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But still, as wilder grew the wind,

And as the night-grew drearer,
Adown the glen-rade armed men,

Their trampling-sounded nearer.
"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries
"Though tempests round us gather
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."
The boat-has left the stormy land,
A stormy sea-before her-
When, oh! too strong for human han,
The tempest-gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed, amidst the roar
Of waters, fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin-reached that fatal shore,
His wrath-was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismayed, through storm, and sha415,
His child-he did discover;

One lovely hand-she stretched for aid,
And one-was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,
"Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief:
My daughter! oh, my daughter!"
"Twas vain: the loud waves-lashed the shore,
Return, or aid-preventing:

691. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. A gentleman, Mr.President, speaking of Cesar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon?" How came he to the brink of that river! How dared he cross it! Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? Howdared he cross that river. Oh! but he paused up. on the brink! He should have perished upon the brink, ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed! Whydoes the verymurderer,his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscience! 'Twas that made Cesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon! Compassion! What compassion! The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to cut! Cesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Cesar's province. From what did it separate his province? From his country. 693. PROGRESS OF GOVERNMENT. In Was that country a desert? No: it was culti-government, as in science, it is useful, often vated and fertile; rich and populous! Its sons to review its progress, and to revert, even to were men of genius,spirit,and generosity! Its its simplest elements. It will be salutary, fredaughters were lovely,susceptible,and chaste! quently to ascertain, how far society, and Friendship was its inhabitant! Love was its laws, in their present condition, accord with inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhab- those, which we have been accustomed to itant! Liberty was its inhabitant! All bound- consider, as their first and purest principles; ed by the stream of the Rubicon. What was deviated from their original form and struchow far, in the lapse of time, they may have Cesar, that stood upon the bank of that stream? ture. Even when we recur to inquiries, A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the merely speculative, to imaginary" social corheart of that country! No wonder that he tracts," to abstract rights, we may often gath paused-no wonder if,his imagination wrought er instruction, and detect some concealed, or upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood. neglected truth, applicable to our own times instead of water; and heard groans instead of and to our own immediate condition. murmurs! No wonder if some gorgon horror had then turned him into stone! But, no! -he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged!he crossed!-and Rome was free no more!

692. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A chieftain-to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,

To row us o'er the ferry."

The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left-lamenting.-Campbell.

But when a government is derived, not from fictitious assumptions, not from ancient or obscure sources, or traditions, but, from actual, and specific agreement; when many, and various interests have been combined and compromised, and a written covenant has assured to many parties, rights, and powers, and privileges, it becomes a duty to revise this compact frequently and strictly, that no one entitled to its protection may be de

"Now, who be ye-would cross Loch-Gyle, prived, through inadvertence on the one part,

This dark-and stormy water?"
"O! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this-lord Ullin's daughter.
"And fast before her father's men,
Three days-we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,

My blood-would stain the heather.
"His horsemen-hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?"
Out spoke the hardy, Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief-I'm ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:
"And, by my word! the bonny bird
In danger, shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."
By this, the storm grew loud-apace,
The water-wraith-was shrieking;
And, in the scowl of heaven, each face
Grow dark--as they were speaking.

or encroachment on the other, of his vested
rights; and that no changes may be introdu-
ced into the compact, but by the actual con
sent of those, who are parties to the covenant
-Every spirit, as it is most pure,
And hath in it the more of heavenly light
So it the fairer body doth procure

To habit in, and it more fairly dight
With cheerful grace, and amiable sight;
For of the soul, the body form doth take,
For soul is form, and doth the body make.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey.

This pleasing anxious being e'ei resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind! On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires: Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted firea.

694. ADVANTAGES OF KNOWLEDGE. Knowledge, in general, expands the mind, exalts the faculties, refines the taste of pleasure, and opens innumerable sources of intellectual enjoyment. By means of it, we become less dependent for satisfaction upon the sensitive appetites; the gross pleasures of sense are more easily despised, and we are made to feel the superiority of the spiritual to the material part of our nature. Instead of being continually solicited by the influence, and irritation of sensible objects, the mind can retire within herself, and expatiate in the cool and quiet walks of contemplation. The poor man, who can read, and who possesses a taste for reading, can find entertainment at home, without being tempted to repair to the public house for that purpose. His mind can find him employment, when his body is at rest; he does not lie prostrate, and afloat, on the current of incidents, liable to be carried, whithersoever the impulse of appetite may direct. There is, in the mind of such a man, an intellectual spring, urging him to the pursuit of mental good; and if the minds of his family, also, are a little cultivated, conversation becomes the more interesting, and the sphere of domestic enjoyment enlarged.

The calm satisfaction, which books afford, puts him into a disposi ion to relish, more exquisitely, the tranquil delight, inseparable from the indulgence of conjugal, and parental affection and as he will be more respectable, in the eyes of his family, than he, who can teach them nothing, he will be naturally induced to cultivate, whatever may preserve, and shun whatever would impair that respect. He, who is inured to reflection, will carry his views beyond the present hour; he will extend his prospect a little into futurity, and be disposed to make some provision for his approaching wants; whence will result, an increased motive to industry, together with a care to husband his earnings, and to avoid unnecessary expense.

The poor man who has gained a taste for good books, will, in all likelihood, become thoughtful, and when you have given the poor a habit of thinking, you have conferred on them a much greater favor, than by the gift of a large sum of money; since you have put them in possession of the principle of all legitimate prosperity.-R. Hall.

TIME'S SOFTENING POWER.

As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower
Awes not so deeply in its morning hour,
As when the shades of time serenely fall
On every broken arch and ivied wall;
The tender images we love to trace,
Steal from each year a melancholy grace!
And as the sparks of social love expand;
As the heart opens in a foreign land,
Ard with a brother's warmth, a brother's snue,
The stranger greets each native of his isle;
So scenes of life, when present and confest,
Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;
Yet not an image, when remotely viewed,
However trivial and however rude,

But wins the heart and wakes the social sigh,
With every claim of close affinity.

Hope and fear, alternate, swayed his breast,
Like light-and shade-upon a waving field,
Coursing each other, when the flying clouds
Now tide and now reveal-the sun

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That earth-has no creations, like the figments of our sleep.
Her father-lov'd he not his child-above all earthly things'
As traders love the merchandize, from which their profit spt agai
Old age came by, with tottering step, and, for sordid gold,
with which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was old;
And thus, (for oh! her sire's stern heart-was steel'd against her
The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her despair,
I saw them through the church-yard pass, and such a nuptial train,
I would not for the wealth of worlds, should greet my sight g
The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve-in Eden's bowers,
Shed bitter tears-upon the path they should have strowa w t

prayer,)

Sowers;

Who had not thought, that white-rob'd band--the fucural array
Of one-an early doom had call'd-from life's gay scene away?
The priest-beheld the bridal pair before the altar stand,
And sigh'd, as he drew forth his book, with slow, reluctaat hand;
He saw the bride's flow'r-wreath'd hair, he mark'd her streaming

eyes,

And deem'd it less a christian rite, than a pagan sacrifice;
And when he called on Abraham's God to bless the wedded pair,
It seem'd a very mockery-to breath so vain a prayer.
I saw the palsy'd bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensign dress'd,
A shroud-were fitter garment far-for him, than bridal vest;
I marked him, when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose s
He held it-with a miser's clutch; it was his darling gold;
His shrivell'd hand-was wet with tears, she shed, alas! in vain,
And trembled like an autumn leaf-beneath the beating rain.
I've seen her since that fatal morn: her golden fetters rest-
As e'en the weight of incubus-upon her aching breast;
And when the victor (death,) shall come, to dea, the welcome

bold,

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assuage;

́age.

Thus early-beauty-sheds her bloom-on the wintry breast o

696. THE DEW-DROP IN SPRING.

How pure! how bright is the tiny thing!
It beams where the birds of the morning sing;
It looks like the tear from an angel's eye,
Or a pearl that has dropped from the vernal sky
To deck the silvery robe of the dawn,
As it weds the flowers on the grassy lawn.
In the silver cup of the daisy it lies;

It smiles on the lark as he upward flies;
In a chariot of cloud it shall glide to the sun;
On a pathway of incense its course shall be run;
It returns again on a sunset ray,

And forgets in its slumber the sports of the day.
The emblem of virtue unsullied, it seems-
The emblem of beauty we see in our dreams;
'Tis a pledge of faith, by the breeze to be given,
With amorous sighs to the clouds of heaven.
Oh, who can tell, but the fairies keep
Their nightly watch where the dew-drops sleep
When the rose unfolds its voluptuous charm,
When the sun is high, and the earth grows warm,
'Tis then that the dew-drop shines most bright,
'Tis then that it rivals the diamond's light,
As it bids farewell to the fairy scene,
And melts into air where its bower has been.
All men-thirk all men mortal, but themselves,
Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate,
Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread

697. SPECIMEN OF INDIAN LANGUAGE. We are happy, in having buried, under ground, the red axe, that has so often been ayed with the blood of our brethren. Now, in this fort, we inter the axe, and plant the tree of Peace. We plant a tree, whose top will reach the sun, and its branches spread abroad, so that it shall be seen afar off. May its growth never be stifled and choked; but may it shade both your country and ours with its leaves. Let us make fast its roots, and extend them to the uttermost of your colonies. If the French should come to shake this tree, we should know it by the motion of its roots reaching into our country. May the Great Spirit-allow us to rest, in tranquillity, upon our mats, and never again dig up the axe, to cut down the tree of Peace! Let the earth be trod hard over it, where it lies buried. Let a strong stream run under the pit, to wash the evil away, out of our sight and remembrance. The fire, that had long burned in Albany, is extinguished. The bloody bed is washed clean, and the tears are wiped from our eyes. We now renew the Lovenant-chain of friendship. Let it be kept bght and clean as silver, and not suffered to contract any rust. Let not any one pull away his arm from it.

MARSEILLES HYMN OF LIBERTY.

Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory!
Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires, hoary,
Behold their tears-and hear their cries.
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty-lie bleeding?
To arms to ARMS! ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath:
March on, march on, all hearts resolv'd,
On VICTORY-or death.

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings, confederate, raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo our fields and cities-blaze,
And shall we basely-view the ruin,

While lawless force with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation-far and wide,
With crimes and blood, his hands imbruing?
To arms to ARMS! ye brave, &c.
With luxury and pride surrounded,
The vile-insatiate despots dare,
Their thirst of power and gold unbounded,
To mete, and vend-the light-and air.
Like beasts of burden-would they load us,
Like gods-would bid their slaves adore,
But man-is man, and who is more?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us }
To arms to ARMS! ye brave, &c.
Oh, LIBERTY, can man resign thee,
Once-having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee;
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long--the world has wept, bewailing,
That falsehood's dagger-tyrants wield,
But FREEDOM-is our sword, and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms to ARMS! ye brave, &c.

698. OTHELLO S APOLOGY.

Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors:
My very noble, and approv'd good masters:
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true,
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more.

I have married her :

Rude am I in speech, And little blessed with the set phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years pith, [us'd

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle;
And therefore, little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking of myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will, a round, unvarnish'd tale deliver,
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what
charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For such proceedings I am charg'd withal)
I won his daughter with.

Her father lov'd me; oft invited me ;
Still questioned me the story of my life,
From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunos
That I had past.

I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days,
To the very moment, that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chancer:
Of moving accidents by flood, and field:
Of hairbreath 'scapes, in the imminent dead!
Of being taken by the insolent foe, [breach,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel's history.

All these to hear,
Would Desdemona seriously incline;

But still the house affairs would draw her thence. Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear, Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate; Whereof by parcels, she had something heard, But not distinctly.

I did consent;

And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke,
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains, a world of sighs.
She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing
"Twas pitiful; 'twas wondrous pitiful; [strange;
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wich'C
That heaven-had made her such a man.
She thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake
She lov'd me, for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This is the only witchcraft, which I've used.
Some, light of heart, may scorn, ir later years,
Those dear memorials-of a calmer time;
While others-water them with life's last tears,
And bear their faded charins from clime to clime

699. MAJESTY OF THE LAW. How imposing is the majesty of the law! how calm her dignity; how vast-her power; how firm, and tranquil, in her reign! It is not by fleets, and arms, by devastation, and wrong, by op pression, and blood-she maintains her sway, and executes her decrees. Sustained by justice, reason, and the great interests of man, she but speaks, and is obeyed. Even those, who do not approve, hesitate not-to support her; and the individual, upon whom her judgment falls, knows, that submission-is not only a duty, he must perform, but, that the security, and enjoyment, of all that is dear to him, depend upon it.

A mind-accustomed to acknowledge no Dower, but physical force, no obedience, but personal fear, must view, with astonishment, a feeble individual, sitting, with no parade of strength, surrounded by no visible agents of power, issuing his decrees with oracular authority; while the rich, and the great, the first and the meanest-await, alike, to perform his will. Still more wonderful is it-to behold the co-ordinate officers of the same government, yielding their pretensions to his higher influence: the executive, the usual depository and instrument of power; the legislature even the representative of the people, yield a respectful acquiescence-to the judgments of the tribunals of the law, pronounced by the minister, and expounder of the law. Is it enough for him to say-"It is the opinion of the court-"and the farthest corner of our republic-feels, and obeys the mandate. What a sublime spectacle! This is indeed, the empire of the law; and safe, and happy-are all they, who dwell within it.-Hopkinson.

700. SPEECH OF CATILINE, BEFORE THE ROMAN
SENATE, ON HEARING HIS SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT.
"Banish'd--from Rome!"-what's banish'd, but set
From daily contact-of the things I loathe! [free
'Tried-and convicted traitor!"-Who says this?
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head? [chain!
Banished!"-I thank you for 't. It breaks my
I held some slack allegiance till this hour-
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords;
I scorn-to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you-in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you:-here I fling
Hatred, and full defiance in your face.
Your consul's merciful. For this-all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline.
"Traitor!" I go-but I return. This-trial!
Here I devote your senate! I've had wrongs,
To stir a fever in the blood of age,

Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel.
This day's the birth of sorrows!-This hour's work
Will breed proscriptions.-Look to your hearths,
my lords,

701. DOCTOR AND PUPIL.

A pupil of the Esculapian schoo.,
Was just prepared to quit his master's rule:
Not that he knew his trade, as it appears,
But that he then had learnt it seven years
One morn, he thus addressed his master:
"Dear sir, my honored father bids me say,
If I could now and then a visit pay,
He thinks, with you,-to notice how you do,
My business I might learn a little faster."
«The thought is happy," the preceptor cries:
"A better method he could scarce device;
So Bob," (his pupil's name) "it shall be 30;
And when I next pay visits, you shall go."
To bring that hour, alas! time briskly fled:
With dire intent away they went,
And now, behold them at a patient's bed
The master-doctor solemnly perused
His victim's face, and o'er his symptoms mused;
Looked wise, said nothing—an unerring way,
When people nothing have to say:
Then felt his pulse, and smelt his cane,
And paused, and blinked, and smelt again,

And briefly of his corps performed each motion Manoeuvres that for Death's platoon are meant: A kind of a Make-ready-and-Present,

Before the fell discharge of pill and potion. At length, the patient's wife he thus addressed: "Madam, your husband's danger's great, And (what will never his complaint abate,) The man's been eating oysters, I perceive ""Dear! you're a witch, I verily believe," Madam replied, and to the truth confessed. Skill so prodigious, Bobby, too, admired; And home returning, of the sage inquired

How these same oysters came into his head? « Psha! my dear Bob, the thing was plain-Sure that can ne'er distress thy brain;

I saw the shells lie underneath the bed."
So wise, by such a lesson grown,
Next day, Bob ventured out alone,

And to the self-same sufferer paid his courtBut soon, with haste and wonder out of breath, Returned the stripling minister of death,

And to his master made this dread report: "Why, sir, we ne'er can keep that patient under · Zounds such a man I never came across! The fellow must be dying, and no wonder,

For ne'er believe me if he has n't eat a horse:" "A horse!" the elder man of physic cried, As if he meant his pupil to deride"How got so wild a notion in your head?" "How! think not in my duty I was idle; Like you, I took a peep beneath the bed,

And there I saw a saddle and a bridle !"

Mr. Locke was asked, how he had contrived to accumulate a mine of knowledge so rich, yet so extensive and so deep. He replied, that he attributed what little he knew to the not having been ashamed to ask for information, and to the rule ne had laid down, of conversing with all de scriptions of men, on those topics chiefly, that formed their own peculiar professions

For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gode,
Shapes hot from Tartarus! all shames, and crimes;
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisonir g his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch, and axe,
Making his wild sport-of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy-comes down on you, like Night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.-Croly. I or pursuits.

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saw it tread upon a lus far,

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

When marshaled-on the nightly plain,
The glittering host-bestud the sky;
One star alone, of all the train,

702. THE RESURRECTION OF THE LORD. | And the fell blast, that sweeps Arabian sands, Twice--had the sun--gone down upon the It withered-every floweret of the vale. earth, and all as yet, was silent--at the sepulchre. Death-held his sceptre-over the Son of God. Still--and silent-the hours A maid-of whom the world-could say no harm passed on; the guards-stood at their post; And, when she sunk-beneath the mortal wound the rays of the midnight moon-gleamed on It broke-into the sacred sepulchre, their helmets, and on their spears. The ene- And dragged its victim--from the hallowed & mies of Christ-exulted in their success; the For public eyes to gaze on. It hath wept, hearts of his friends-were sunk in despon-That from the earth-its victim passed awny, dency; the spirits of glory--waited, in anx- Ere it had taken vengeance-on his virtues. ious suspense-to behold the event, and wondered at the depth-of the ways of God. Yea, I have seen this cursed child of Envy, At length, the morning star, arising in the Breathe mildew-on the sacred fame--of him, east, announced the approach of light. The Who once had been his country's benefactor, third day-began to dawn upon the world; And, on the sepulchre-of his repose, when, on a sudden, the earth-trembled-to Bedewed with many a tributary tear, its centre; and the powers of heaven were Dance, in the moonlight of a summer's sky, shaken; an angel of God-descended; the savage satisfaction.-Milford Bard. guards-shrunk back-from the terror of his presence, and fell prostrate on the ground. "His countenance-was like lightning, and his raiment--white as snow." He rolled away the stone from the door of the sepulchre, and sat upon it. But who is this, that cometh forth from the tomb, with dyed garments from the bed of death? He, that is glorious in his appearance, walking in the greatness of his strength? It is thy prince, Ŏ Zion! Christian, it is your Lord! He hath trodden the wine-press alone; he hath stained his raiment with blood; but now, as the first born-from the womb of nature, he meets-the morning of his resurrection. He arises a conqueror-from the grave; he returns with blessings-from the world of spirits; he brings salvation-to the sons of men. Never-did the returning sun-usher in a day so glorious. It was the jubilee-of the universe. The morning stars sung together, and all the sons of God shouted aloud--for joy. The Father of mercies--looked down from his throne in the heavens; with complacency he beheld his world--restored; he saw his work, that it was good. Then, did the desert rejoice, the face of nature was gladdened before him, when the blessings of the Eternal descended, as the dews of heaven, for the refreshing of the nations.

703. SLANDER.
What is slander?

'Tis an assassin-at the midnight hour
Urged on by Envy, that, with footstep soft,
Steals on the slumber-of sweet innocence,
And with the dark drawn dagger of the mind,
Drinks deep-the crimson current of the heart.
It is a worm, that crawls on beauty's cheek,
Like the vile viper-in a vale of flowers,
And riots in ambrosial blossoms there
It is a coward-in a coat of mail,
That wages war-against the brave, and wise,
And, like the long lean lizard, that will mar
The lion's sleep, it wounds the noblest breast.
Oft have I seen-this demon of the soul,
This murderer of sleep, with visage smooth,
And countenance-serene as heaven's own sky;
But storms-were raving-in the world of thought:
Oft, have I seen a smile-upon its brow;
But, like the lightning-from a stormy cloud,
It shocked the soul-and disappeared in darkness.
Oft, have I seen it weep-at tales of wo, [anguish;
And siglas 'twere the heart-would break with
But, like the drop, that drips from Java's tree,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to God-the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone, the Savior speaks,
It is the star of Bethlehem.
Once, on the raging seas I rode ;

The storm was loud, the night was dark,
The ocean yawned, and rudely blow'd
The wind, that tossed my foundering bark
Deep horror, then, my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem,
When suddenly, a star arose,

It was the star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease.
And through the storm, and danger's thru L
It led me to the port of peace.
Now, safely moor'd-my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
Forever, and forever more,

The star, the star of Bethlehem.—White '
EVE'S LOVE FOR ADAM.

To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd.
"My author and disposer, what thou bid'st
Unargued I obey: so God ordains;

God is thy law, thou mine: to know no more
Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise.
With thee conversing I forget all time;

All seasons and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flowe
Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild; then silent night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these gems of heaven, her starry train:
But neither breath of morn, when she ascend
With charm of carliest birds; nor rising sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower.
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after shower
Nor grateful evening mild; nor silentnight,
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,
Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet

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