The heart that cherished him-for him he poured,
In agony that would not be controlled,

Strong supplication, and forgave him there,
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.

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4. The pall was settled. He who slept beneath
Was straitened for the grave; and, as the folds
Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed
The matchless symmetry of Absalom.
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls
Were floating round the tassels, as they swayed
To the admitted air, as glossy now

As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.

His helm was at his feet; his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him; and the jeweled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.

5. The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form.

Of David entered, and he gave command,

In a low tone, to his few followers,

And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died; then, throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,

He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe:

6. "Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair!
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom!

7. "Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee.
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet 'my father!' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

8. "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
To meet me, Absalom!

9. "And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!

10. "And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee-
And thy dark sin!-Oh, I could drink the cup,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.

May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My erring Absalom!"

11. He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.
N. P. WILLIS.

LESSON LIV.

CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.

IR, it matters very little what immediate spot may

have been the birthplace of such a man as WASHINGTON. No people can claim, no country can appropriate him. The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered, and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm had passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared! how bright in the brow of the firmament was the planet which it revealed to us!

2. In the production of Washington it does really appear as if nature was endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of

the new. Individual instances, no doubt, there were, splendid exemplifications, of some single qualification: Cæsar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master.

3. As a general, he marshaled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied, by discipline, the absence of experience; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that, to the soldier and the statesman, he almost added the character of the sage! A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood; a revolutionist, he was free from any stain of treason; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the command. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it.

4. If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to assign him; whether at the head of her citizens, or her soldiers, her heroes, or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost said to have created?

Happy, proud America! The lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy! The temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism!

PHILLIPS.

LESSON LV.

THE EXILE.

E'rin, an early name of Ireland, now used in poetry.

TE

HERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion, For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion, He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh!

2. "Sad is my fate!" said the heart-broken stranger; "The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee, But I have no refuge from famine and danger, A home and a country remain not to me! Never again, in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers,

[hours,

And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!

3. "Erin! my country! though sad and forsaken, In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; But, alas! in a far foreign land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! O cruel fate! wilt thou never replace me

In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me? Never again shall my brothers embrace me?

They died to defend me!—or live to deplore!