5. He felt that poetry was a universal presence. Great minds were everywhere his kindred. He felt the enchant ment of oriental fiction, surrendered himself to the strange creations of " Araby the blest," and delighted still more in the romantic spirit of chivalry, and in the tales of wonder in which it was embodied. Accordingly, his poetry reminds us of the ocean, which adds to its own boundlessness, contributions from all regions under heaven. 6. Nor was it only in the department of imagination that his acquisitions were vast. He traveled over the whole field of knowledge, as far as it had then been explored. His various philological attainments were used to put him in possession of the wisdom stored in all countries where the intellect had been cultivated. The natural philosophy, metaphysics, ethics, history, theology, and political science of his own and former times, were familiar to him. Never was there a more unconfined mind; and we would cite Milton as a practical example of the benefits of that universal culture of intellect, which forms one distinction of our times, but which some dread as unfriendly to original thought. a 7. Let such remember that mind is, in its own nature, diffusive. Its object is the universe, which is strictly one, or bound together by infinite connections and correspondencies; and, accordingly, its natural progress is from one field of thought to another, and wherever original power or creative genius exists, the mind, far from being distracted or oppressed by the variety of its acquisitions, will see more and more bearings, and hidden and beautiful analogies in all the objects of knowledge, will see mutual light shed from truth to truth, and will compel, as with a kingly power, whatever it understands to yield some tribute of proof, or illustration, or splendor, to whatever topic it would unfold. Greece proper. Between two rocks on this mountain issues what poets call the Par. nassian spring. a Metaphysics; the science of mind or intelligence. LESSON CXXXII. [Before reading this piece it would be well to consult the directions Walsingham. Nay! my good lord! you carry this too far Alasco leader of a band of rebels ! Hohendahl. I have it here in proof; Wal. It cannot be ! By heaven it cannot be ! your spies deceive you. Of vassal discontent and vulgar turbulence. Hoh. My good old friend! your loyal nature yields But I have marked Alasco well, and found Ready to clap sedition on the back, And stir the very dregs and lees of life, To foam upon its surface; The subject moves you. at I see Wal. Yes, it does, indeed! His father was my friend and fellow-soldier ; A braver spirit never laid his life Upon his country's altar. At my side He fell; his wife and son, with his last breath, Bequeathing to my care; a sacred trust, To form him like his father; and indeed, My wishes scarce kept pace with his advancement. [Enter Alasco.] You were our theme, Alasco. Alasco. A subject, sir, unworthy of discussion, If slander have not given it a zest. Wal. Slander, Alasco! Alas. Ay, sir, slander 's abroad, And busy; few escape her; she can take All shapes; and sometimes, froin the blistered lips On all who dare dispute the claims of pride, Or question the high privilege of oppression. Hoh. Your words seem pointed, sir, and splenetic. Alas. They are honest, my lord, and you well understand them. Wal. What means this heat, Alasco? Innocence Can fear no slander, and suspects no foe. Alas. He's on his guard who knows his enemy, And innocence may safely trust her shield Against an open foe; but who's so mailed That slander shall not reach him? coward calumny Wal. Alasco! Count Alasco! Alas. Wal. [Returning.] Sir, your pleasure? 'Tis now, methinks, some twenty years, or more, Since that brave man, your father, and my friend, While life scarce fluttered on his quivering lips, Consigned your youthful fortunes to my care. Alas. And nobly, sir, your generous spirit stands Acquitted of that trust. Wal. 'Tis well! perhaps I may assume I've been Alasco's friend. Alas. My friend! my father! say, my more than father! And let me still, with love and reverence, pay The duty of a son. Wal. A son of mine Must be the soul of loyalty and honor; Alas. Is this to me! has slander gone so far, Wal. How suits it with the honor of Alasco, To plot against his country's peace, and league With low confederates, for a lawless purpose? Manoeuvering miscreants in the form of war, And methodizing tumult? Wal. How must it soothe thy father's hovering shade, To hear his name, so long to glory dear, Profaned and sullied in sedition's mouth, The countersign of turbulence and treason? Alas. The proud repulse that suits a charge like this, Preferred by lips less reverenced, I forbear. Wal. Are you not stained With foul disloyalty; a blot indelible? Alas. No! by heaven, not so! With most unworthy patience have I borne Struck down by scepters, trampled on by kings, And fraud and rapine registered in blood; Alas. Tyrants, proud lord, are never safe, nor should be. The ground is mined beneath them as they tread; Haunted by plots, cabals, conspiracies, Their lives are long convulsions, and they shake, Hoh. Your patriot care, sir, would redress all wrongs And like another Brutus free your country. Alas. Why, if there were some slanderous tool of state, Some taunting, dull, unmannered deputy, Some district despot prompt to play the Tarquin, By heaven! I well could act the Roman part, Although he wore the mask of Hohendahl. Hoh. Ha! darest thou thus provoke me, insolent! [Draws. [Advancing between them.] Rash boy, forbear! My lord, Alas. This reproof is your protection from my arm. More reverence at your hands. Alas. Thy friend! by heaven ! That sacred title might command my worship, |