Let not Ambition mock their useless toil, The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The applause of listening senates to command, And read their history in a nation's eyes, In the early editions, the following beautiful stanza was inserted here:The thoughtless world to majesty may bow, Exalt the brave, and idolize success; But more to innocence their safety owe, Than power or genius e'er conspired to bless. This line has been altered, as the real character of Cromwell was not properly known when the Author was living. Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Far from the mad'ning crowd's ignoble strife, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way: Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Their names, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, And many holy texts around she strews, For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, On some fond breast the parting soul relies, GRAY. THE DEPARTED DAUGHTER. I had a little daughter, And she was given to me I know not how others saw her, And the light of heaven she came from When a troop of wandering angels J. R. LOWELL. SHOW YOU HAVE A HEART. In this dull world we cheat ourselves and one another of innocent pleasures by the score, through very carelessness and apathy. Courted day after day by happy memories, we rudely brush them off with the stern material present. Invited to help in rendering joyful many a patient heart, we neglect the little that might have done it, and continually deprive creation of its share of kindness from us. The humble friend encouraged by your frankness - equals made to love you, and superiors gratified by attention and respect, looking out to benefit you kindly-how many pleasures here for one hand to gather; how many blessings for one heart to give! Instead of this what have we rife about the world? Frigid compliment, reserve, selfishness, for every one is struggling for his own ends. This is all false, all bad: it is the slavery chain of custom rivetted by the foolishness of fashion. There are always persons who have nothing to recommend them but externals, such as their looks, dresses, rank and riches; and in order to exalt the honour of these, they combine to set a compact seal of silence upon the heart and mind. Turn the tables on them ye real gentlemen! speak freely, live warmly, look cheerfully, laugh heartily, explain frankly, exhort zealously, admire liberally, advise earnestly, and thus be not ashamed to show you have a heart. If some cold and selfish worldling greet your social efforts with a sneer, repay him with a good humoured smile; for you possess treasures to which he is an utter stranger.-TUPPER.—Adap. ΙΟΝΑ. DR. JOHNSON'S REFLECTIONS ON VISITING IT.* This illustrious island which was once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge, and the blessings of religion. To abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible if it were endeavoured, and would be foolish if it were possible. Whatever draws us from the power of our senses-whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us, indifferent and unmoved, over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona. St. Columba was a native of Ireland, and landed at Iona in 564, with 12 pious followers called Culdees. He built a monastery, and, along with the Culdees, devoted his life to the dissemination of the Christian religion. THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. I said to sorrow's awful storm, "Rage on! thou may'st destroy this form, And lay it low at rest; But still the spirit that now brooks I said to penury's meagre train, Yet still the spirit that endures I said to cold neglect and scorn, Yet still the spirit which you see, I said to friendship's menaced blow, Yet still the spirit that sustains Shall smile upon its keenest pains, I said to death's uplifted dart, Shall smiling pass away." STANZAS. There is an evil and a good In every soul, unknown to thee- Than aught thine eye can ever see; Perhaps thy sterner mind condemns In pain, in love, in weariness: Thou call'st him weak; he may be so, What made him weak thou canst not know! HYMN OF THE CITY. Not in the solitude Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see And sunny vale the present Deity; Or only hear His voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty!-here, amidst the crowd With everlasting murmur deep and loud- 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of humankind. Thy golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies, For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. Thy spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng- Or like the rainy tempests-speaks of Thee. And when the hours of rest Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, The quiet of that moment too is thine; The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. BRYANT. |