3. Roll, Planets! on your dazzling road,
Forever sweeping round the sun;
What eye beheld when first ye glowed!
What eye shall see your courses done!
Roll in your solemn majesty,

Ye dauntless splendors of the skies!
High altars, from which angels see

The incense of creation rise.

4. Roll, Comets! and ye million Stars!

Ye that through boundless nature roam;
Ye monarchs on your flame-winged cars,
Tell us in what more glorious dome,
What orb to which your pomps are dim,
What kingdom but by angels trod;
Tell us where swells the eternal hymn
Around His throne,- where dwells

your

God!

LESSON LI.

NIGHT AND TRANQUILLITY.-SHELLEY.

[See Rule 9, p. 185.]

1. How beautiful this night! The balmiest sigh, Which vernal zephyrs breathe in Evening's ear,

2.

Were discord to the speaking quietude,

That wraps this moveless scene.

Heaven's ebon vault,

Studded with stars unutterably bright,

Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,

Seems like a canopy, which love had spread

To curtain the sleeping world.

Yon gentle hills,

Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;

3.

Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend,

So stainless, that their white and glittering spires
Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep,
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
So idly, that rapt Fancy deemeth it"
A metaphor of peace;· all form a scene,
Where musing Solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where Silence, undisturbed, might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so still!

The orb of day,

In southern climes, o'er ocean's waveless field,
Sinks sweetly smiling: not the faintest breath
Steals o'er th' unruffled deep; the clouds of eve
Reflect unmoved the lingering beam of day;
And Vesper's image on the western main
Is beautifully still.

LESSON LII.

DAVID AND GOLIATH.— MORE.

[Before reading this piece, let the pupil study the character of the speakers, and their language, and tell how it should be read. See I. Sam., chap. xvii., Personation, p. 200, Rules 8, and 12, p. 184, and 193.]

Goliath. Where is the mighty man of war who dares
Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief?

What victor king, what gen'ral drenched in blood,
Claims this high privilege? What are his rights?
What proud credentials does the boaster bring,
To prove his claim? What cities laid in ashes,
What ruined provinces, what slaughtered realms,
What heads of heroes, or what hearts of kings,
In battle killed, or at his altar slain,

Has he to boast? Is his bright armory

Thick-set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail,
Of vanquished nations, by a single arm
Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold,

So much a wretch, so out of love with life,
To dare the weight of this uplifted spear,
Which never fell innoxious?

I grudge the glory to his parting soul

To fall by this right hand. "T will sweeten death,
To know he had the honor to contend

With the dread son of Anak. Latest time

From blank oblivion shall retrieve his name,
Who dared to perish in unequal fight

With Gath's triumphant champion. Come, advance,
Philistia's gods, to Israel's. Sound, my herald,
Sound for the battle straight!

David. Behold thy foe!

Gol. I see him not.

Dav. Behold him here!

Gol. Say, where?

Direct my sight. I do not war with boys.

Dav. I stand prepared; thy single arm to mine. Gol. Why this mockery, minion? it may chance To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee; But tell me who, of all this numerous host, Expects his death from me? Which is the man, Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance!

Dav. Th' election of my sovereign falls on me. Gol. On thee! on thee! by Dagon, 't is too much! Thou curled minion! thou a nation's champion!

'T would move my mirth at any other time; But trifling's out of tune. Begone, light boy! And tempt me not too far.

Dav. I do defy thee,

Thou foul idolater! Hast thou not scorned

The armies of the living God I serve?

By me he will avenge upon thy head

Thy nation's sins and thine. Armed with his name
Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe

That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood.

Gol. Indeed! 't is wondrous well! Now, by my gods, The stripling plays the orator! Vain boy!

Keep close to that same bloodless war of words,
And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior!
Where is thy silvan crook, with garlands hung
Of idle field-flowers? Where thy wanton harp
Thou dainty-fingered hero? Better strike
Its note lascivious, or the lulling lute

Touch softly, than provoke the trumpet's rage.
I will not stain the honor of my spear
With thy inglorious blood. Shall that fair cheek
Be scarred with wounds unseemly? Rather go,
And hold fond dalliance with the Syrian maids;
To wanton measures dance; and let them braid
The bright luxuriance of thy golden hair;
They, for their lost Adonis, may mistake
Thy dainty form —

Dav. Peace, thou unhallowed railer!
O tell it not in Gath, nor let the sound
Reach Askelon, how once your slaughtered lords,
By mighty Samson, found one common grave!
When his broad shoulders the firm pillars heaved,
And to its base the tottering fabric shook.

Gol. Insulting boy! perhaps thou hast not heard
The infamy of that inglorious day,

When your weak hosts at Ebenezer pitched

Their quick-abandoned tents. Then, when your ark,
Your talisman, your charm, your boasted pledge
Of safety and success, was tamely lost!

And yet not tamely, since by me 't was won;

When, with this good right-arm, I thinned your ranks,
And bravely crushed, beneath a single blow,

The chosen guardians of this vaunted shrine,
Hophni and Phineas. The famed ark itself
I bore to Ashdod.

Dav. I remember too,

Since thou provok'st th' unwelcome truth, how all
Your blushing priests beheld their idol's shame;
When prostrate Dagon fell before the ark,
And your frail god was shivered. Then Philistia,
Idolatrous Philistia, flew for succor

To Israel's help, and all her smitten nobles
Confessed the Lord was God, and the blest ark,
Gladly, with reverential awe, restored '

Gol. By Ashdod's fane, thou li'st Now will I meet thee, Thou insect warrior! since thou darest me thus:

Already I behold thy mangled limbs,

Dissevered each from each, ere long to feed
The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well!
Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks,
And toss in air thy head all gashed with wounds;
Thy lips, yet quiv'ring with the dire convulsions
Of recent death! Art thou not terrified?

Dav. No.

True courage is not moved by breath of words;
But the rash bravery of boiling blood,
Impetuous, knows no settled principle,
A feverish tide, it has its ebbs and flows,
As spirits rise or fall, as wine inflames,