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Her loud', uncircumcised', tempestuous crew',
How ill-prepared to meet their God'! (were changed',)
Unchangeable';-the pilot at the helm
Was changed', and the rough captain', while he mouthed
The huge', enormous oath'. The fisherman',
That in his boat', expectant', watched his lines',
Or mended on the shore his net', and sung',
Happy in thoughtlessness', some careless air',
Heard Time depart', and felt the sudden change'.

In solitary deep', far out from land',
Or steering from the port with many a cheer',
Or while returning from long voyage', fraught
With lusty wealth', rejoicing t’have escaped
The dangerous main', and plagues of foreign climes'-
The merchant quaffed his native air', refreshed',
And saw his native hills', in the sun's light,
Serenely rise'; and thought of meetings glad',
And many days of ease and honour' spent
Among his friends'-unwarned man'; even then
The knell of Time broke on his reverie',
And', in the twinkling of an eye', his hopes',
All earthly', perished all': as sudden rose',
From out their watery beds', the Ocean's dead',
Renewed', and on the unstirring billows stood',
From pole to pole', thick covering all the sea'
Of every nation blent', and every age'.

Wherever slept one grain of human dust',
Essential organ of a human soul',
Wherever tossed', obedient to the call
Of God's omnipotence', it hurried on
To meet its fellow particles', revived',
Rebuilt', in union indestructible.
No atom of his spoils remained to death'.
From his strong arm', by stronger arm released',
Immortal now in soul and body both',
Beyond his reach', stood all the sons of men',
And saw', behind', his valley lie', unfeared'.

SECTION XXII.

Address to the Ocean.-BYRON.
OH'! that the desert were my dwelling place',
With one fair spirit for my minister',
That I might all forget the human race',
And', hating no one', love but only her!!
Ye elements-in whose ennobling stir'
I feel myself exalted 'Can ye not
Accord me such a being? Do I err

In deeming such inhabit many a spot'?
Though', with them to converse', can rarely be our lot'.

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There is a pleasure in the pathless woods',
There is a rapture on the lonely shore',
There is'.. society', where none intrudes',
By the deep sea', and musick in its roar':
I love not man the less', but naturea more',
From these our interviews', in which I steal
From all I may be', or have been before',

To mingle with the universe', and feel
What I can ne'erb express', yet cannot all conceal'.

Roll on', thou deep and dark-blue ocean'-rôll'!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain';
Man marks the earth with ruin';his control
Stops with the shore';- upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed', nor doth remain'
A shadow of man's ravage', save his ôwn',
When', for a moment',a like a drop of rain',

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan',
Without a grave', unknelled', uncoffined', and unknown'.

His steps are not upon thy paths';—thy fields'
Are not a spoil for him'; -thou doste arise
And shake him from thee';-the vile strength he wields'
For earth's destruction', thou doste all DESPISE',
Spurning him'... from thy bosom to the skies',
And sendst him', shivering', in thy playful spray',
And howling to his gods', where haply lies'

His petty hope', in some near port or bay,
And dashcst him again to earth':-—there let him lay's

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls'
Of rock-built cities', bidding nations quake',
And monarchs tremble in their capitals' -.
The oak leviathans', whose huge ribs make'
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee', and arbiter of war';
These are thy Toys', and', as the snowy flake',

They melt into thy yest of waves', which mar',
Alike', the Armada's pride', or spoils of Trafalgar.'s

Thy shores are empires', changed in all save thee'-
Assyria', Greece', Rome', Carthage', what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free',
And many a tyrant since'; their shores obey'
The stranger', slave', or savage'; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts':-not so thõů,
Unchangeable', save to thy wild waves' play'

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azureh brow'-
Such' .. as creation's dawn beheld', thou rollest now'.

Thou glorious mirror', where the Almighty's form'

Glasses itself in tempests'; in all time', Nå'tshůre. Nåre. Důth. Mo'mènt. Důst. Lie. &Tráf-ál-går'. ba'zhůre.

Calm or convulsed-in breeze', or gale', or storm',
Icing the pole', or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving'; boundless', endless', and sublime'-
The image of eternity —the throne
Of the Invisible'; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made'; each zone
Obeys thee'; thou goest forth'.. dread'... fathomless' ... alone!

And I have loved thee', Ocean'! and my joy
Of youthful sports', was' .. on thy breast to be
Borne', like thy bubbles', onward: from a boy'
I wantoned with thy breakers': they to me'
Were a delight'; and if the freshening sea'
Made them a terrour', 'twas a pleasing fear',
For I was', as it were', a a child of thee',

And trusted to thy billows far and near',
And laid my hand upon thy mane'-as I do here'.
My task is done -my song hath ceased'--my theme
Has died into an echo': it is fit'
The spell should break of this protracted dream'.
The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit
My midnight lamp'-and'.. what is writ',is writ' ..
Would it were worthier'! but I am not now
That which I have been'—and my visions flit'

Less palpably before me'-and the glow'
Which' .. in my spirit dwelt', is fluttering',... faint', .... and low'.

aWér. Written.

PROMISCUOUS PIECES.

SECTION 1. Colloquial Powers of Dr. Franklin.-WIRT. NEVER have I known such a fireside companion'. Great as he was', both as a statesmanand a philosopher', he never shone in a light more winning than when he was seen in a domestick circle'. It was once my good fortune to pass two or three weeks with him', at the house of a private gentleman',' in the back part of Pennsylvania'; and we were confined to the house during the whole of that time', by the unintermitting constancy and depth of the snows'. But confinement could never be felt where Franklin was an inmate'. His cheerfulness and his colloquial powers spread around him a perpetual spring'. When I speak', however', of his colloquial powers', I do not mean to awaken any notion analogous to that which Boswell has given us when he so frequently mentions the colloquial powers of Dr. Johnson'. The conversation of the latter continually reminds one of “ the pomp and circumstance of glorious war'.” It was', indeed', a perpetual contest for victory', or an arbitrary and despotick exaction of homage to his superior talents'. It was strong', acute', prompt', splendid', and vociferous'; as loud', stormy', and sublime' as those winds which he represents as shaking the Hebrides', and rocking the old castles that frowned upon the dark-rolling sea beneath'. But one gets tired of storms', however sublime they may be', and longs for the more orderly current of nature'.-Of Franklin', no one ever became tired'. There was no ambition of eloquence', no effort to shine', in any thing which came from him'. There was nothing which made any demand either upon your allegiance' or your admiration'.

His manner was as unaffected as infancy'. It was nature's self'. He talked like an old patriarch';e and his plainness and simplicity put you', at once', at your ease', and gave you the full and free possession and use of all your faculties'.

His thoughts were of a character to shine by their own light', aStates'mån—not, states'mun. "Jen'tl'mån. CHôm'dje. dEl’d'kwense not, el'o'kwunse, Pa'tré'årk,

without any adventitious aid'. They required only a medium of vision like his pure and simple style', to exhibit',a to the highest advantage', their native radianceb and beauty'. His cheerfulness was unremitting'. It seemed to be as much the effect of a systematick and salutary exercise of the mind', as of its superiour organization'. His wit was of the first order'. It did not show itself merely in occasional coruscations'; but, without any effort or force on his part', it shed a constants stream of the purest light over the whole of his discourse'. Whether in the company of commons or nobles', he was always the same', plain man'; always most perfectly at his ease', with his faculties in full play', and the full orbit of his genius forever clear and unclouded'. And then', the stores of his mind were inexhaustible'. He had commenced life with an attention so vigilant', that nothing had escaped his observation', and a judgment so solid', that every incident was turned to advantage'. His youth had not been wasted in idleness', nor overcast by intemperance'. He had been all his life a close and deep reader', as well as thinker'; and', by the force of his own powers', had wrought up the raw materials which he had gathered from books', with such exquisite skill and felicity', that he had added a hundred fold to their original value', and justly made them his own'.

SECTION II. Intellectual Qualities of Milton.—CHANNING. In speaking of the intellectual qualities of Milton, we may begin by observing that the very splendour of his poetick fame, has tended to obscure or conceal the extent of his mind, and the variety of its energies and attainments. To many, he seems only a poet, when, in truth, he was a profound scholar, a man of vast compass of thought, imbued thoroughly with all ancienta and modern learning, and able to master, to mould, to impreg. nate with his own intellectual power, his great and various acquisitions. He had not learned the superficial doctrine of a later day, that poetry flourishes most in an uncultivated soil, and that imagination shapes its brightest visions from the mists of a superstitious age; and he had no dread of accumulating knowledge lest he should oppress and smother his genius. He

a Egz-hib'it-not, eg-zib'it, Ra'de 'ånse. Kên'stånt-not, kon'stunt. dane tshent.

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