the dying sound
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear.

2. Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced
To some secure and more than mortal height,
That liberates and exempts me from them all.

* A kind of fish.

2. O Winter! ruler of the inverted year,
Thy scattered hair with sleet, like ashes filled,
Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in clouds,
A leafless branch thy scepter, and thy throne
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,
But urged by storms along its slippery way,
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,
And dreaded as thou art!

3. Thou hold'st the sun

A prisoner in the yet undawning east,
Shortening his journey between morn and noon,
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still
Compensating his loss with added hours
Of social converse and instructive ease,
And gathering, at short notice, in one group,
The family dispersed, and fixing thought,
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares.

4. I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening, know.

5. No rattling wheels stop short before these gates, No powdered pert, proficient in the art

Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors
Till the street rings; no stationary steeds

Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound.
The silent circle fan themselves, and quake.
But here the needle plies its busy task,
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower,
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn,
Unfolds its bosom: buds, and leaves, and sprigs,
And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed,
Follow the nimble finger of the fair;

A wreath, that cannot fade, of flowers, that blow
With most success when all besides decay.

6. The poet's or historian's page by one
Made vocal for the amusement of the rest; *

*The page made vocal. This expression has a double meaning. It may refer to singing merely, but was probably intended for reading. What can be a more pleasing sight than a family circle sitting at work

The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out;
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct,
And in the charming strife triumphant still,
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge
On female industry: the threaded steel
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds.
7. The volume closed, the customary rites
Of the last meal commence.
A Roman meal;
Such as the mistress of the world once found
Delicious, when her patriots of high note,
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
And under an old oak's domestic shade,
Enjoyed, spare feast! a radish and an egg.
8. Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull,
Nor such as with a frown forbids the play
Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth :
Nor do we madly, like an impious world,
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God
That made them an intruder on their joys,
Start at his awful name, or deem his praise
A jarring note.

9. Themes of a graver tone,

Exciting oft our gratitude and love,

While we retrace with memory's pointing wand,
That calls the past to our exact review,

The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare,
The disappointed foe, deliverance found

Unlooked for, life preserved and peace restored,
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.

10. O evenings worthy of the gods! exclaimed
The Sabine bard. O evenings, I reply,
More to be prized and coveted than yours!
As more illumined, and with nobler truths,
That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy.

around the central table, while one reads aloud "for the amusement of the rest," each taking turn with the book, and thereby making the labor light to all! Such a scene it was the fortunate lot of the compiler of this work to witness, night after night, in early life; and there is scarcely a page of the Latin Grammar that is not associated with the lighter pages of the poet or of the historian, read at the same table and at the same time with his nightly task. It is a very mistaken idea that children should be kept by themselves while learning their lessons. The power of abstracting the mind from external sensations, and confining the attention to one particular subject, is important to be acquired, and must be exercised in early life in order to be vigorous and available.

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