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642. NOBILITY OF LABOR. Why, in the 643, DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALON. great scale of things, is labor ordained for us? Easily, had it so pleased the great Ordainer, Till the last echo-died: then, throwing off

The king-stood still, might it have been dispensed with. The world itself, might have been a mighty ma- The sack-cloth—from his vrow, and laying back chinery, for producing all that man wants. The pall—from the still features of his child, Houses might have risen like an exhalation, He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth “ With the sound

In the resistless eloquence of woe :
Of dulcet symphonies, and voices sweet,
Built like a temple.”

Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die! Gorgeous furniture might have been placed

Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ! in them, and soft couches and luxurious ban- That death-should settle--in thy glorious eye, quets spread, by hands unseen; and man, And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! clothed with fabrics of nature's weaving, How could he mark thee-for the silent tomb, rather than with imperial purple, might have

My proud boy, Absalom! been sent to disport himself in those Elysian palaces.

Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, “ Fair scene!” I imagine you are saying : As to my bosom--I have tried to press thee. “ fortunate for us had it been the scene or- How was I wont-to feel my pulses thrill, dained for human life!” But where, then, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, had been human energy, perseverance, pa- and hear thy sweet—my father,' from these tience, virtue, heroism ? Cût off labor with one blow, from the world, and mankind had

And cold lips, Absalom !

[dumb, sunk to a crowd of Asiatic voluptuaries. The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush

Noit had not been fortunate! Better, Of music, and the voices of the young; that the earth be given to man as a dark mass, And life will pass me-in the mantling blush, whereupon to labor. Better, that rude, and un

And the dark tresses-to the soft winds flung; sightly materials be provided in the ore-bed, and in the forest, for him to fashion in splen- But thou-no more, with thy sweet voice, shall dor and beauty. Better I say, not because To meet me, Absalom!

[come of that splendor, and beauty, but, because But, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, the act of creating them, is better than the

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, things themselves; because exertion is nobler than enjoyment; because the laborer is greater How will its love for thee, as I depart, [token! and more worthy of honor, than the idler.

Yearn for thine ear-to drink its last-deep I call upon those whom I address, to stand It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, up for the nobility of labor. It is heaven's So see thee, Absalom ! great ordinance for human improvement. And now-farewell ! 'Tis hard—to give thee up, Let not the great ordinance be broken down.

With death-so like a gentle slumber on thee: What do I say? It is broken down; and it has been broken down for ages. Let'it then And thy dark sin !-oh! I could drink the cup, be built again; here, if any where, on the If, from this wo, its bitterness had won thee. shores of a new world-of a new civilization. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, But how, it may be asked, is it broken

My erring Absalom ?"

[home, down? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do indeed toil, but they too generally

He covered up his face, and bowed himself, do, because they must. Many submit to it, A moment, on his child; then, giving him as in some sort, a degrading necessity; and A look of melting tenderness, he clasped they desire nothing so much on earth, as an His hands, convulsively, as if in prayer; escape from it. They fulfil the great law of And, as a strength were given him of God, labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit. He rose up, calmly, and composed the pall, To some field of labor, mental or manual, Firmly, and decently, and left him there,every idler should hasten, as a chosen, coveted field of improvement.

As if his rest-had been a breathing sleep. Willis. But so he is not compelled to do, under the The theatre was from the very first, teachings of our imperfect civilization. On The favorite haunt of sin ; though honest men, the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in idleness. This way of Some very honest, wise and worthy men, thinking, is the heritage of the absurd and Maintained it might be turned to good account: unjust feudal system, under which serfs la- | And so perhaps it might, but never was. bored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fight- From first-o last-it was an evil place : ing and feasting. It is time that this oppro- And now—such things were acted there, as made brium of toil were done away.

The devils blush: and, from the neighborhood, Ashamed to toil? Ashamed of thy dingy work-shop, and dusty labor-field; of thy hard Angels, and holy men, trembling, retired : hand, scarred with service more honorable And what with dreadful aggravation-crowned than that of war; of thy soiled and weather- This dreary time, was--sin against the light. stained garments, on which mother nature has all men knew God, and, knowing, disobeyed; embroidered mist, sun and rain, fire and steam, and gloried to insult him—to his face. her own heraldic honors ? Ashamed of those tokens, and titles, and envious of the flaunt- Look round—the habitable world, how fewing robes of imbecile idleness, and vanity ? Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue! It is treason to nature, it is impiety to heaven; 'Tis all men's office-to speak patienceit is breaking

heaven's great ordinance. Toil, To those that toil-under a load of sorrow. I repeat-toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood,- | 'This the first sanction-nature-gave to man, the only true nobility!- Dewey.

Each other to assist, in what they can

644. MARCO BOZZARRIS.

645, MAID OF MALAHIDE. He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the

In the church of Malahide, in Ireland, are the tomb and effigy site of the ancient Platea, August 20, 1823, and expired in the mo- of the Lady Maid Plunkett, sister of the first Lord Dunsanny, of ment of victory. His last words were "To die for liberty, is a whom it is recorded that she was maid, wife, and widow in one pleasure, and not a pain."

day." Her first husband, Hussy, Baron of Galtrim, was called

from the altar to head “a hosting of the English against the At midnight,-in his guarded tent,

Irish," and was brought back to the bridal banquet a corpse, upor The Turk-was dreaming of the hour,

the shields of his followers. When Greece,-her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble--at his power.

The dark-eyed Maid-of Malahide, In dreams, through camp-and court, he bore

Her silken bodice laced, The trophies of a conqueror;

And on her brow,-with virgin pride,
In dreams, his song of triumph heard;

The bridal chaplet-placed.
Then, wore his monarch's signet ring:
Then, pressed that monarch's throne,-a king;

Her heart--is beating high, her cheek
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

Is flushed-with rosy shame, As Eden's garden bird.

As laughing bridemaids—slily speak, At midnight,--in the forest shades,

The gallant bridegroom's name. Bozzarris-ranged his Suliote band,

The dark-eyed Maid-of MalahideTrue-as the steel-of their tried blades,

Before the altar-stands,
Heroes-in heart-and hand.

And Galtrim-claims his blushing bride,
There, had the Persian's thousands stood,
There, had the glad earth—drunk their blood,

From pure-and holy hands :-
On old Platea's day;

But hark! what fearful sounds are those ! And now, there breathed that haunted air,

“To arms! to arms!” they cry; The sons-of sires, who conquered there, With arm-to strike, and soul-to dare,

The bride's sweet cheek-no longer glows, As quick, as far as they.

Fear-sits in that young eye. An hour passed on-the Turk-awoke

The gallants-all are mustering nowThat bright dream-was his last;

The bridegroom's helm-is on: He woke-to hear his sentries shriek,

One look,-upon that wretched brow: « To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek !"

One kiss, and he is gone ;-
He woke-to die, 'midst flame, and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,

The feast is spread,—but many a knight, And death-shots-falling thick and fast

Who should have graced that hall — As lightnings, from the mountain cloud;

Will sleep-anon, in cold moonlight, And heard, with voice, as trumpet loud,

Beneath-a gory pall. Bozzarris-cheer his band : « Strike! till the last armed foe expires;

The garlands-bright with rainbow dyes, Strike! for your altars, and your fires;

In gay festoons--are hung; Strike! for the green graves of your sires;

The starry lamps-out-shine the skies, God-and your native land!”

The golden harps are strung: They fought, like brave men, long and well;

But she—the moving spring of all, They piled that ground-with Moslem slain;

Hath sympathy-with none
They conquered—but, Bozzarris fell,

That meet in that old festive hall;-
Bleeding—at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw

And now-the feast's begun.
His smile, when rang the proud-hurrah!

Hark! to the clang of arms! is 't he,
And the red field was won;

The bridegroom chief,-returned, -
Then saw, in death, his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Crowned-with the wreath of victory
Like flowers--at set of sun.

By his good weapon-earned?

Victorious bands--indeed-return-
Come to the bridal chamber,-Death!
Come to the mother-when she feels,

But, on their shields--they bear-
For the first time, her first-born's breath;

The laurelled chief,—and melt—those sternCome_when the blessed seals,

At that young bride's despair.
That close the pestilence, are broke,
And crowded cities-wail its stroke;

« Take-take-the roses from my brow, Come-in consumption's ghastly form,

The jewels—from my waist; The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;

I have no need of such things now :"
Come, when the heart beats high, and warm,

And then-her cheek-she placed
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine-
And thou art terrible! the tear,

Close--to his dead-cold cheek, and wept The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,

As one may wildly weep, And all we know,-or dream, or fear,

When the last hope,--the heart had kept, Of agony,--are thine.

Lies buried in the deep. But, to the hero, when his sword

Long years have passed,-since that young Has won the battle for the free,

Bewailed-her widowed doom: [bride Thy voice-sounds like a prophet's word,

The holy walls--of Malahide-
And, in its hollow tones, are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.

Sull-shrine her marble tomb :
Bozzarris! with the storied brave,

And sculpture there has sought to prove, Greece nurtured, in her glory's time,

With rude essay-of art, Rest thee--there is no prouder grave,

That form-she wore in life, -whose love Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom-without a sigh;

Did grace-her woman's heart.-Crawford. For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's

The influence of example — is a terrible One of the few, the immortal names,

responsibility-on the shoulders of every in. That were not born---lo die.-Halleck.

dividual.

646. AARON BURR AND BLENNERHAS- | and the seductive, and fascinating power of SETT. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and what his address. The conquest was not a diffi. the part which he has borne in this transac- cult one. Innocence is ever simple, and tion? He is its author; its projector; its ac- credulous; conscious of no design itself, it tive executor. Bold, ardent, restless, and as suspects none in others; it wears no guards piring, his brain conceived it; his hand before its breast: every door, and portal, and brought it into action. Beginning his opera- avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all, tions in New York, he associates with him, who choose it, enter. Such, was the state of men, whose wealth' is to supply the neces- Eden, when the serpent entered its bowers. sary funds. Possessed of the mainspring, The prisoner, in a more engaging form, windhis personal labor contrives all the machine ing himself into the open and unpracticed ry. Pervading the continent from New-York heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found to New-Orleans, he draws into his plan, by but little difficulty, in changing the native every allurement which he can contrive, men character of that heart, and the objects of its of all ranks, and all descriptions. To youth affection. By degrees, he infuses into it the ful ardor he presents danger and glory; to poison of his own ambition; he breathes into ambition, rank, and titles, and honors; to av- it the fire of his own courage; a daring and des arice, the mines of Mexico. To each person perate thirst for glory; an ardor, panting for whom he addresses, he presents the object all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. adapted to his taste: his recruiting officers are in a short time, the whole man is changed, appointed; men are engaged throughout the and every object of his former delight relin continent: civil life is indeed quiet upon the quished. No more he enjoys, the tranquil surface; but in its bosom this man has con- scene; it has become flat, and insipid to his trived to deposit the materials, which, with taste; his books are abandoned; his retort, the slighest touch of his match, produces an and crucible, are thrown aside; his shrubbery explosion, to shake the continent. All this in vain blooms, and breathes its fragrance uphis restless ambition has contrived; and, in on the air-he likes it not; his ear no longer the autumn of 1806, he goes forth, for the last drinks the rich melody of music; it longs for time, to apply this match. On this excur- the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's roar; sion he meets with Blennerhassett.

even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, Who is Blennerhassett? A native of Ire no longer affects him; and the angel smile of land, a man of letters, who fled from the his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom storms of his own country to find quiet in ours. with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt His history shews, that war is not the natu- and unseen. Greater objects have taken posral element of his mind; if it had been, he session of his soul-his imagination has been would never have exchanged Ireland' for dazzled by visions of diadems, and stars, and America. So far is an army from furnishing garters, and titles of nobility: he has been the society, natural and proper to Mr. Blen- taught to burn with restless emulation at the nerhassett's character, that on his arrival in names of Cromwell, Cesar, and Bonaparte. America, he retired, even from the popula- His enchanted island is destined soon to retion of the Atlantic states, and sought quiet, lapse into a desert; and, in a few months, and solitude, in the bosom of our western for we find the tender, and beautiful partner of ests. But he carried with him taste, and sci- his bosom, whom he lately. “permitted not ence, and wealth; and “lo, the desert smiled.” the winds of” summer" to visit too roughly," Possessing himself of a beautiful island in we find her shivering, at midnight, on the the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and dec- winter banks of the Ohio, and mingling her orates it with every romantic embellishment tears with the torrents, that froze as they fell. of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might Yet, this unfortunate man, thus deluded from have envied, blooms around him; music that his interest, and his happiness—thus seduced might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, from the paths of innocence, and peace—thus is his; an extensive library spreads its treas- confounded in the toils, which were deliberures before him; a philosophical apparatus ately spread for him, and overwhelmed by offers to him all the secrets, and mysteries of the mastering spirit, and genius of anothernature; peace, tranquillity, and innocence this man, thus ruined, and undone, and made shed their mingled delights around him; and, to play a subordinate part in this grand drama to crown the enchantment of the scene, a of guilt and treason—this man is to be called wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond the principal offender; while he, by whom he her sex, and graced with every accomplish- was thus plunged, and steeped in misery, is ment, that can render it irresistible, had bles- comparatively innocent-a mere accessory. sed him with her love, and made him the Sir, neither the human heart, nor the human father of her children. The evidence would understanding will bear a perversion so monconvince you, that this is but a faint picture strous, and absurd; so shocking to the soul; of the real life.

so revolting to reason. O! no sir. There is In the midst of all this peace, this inno- no man who knows anything of this affair, cence, and this tranquillity, this feast of the who does not know that to every body conmind, this pure banquet of the heart—the cerned in it, Aaron Burr was as the sun to destroyer comes-he comes—to turn this par- the planets, which surround him; he bound adise-into a hell-yet the flowers do not them in their respective orbits, and gave them wither at his approach, and no monitory their light, their heat, and their

motion. Let shuddering, through the bosom of their un- him not then shrink-from the high destinafortunate possessor, warns him of the ruin, tion, which he has courted; and having althat is coming upon him. A stranger presents ready ruined Blennerhassett'in fortune, charhimself. Introduced to their civilities, by the acter, and happiness, forever, attempt to fin, high rank which he had lately held in his ish the tragedy, by thrusting that ill-fated country, he soon finds his way to their hearts, man between himself and punishment. by the dignity, and elegance of his demean- The royal hee, qucen--of the rosy bower, or, the light and beauty of his conversation, Collects her precious sweets from every flower.

647. TALENTS ALWAYS ASCENDANT. | as unavailing, as would a human effort “to Talents, whenever they have had a suitable quench the stars."-Wirt. theatre, have never failed to emerge from ob

648. RICH AND POOR MAN. scurity, and assume their proper rank in the

So estimation of the world. The jealous pride

goes the world ;-if wealthy, you may call of power may attempt to repress, and crush This, friend, thar, brother; friends and brothers all; them; the base, and malignant rancor of im- Tho' you are worthless-witless-never mind it: potent spleen, and envy--may strive to em- You may have been a stable-boy-what then? barrass and retard their flight: but these ef- 'Tis wealth, good sir, makes honorable men. forts, so far from achieving their ignoble pur- You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it. pose, so far from producing a discernible ob

your liquity, in the ascent of genuine, and vigorous But

, if you are poor, heaven help you! tho' talents, will serve only to increase their mo Had royal blood within him, and tho' you [sire mentum, and mark their transit, with an ad- Possess the intellect of angels, too, ditional stream of glory.

'Tis all in vain ;-lhe world will ne'er inquire When the great earl of Chatham-first made on such a score :-Why should it take the pains? his appearance in the house of commons, and 'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. began to astonish, and transport the British parliament, and the British nation, by the I once saw a poor fellow, keen, and clever, boldness, the force, and range of his thoughts, Witty, and wise :-he paid a man a visit, and the celestial fire, and pathos of his elo- And no one noticed him, and no one ever [is it?" quence, it is well known, that the minister, Gave him a welcome. "Strange,” cried I, “whence Walpole, and his brother Horace, from mo

He walked on this side, then on that, tives very easily understood, exerted all their

He tried to introduce a social chat; wit, all their oratory, all their acquirements of every description, sustained and enforced Now here, now there, in vain he tried; by the unfeeling insolence of office,” to heave Some formally and freezingly replied, and some a mountain on his gigantic genius, and hide it Said, by their silence—“Better stay at home.” from the world. Poor and powerless attempt! A rich man burst the door, The tables were turned. He rose upon them,

As Cresus rich; I'm sure in the might, and irresistible energy of his genius, and, in spite of all their convulsions, He could not pride himself upon his wit, frantici agonies, and spasms, he strangled And as for wisdom, he had none of it; them, and their whole faction, with as much He had what's better ;-he had wealth. ease as Hercules did the serpent Python. What a confusion !--all stand up erect

Who can turn over the debates of the day, These--crowd around to ask him of his health; and read the account of this conflict between

These-bow in honest duty, and respect; youthful ardor, and hoary-headed cunning. And these-arrange a sofa or a chair, and power, without kindling in the cause of the tyro, and shouting at his victory? That And these-conduct him there. they should have attempted to pass off the “Allow me, sir, the honor;"—Then a bowgrand, yet solid and judicious operations of a Down to the earth-Is 't possible to show mind 'like his, as being mere theatrical start Meet gratitude—for such kind condescension ?and emotion; the giddy, hair-brained eccentricities of a romantic boy! That they should

The poor man-hung his head, have had the presumption to suppose them

And, to himself, he said, selves capable of chaîning down, to the floor “This is indeed, beyond my comprehension :" of the parliament, a genius so etherial, tower Then looking round, ing and sublime, seems unaccountable! Why

One friendly face he found, did they not, in the next breath, by way of And said, “ Pray tell me why is wealth preferred, crowning the climax of vanity, bid the magnificent fire-ball to descend from its exalted, and To wisdom?”—“That's a silly question, friend !" appropriate region, and perform its splendid Replied the other—" have you never heard, tour along the surface of the earth?

A man may lend his store Talents, which are before the public, have Of gold, or silver ore, nothing to dread, either from the jealous pride But wisdom-none can borrow, none can lend?" of power, or from the transient misrepresentations of party, spleen, or envy. In spite of opposition from any cause, their buoyant spir

0, it is excellent it will lift them to their proper grade. The To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous man who comes fairly before the world, and To use it like a giant. who possesses the great, and vigorous stami- Could great men thunder i 1, which entitle him to a niche in the temple As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet: 'or"glory, has no reason to dread the ultimate For every pelling, petty officer, result; however slow his progress may be, he would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but

[thunder. will, in the end, most indubitably receive that distinction. While the rest,“ the swallows of Merciful heaven! science," the butterflies of genius, may flutter Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, for their spring; but they will soon pass Split the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, away, and be remembered no more. No en- Than the soft myrtle.—0, but man, proud man, terprising man, therefore, and least of all, the Drest in a little brief authority; truly great man, has reason to droop, or re- Most ignorant of what he 's most assurd, pinė, at any efforts, which he may suppose to be made, with the view to depress him. Let, His glassy essence-like an angry ape, then, the tempest of envy, or of malice howl Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, around him. His genius will consecrate him; As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, and any attempt to extinguish that, will be I would all themselves laugh mortal.-Shakspeare.

THE ABUSE OF AUTHORITY.

649. THE MANIAC; MAD-HOUSE.

650. THE ALPS. Stay, jailor, stay-and hear my woe! Proud monuments of God! sublime ye stand

She is not mad-who kneels to thee; Among the wonders of his mighty hand :
For what I'm now-too well I know,

With summits soaring in the upper sky,
For what I was--and what should be.

[eye ; I'll rave no more-in proud despair ;

Where the broad day looks down with burning Mv anguage shall be mild-though sad: Where gorgeous clouds in solemn pomp repose, But yet l'll firmly-truly swear,

Flinging rich shadows on eternal snows:
I am not mad I am not mad.

Piles of triumphant dust, ye stand alone,
My tyrant husband--forged the tale,

And hold in kingly state, a peerless throne !
Which chains me-in this disinal cell ;

Like olden conquerors, on high ye rear
My fate unknown--my friends bewail ;
Oh! jailor, haste-that fate to tell;

The regal ensign, and the glittering spear:
Oh! haste-my father's heart to cheer : Round icy spires, the mists, in wreaths unrolled,

His heart, at once--'twill grieve, and glad, Float ever near, in purple or in gold : To know, though kept a captive here,

And voiceful torrents, sternly rolling there, I am not mad; I am not mad.

Fill with wild music, the unpillared air : Ile smiles--in scorn, and turns-the key;

What garden, or what hall on earth beneath, He quits the grate; I knelt in vain; His glimmering lamp, still, still I see

Thrills to such tones, as o'er the mountains 'Tis gone, and all is gloom again.

breathe ?

[shone, Cold--bitter cold!--No warmth! no light ! There, through long ages past, those summits Lie,--all thy comforts once I had ;

Where morning radiance on their state was Yet here I'm chained,—this freezing night,

thrown; Although not mad; no, no, not mad.

There, when the summer day's career was done, "Tis sure some dream, --some vision vain ;

What! 1,—the child of rank-and wealth, Played the last glory of the sinking sun;
Am I the wretch--who clauks this chain, There, sprinkling lustre o'er the cataract's shade,

Bereft of freedom,-friends and health ? The chastened moon, her glittering rainbow Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,

made ; Which never more-my heart must glad,

And, blent with pictured stars, her lustre lay, How aches my heart, -how burns my head; But 'tis not mad ;-10, 'tis not mad.

Where to still vales, the free streama leaped away.

Where are the thronging hosts of other days, Hast thou, my child—forgot ere this, A mother's face,--a mother's tongue ?

Whose banners floated o'er the Alpine ways; She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,

Who, through their high defiles, to battle, wound, Nor round her neck-how fast you clung; While deadly ordnance stirr'd the h’ights around? Nor how with me--you sued to stay;

Gone; like the dream, that melts at early morn, Nor how that suit--your sire forbade; Nor how-- I'll drive such thoughts away ;

When the lark's anthem through the sky is borne: They'll make me mad; they'll make me mad. Gone; like the wrecks, that sink in ocean's spray, His rosy lips,-how sweet they smiled !

And chill oblivion murmurs; Where are they? His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! Yet, “ Alps on Alps” still rise ; the lofty home None--ever bore a lovelier child :

Of storms, and eagles, where their pinions roam; And art thou now forever--gone ? And must I never see thee more,

Still, round their peaks, the magic colors lie, My pretty, pretty, pretty lad ?

Of morn, and eve, imprinted on the sky; I will be free! unbar the door!

And still, while kings and thrones, shall fade, I am not mad ;-I am not mad.

and fall, Oh! hark! what mean those yells, and cries ? And empty crowns lie dim upon the pall ; [roar;

His chain--some furious madman breaks; Still, shall their glaciers flash; their torrents He comes,--I see his glaring eyes ;

Till kingdoms fail, and nations rise no more. Now, now-my dungeon-grate he shakes. Help! help!-He's gone! Oh! fearful wo, ADAERENCE TO TRUTH. Petrarch, a cele

Such screams to hear, such sights to see! brated Italian poet, who flourished about four My brain, my brain,-I know, I know, hundred years ago, recommended himself to I am not mad, but soon shall be.

the confidence and affection of Cardinal CoYes, soon;- for, lo you !-while I speak-

lonna, in whose family he resided, by his canMark how yon Demon's eye-balls glare !

dor, and strict adherence to truth. A violent He sees me ; now, with dreadful shriek, quarrel occurred in the household of this He whirls a serpent-high in air.

nobleman; which was carried so far, that reHorror!-the reptile-strikes his tooth course was had to arms. The Cardinal wish

Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad; ed to know the foundation of this affair; and Ay, laugh, ye fiends; I feel the truth; that he might be able to decide with justice, Your task is done !--I'm mad! I'm mad !

he assembled all his people, and obliged them Here didst thou dwell, in the enchanted cover, to bind themselves, by a most solemn oath Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beating, on the gospels, to declare the whole truth. For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover; [ing, Every one, without exception, submitted to The purple moonlight vail'd that mystic meet- brother to the Cardinal was not excused.

this determination ; even the Bishop of Luna, With her most starry canopy, and, seating Petrarch, in his turn, presenting himself to Thyself by thine adorer, what befell ? [ing take the oath; the Cardinal closed the book, This cave was surely shaped out for the greet- and said, “ As to you, Petrarch, your word is Of an enamor'd goddess, and the cell

sufficient.Haunted by holy love-the earliest oracle ! 'Tis done, and since 'tis done, 'tis past recall; Children, like tender scions, take the bow,

And since 'tis past recall, must be forgotten. And, as they first are fashioned-always grow. Never purchase friendship by gifts.

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