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Thou glorious mirror', where the Almighty's form'
Glasses itself in tempests^; in all time,
Calm or convulsed'in breezè, or galé, or storm', *
Icing the polé, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving' ;-boundless', endless', and sublimé-
The image of eternity'—the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slimé
The monsters of the deep are madě; each zoné
Obeys theè; thou goest forth', dread', fathomless', alonè.

And I have loved theé, ocean'! and my joy’
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to bé
Borne, like thy bubbles', onward": from a boy
I wantoned with thy breakers —they to mé
Were a delight'; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror'—'twas a pleasing fear';
For I was', as it weré, a child of thee',
And trusted to thy billows far and near',
And laid


hand upon thy manek-as I do herè.





An is Ah

( Fri Ve

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Iambic. Three feet and four.

Matt. xvii. 4.
METHINKS it is good to be here;
If thou wilť let us build",—but for whom'?

No Elias and Moses appear',
But the shadows of us that encompass the gloom',
The abode of the dead' and the place of the tomb'.

Shall we build to Ambition'? Oh, no!
Affrighted' he shrinketh away';

For, see! they would fix him below!
In a small narrow cavé, and begirt with cold clay',
To the meanest of reptiles a den and a prey.

To Beauty'? Ah, nò !she forgets'
The charms which she wielded before-

Nor knows the foul worm, that he frets'
The skin', which', but yesterday', fools could adore',
For the smoothness it held', or the tint which it worè.

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* Emphasis often inverts the inflections. See under Emphasis.

Shall we build to the purple of Pride'
The trappings which dizen the proud ?

Alas, they are all lāid āsidē-
And here 's neither dross nor adornment allowed',

But the long winding-sheet' and the fringe of the shroud ! 5. To Riches'? Alas', 'tis in vain – Who hid', in their turns' have been hid —

The treasures are squandered again —
And here in the grave are all metals forbid',

But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin' lid'. 6. To the pleasures which mirth can affordThe revel, the laugh' and the jeer' ?

Ah! here is a plentiful board,
But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer',
And none but the worm is a reveler herè.

Shall we build to Affection and Lové ?
Ah, no! they have withered and died“,

Or fled with the spirit abovè.
Friends', brothers', and sisters', are laid side by side,

Yet none have saluted', and none have replied'. 8. Unto Sorrow' ? The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob', not a sigh' meets mine ear',

Which compassion itself could relieve !
Ah'! sweétly they slumber', nor hope", love', nor fear;

Peace, Peace, is the watch-word", the only one here.
9. Unto Death', to whom monarchs must bow' ?
Ah, no! for his empire is known',

And here there are trophies enowo!
Beneath the cold dead', and around the dark stoné,

Are the signs of a scepter that none may disown! 10. The first tabernacle to Hope we will build',

And look for the sleepers around us to rise ;

The second to Faith', which ensures it fulfilled
And the third to the Lamb' of the great sacrificé,
Who bequeathed us them both' when he rose to the skies



Iambic. Epic.
O UNEXPECTED stroke; worse than of Death'!
Must I thus leave theé, Paradisé ? thus leavé

Theé, native soil', these happy walks and shades,

Fit haunt of gods' ? where I had hope to spend', 5. Quiet', though sad', the respite of that day

That must be mortal to us both'. O flowers',
That never will in other climate grow',
My early visitation', and my last"

At ev'n'; which I bred up with tender hand'
10. From the first opening bud', and gave ye names',

Who now shall rear ye to the sun', or rank'
Your tribes', and water from th' ambrosial fount'?
Thee lastly', nuptial bow'r', by me adorned'

With what to sight or smell was sweet', from thee 15. How shall I part, and whither wander down'

Into a lower world', to this' obscuré
And wild'? how shall we breathe in other air'
Less puré, accustomed to immortal fruits' ?

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How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard? When wilt thou arise out of sleep?

Not until you have had another' nap' you reply'; not till there has been a little more folding of the hands'!

Various philosophers and naturalists have attempted to define man'. I never was satisfied with their labors ; absurd' to pronounce him a two-legged', unfeathered animal', when it is obvious' he is a sleepy one. In this world there is business enough for every individual': a sparkling sky over his head to admire', a soil under his feet to till”, and innumerable objects', useful', and pleasant', to choosè. But such, in general, is the provoking indolence of our species', that the lives of many'. if impartially journalized', might be truly said to have consisted of a series of slumbers. Some men are infested with day. dreams', as well as by visions of the night': they travel a cer. tain insipid round, like the blind horse of the mill', and', as Bolingbroke observes', perhaps beget others to do the like after them. They may sometimes open their eyes a littlé, but they are soon dimmed by some lazy fog'; they may sometimes stretch a limb', but its efforts are soon palsied by procrastination. Yawning amid tobacco fumes', they seem to have no hopes, except that their bed will soon be madè, and no fears',

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except that their slumbers will be broken by business clamoring at the door.

How tender and affectionate is the reproachful question of Solomon, in the texto, “ When wilt thou arise out of sleep' ?” The Jewish prince, whom we know to be an active oné, from the temple which he erected', and the books which he composed', saw, when he cast his eyes around the city', half his subjects asleep. Though in many a wise proverb he had warned them of the baneful effects of indolence, they were deaf to his charming voicé, and blind to his noble example. The men servants and the maid servants, whom he had hired', nodded over their domestic duties in the royal kitchen', and when', in the vineyards he had planted', he looked for grapes', lô, they brought forth wild grapes, for the vintager was drowsy.

At the present time, few Solomons exist to preach against pillows', and never was there more occasion for a sermon. Our country being at peacé, not a drum is heard to rouse the slothful. But', though we are exempted from the tumult and vicissitudes of war', we should remember that there are many posts of duty', if not of danger', and at these we should vigilantly stand. If we will stretch the hand of exertion', means to acquire competent wealth, and honest famé, abound"; and when such ends are in view, how shameful to close our eyes'! He who surveys the paths of active life, will find them so numerous and long, that he will feel the necessity of early rising and late taking resť, to accomplish so much travel. He who pants for the shade of speculation', will find that literature cannot flourish in the bowers of indolence and monkish gloom. Much midnight oil must be consumed, and innumerable pages examined', by him whose object is to be really wise. Few hours has that man to steep', and not one to loiter', who has many coffers of wealth to fill, or many cells in his memory to store.

Among the various men whom I see in the course of my pilgrimage through this world', I cannot frequently find those who are broad awake. Sloth', a powerful magician', mutters a witching spelly, and deluded mortals tamely suffer this drowsy being to bind a fillet over their eyes. All their activity is employed in turning themselves like the door on a rusty hingè, and all the noise they make in the world' is a snore. When I see one, designed by nature for noble purposes', indolently declining the privilege, and heedless', like Esau', bartering the birthright for what is of less worth than his red pottage of lentils',—for liberty to sit still and lie quietly',-I think I seé, not a man', but an oyster'. The drone in society', like that fish on our shores", might as well be sunken in the mud', and en

closed in a shell', as stretched on a couch', or seated in a chimney corner.

The season is now approaching fast, when some of the most plausible excuses for a little more sleep must fail. Exonerated by indulgence', the slothful are of all men most impatient of cold", and they deem it never more intensé than in the morning. But the last bitter month has rolled away, and now, could I persuade to the experiment', the sluggard may discover that he may toss off the bed-quilt, and try the air of early day, without being congealed! He may be assured that sleep is a very stupid employment', and differs very little from death', except in duration. He may receive it implicitly', upon the faith both of the physician and the preacher', that morning is friendly to the health' and the heart'; and if the idler is so manacled by the chains of habit that he can', at first', do no môre, he will do wisely and well to inhale pure air, to watch the rising sun', and mark the magnificence of nature.



The road which it was necessary for the pedler and the English captain to travel, in order to reach the shelter of the hills, lay, for half a mile, in full view from the door of the building', that had so recently been the prison of the latter ; running for the whole distance over the rich plain, that spreads to the very foot of the mountains, which here rise in a nearly perpendicular ascent from their bases', it the turned short to the right', and was obliged to follow the windings of naturé, as it won its

way into the bosom of the Highlands. To preserve the supposed difference in their stations', Harvey* rode a short distance ahead of his companion, and maintained the sober, dignified pace, that was suited to his character. On their right, the regiment of foot', that we have already mentioned', lay in tents"; and the sentinels', who guarded their encampment', were to be seen moving, with measured tread, under the skirts of the hills themselves. The first impulse of Henry was, certainly', to urge the beast he rode to his greatest speed at oncè, and', by a coup-de-main't not only to accomplish his escapé, but relieve himself from the torturing suspense of

* Harvey is the pedler. + Coo-de-mang; ng as in mangle. A bold stroke.

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