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For some vile petty theft, some paltry scudi —0
fVflLlIAM Collins was born in Chichester, England, December 25,1720, and died June 12,1756. He was a man of sensitive nature and melancholy temperament. His last years were clouded with disease and insanity. His poetical genius was of a high order, and many of his smaller poems are dis tiu,mished by imaginative splendor, an ethereal tone of sentiment, and subtle beauty of language. His " Ode to the Passions " is a very popular poem, and deservedly so, for nothing can surpass its picturesque energy, brilliant descriptions, and vivid coloring.]
1 When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
They snatched her instruments of sound;
2 First, Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewildered laid:
3 Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire, In lightnings owned his secret stings;
4 With woful measures, wan Despair—
Low, sullen sounds! — his grief beguiled,
") But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair.
6 And longer had she sung — but, with a frown,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And, ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat:
Dejected Pity, at his side,
Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.
7 Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed;
Sad proof of thy distressful state!
And, now it courted Love; now, raving, called on Hate.
8 With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired;
And, from her wild, sequestered seat,
In notes, by distance made more sweet,
And, dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels joined the sound:
(Round a holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing,) In hollow murmurs died away.
9 But, O! how altered was its sprightlier tone,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung! —
The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen,
Satyr s and sylvan boys, were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green;
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear,
And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen speax.
1Q Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: —
He, with viny crown advancing,
Amid the festal-sounding shades,
And he, amid his frolic play,
CXXi —THE CHURCH-YAm
Nicolai Karamsin, a Russian historian and man of letters, was I rn is 1766, and died In 1826. His writings are numerous both In prose and very -. but his principal work, which was received with great favor by his count) jmz. eras a " History of Russia," In twelve volumes.
1 How frightful the grave t how deserted and drear 1
2 How peaceful the grave! its quiet howdeep:
3 There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, And snakes in its nettle weeds hiss.
4 How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb:
No tempests are there: — but the nightingales come, And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.
5 The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave: 'T is the vulture's abode; 't is the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the earth with their fangs.
6 There the cony at evening disports with his love, Or rests on the sod; while the turtles above,
Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.
7 There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath, And loathsome decay fill the dwelling of death;
The trees are all barren and bare!
6 O, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume, With lilies and jessamine fair.