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600. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS ON ADOPTING THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. It is true, indeed, that in the beginning, we ained not at independence. But there's a Divinity, which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own interest, for our good, she has obstinately persisted. till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the declaration? Is any man so weak, as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country, and its liberties, or safety to his own life, and his own honor?

a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory?

If we fail, it can be no worse for us.-But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies. The people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people of these colonies; and I know, that resistance to British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Every colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead.

Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this declaration at the head of the army; every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow u

Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair; is not he, our venerable colleague near you; are you not Doth, already, the proscribed, and predestined objects of punishment, and of vengeance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws? If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up the war? Do we mean to submit to the measures of parlia-tered, to maintain it or to perish on the bed of honor. Faent, Boston port-bill and all? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust?

Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them I know we do not mean to submit. We never hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers solemn obligation, ever entered into by men, that and their sons fall on the field of Bunker-Hill, and plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to Wash-in the streets of Lexington and Concord,-and the ington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity, with our fortunes, and our lives?

I know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith to fall to the ground. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces, raised, or to be raised, for defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate, or waver in the support I give him.

very walls will cry out in its support.

Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see clearly, through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time, when this declaration shall be made good. We may die; die, colonists; die, slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven, that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready, at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may.

But, whatever may be our fate, be assured that this declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick The war, then, must go on. We must fight it gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the through. And, if the war must go on, why put off future as the sun in heaven. We shall make this longer, the declaration of independence? That a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in measure will strengthen us. It will give us char- our graves, our children will honor it. They will acter abroad. The nations will then treat with us; celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with which they never can do, while we acknowledge bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return, ourselves subjects, in arms against our sovereign. they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of Nay, I maintain, that England herself will sooner subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, treat for peace with us, on the footing of indepen- but of exultation. of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, bedence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to ac-fore God I believe the hour is come. My judgment knowledge that her whole conduct toward us, has been a course of injustice and oppression.

Her pride will be less wounded, by submitting to that course of things, which now predestinates our independence, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebellious subjects. The former she would regard as the result of fortune; the latter she would feel as her own deep disgrace. Why then, sir, do we not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to a national war? And, since we must fight it though, why not put ourselves in

approves this measure, and my whole heart is in
it. All that I am, all that I have, and all that I hope
for, in this life. I am now ready here to stake upon
it: and I leave off, as I began; sink or swim; live
or die; survive. or perisk, I am for the declaration:
it is my living sentiment; and, by the blessing of
God, it shall be my dying sentiment-Independence
now! and independence—FOREVER!-Webster.

Be not dismayed-fear-nurses up a danger;
And resoluti n-kills it.-in the birth,

601. THE EFFECTS OF GENTLENESS. 602. PRESS ON. This is a speech, briet, Gentleness-is the great avenue to mutual but full of inspiration, and opening the way enjoyment. Amidst the strife of interfering to all victory. The mystery of Napoleon's interests, it tempers the violence of conten-career was this,--under all difficulties and tion, and keeps alive the seeds of harmony. discouragements, "PRESS ON!" It solves the It softens animosities, renews endearments, problem of all heroes; it is the rule, by which and renders the countenance of man, a re- to weigh rightly, all wonderful successes, and freshment to man. Banish gentleness from triumphal marches-to fortune and genius. the earth; suppose the world to be filled, It should be the motto of all, old--and young, with none but harsh and contentious spirits, high-and low, fortunate-and unfortunate, and what sort of society would remain the so called. solitude of the desert were preferable to it. The conflict of jarring elements in chaos, the cave where subterraneous winds contend and roar, the den where serpents hiss and beasts of the forest howl, would be the only proper representation of such assemblies of men. Strange! that, where men have all one common interest, they should so often concur in defeating it. Has not nature already provided a suflicient quantity of evils for the state of man? As if we did not sufler enough from the storm which beats upon us without, must we conspire also, in those societies where we assemble, in order to find a retreat from that storm, to harass one another!

A NIGHT SCENE IN TURKEY.

"Twas midnight: on the mountains brown
The cold round moon-shone brightly down;
Blue rolled the ocean, blue the sky
Spread, like an ocean, hung on high,
Bespangled with those isles of light,
So wildly, spiritually bright;
Who ever gazed upon them, shining,
And turned to earth, without repining,
Nor wished for wings to fly away,
And mix-with their eternal ray?
The waves, on either shore, lay there,
Calm, clear, and azure as the air,
And scarce their foam-the pebbles shook,
But murmured meekly, as the brook.
The winds were pillowed on the waves,
The banners drooped--along their staves,
And as they fell around them, furling,
Above them-shone the crecent curling;
And that deep silence was unbroke,
Save when the watch-his signal spoke,
Save when the steed-neighed oft and shrill,
And echo answered-rom the hill,
And the wide hum-of that wild host
Rustled, like leaves, from coast to coast,
As rose the Muezzin's voice in air,
In midnight call-to wonted prayer.
It rose, that chaunted, mournful strain,
Like some lone spirit's-o'er the plain;
"Twas musical, but sadly sweet,

Such as, when winds, and harp-strings meet;
And take a long, unmeasured tone,
To mortal minstrelsy, unknown:

It seemed to those, within the wall,

A cry-prophetic of their fall;
It struck--even the besieger's ear,
With something omnious, and drear,-
An undefined, and sudden thrill,
Which makes the heart-a moment still;
Then heat, with quicker pulse, ashamed
Of that strange sense-its silence framed;
Such as a sudden passing bell

Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell.
Know thyself.

"PRESS ON!" Never despair; never be discouraged, however stormy the heavens, how ever dark the way; however great the diffi culties, and repeated the failures, —“ PRESS ON!" If fortune-has played false with thee to-day, do thou play true for thyself to-morrow. If thy riches have taken wings, and left thee, do not weep thy life away; but be up and doing, and retrieve the loss, by new energies and action. If an unfortunate bargain-has deranged thy business, do not fold thy arms, and give up all as lost; but stir thyself, and work the more vigorously.

If those whom thou hast trusted, have be trayed thee, do not be discouraged, do not idly weep, but "PRESS ON!" find others; or, what is better, learn to live within thyself. Let the foolishness of yesterday-make thee wise to-day. If thy allections-have been poured out like water in the desert, do not sit down and perish of thirst,-but press on; a beautiful oasis is before thee, and thou mayst reach it, if thou wilt. If another-has been false to thee, do not thou increase the evil-by being false to thyself. Do not say—the world hath lost its poetry and beauty; 'tis not so; and even if it be so, make thine own poetry and beauty, by a brave, a true, and. abov all, a religious life.

ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH.

Higher, higher, will we climb,

Up-the mount of glory,

That our rames-may live through time,
In our country's story;
Happy, when her welfare calls,
He, who conquers,-he, who falls.
Deeper, deeper-let us toil,

In the mines of knowledge;
Nature's wealth-and Learning's spoi
Win from school--and college;
Delve we there--for richer gems,
Than the stars of diadems.
Onward, onward--may we pass,
Through the path of duty;
Virtue is true happiness,

Excellence, true beauty;
Minds are of celestial bath:
Make we, then, a heaven of earth.

Closer, closer--let us knit
Hearts, and hands together,
Where our fireside comforts sit,
In the wildest weather;
O. they wander wide, who roam
For the joys of life, from home.
Nearer, dearer bands of love,
Draw our souls in union,
To our Father's house above
To the saints' communion:
Thither-ev'ry hope ascend,
There may all our labors end.

603 HANNIBAL TO HIS SOLDIERS. On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full of courage and strength; a veteran infantry, a most gallant cavalry; you, my allies, most faithful and valiant; you, Carthaginians, whom not only your country's cause, but the justest anger, impels to battle. The hope, the courage of assailants, is always greater than of those, who act upon the defensive. With hostile banners displayed, you are come down upon Italy; you bring the war. Grief, injuries, indignities, fire your minds, and spur You forward to revenge.

The vulture-flapped his sail-like wines, though heavily he dew¡
A mote, upon the sun's broad face, he seemed unto my view;
But once, I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight,-
"Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite.
All search was vain, and years hal passed; that child was nere
When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot, jorgo
From thence, upon a rugged crag-the chamois never reached,
He saw-an infant's fleshless bones--the clements had bleached!
cambered up that rugged cliff.---I could not stay away,-
I knew they were my infant's bones-thus hastening to decay:
A tattered garment-yet remained, though torn to many a shred
The crimson cap-he wore that morn--was still upon his head.❤
That dreary spot-is pointed out to travelers, passing by,

First, they demand me-that I, your gener-Who often stand, and musing, gaze, nor go without a gh; al, should be delivered up to them; next, all And as I journeyel, the next morn, along my sunny way, of you, who had fought at the siege of Sagun- The precipice was shown to me, whereon the injant lay.—Anon tum; and we were to be put to death-by the 605. THE HERMIT. extremest tortures. Proud, and cruel nation! every thing must be yours, and at your disposal! You are to prescribe to us, with whom we shall make war, with whom we shall make peace! You are to set us bounds; to shut us up within hills and rivers; but you-you are not to observe the limits, which yourselves have fixed.

Touch

Pass not the Iberus! What next? Dot the Saguntines; is Saguntum upon the Iberus! move not a step towards that city. Is it a small matter, then, that you have deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily and Sardinia! you would have Spain, too! Well, we shall yield Spain; and then-you will pass into Africa! Will pass, did I say? this very year, they ordered one of their consuls into Afeca, the other into Spain.

No, soldiers, there is nothing left for us, but what we can vindicate with our swords. Come on, then-be men. The Romans-may with more safety be cowards; they have their own country behind them; have places of refuge to ilee to, and are secure from danger in the roads thither; but for you, there is no middle fortune between death, and victory. Let this be but well fixed in your minds, and once again, I say, you are conquerors.--Livy. 604. VULTURE AND CAPTIVE INFANT.

I've been among the mighty Alps, aul wanderel thro' their valer,
And heard the honest mountaineers-relate their dismal titles,
As round the cotters' blazing hearth, when their daily work was o'er,
They spake of those, who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of

more.

And there, 1, from a shepherd, heard a narrative of fear,

& tale-16 rend a mortal heart, which mothers-might not hear: The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice-was tremulous; But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus:

It is among these Larren cliff-the ravenous vulture dwells,
Who never fattens on the prey, which from afar he smells;
But, patient, watching hour on hour, upon a lofty rock,
He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock.
One cloudless Sabbath summer moro, the sun was rising high,
When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry,
As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief, and pain,
A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again.

I burriel out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright,
The children never ceased to shrick; and, from my frenziedl sight,
I missed the youngest of my bates, the darling of my care;
But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing thro' the air.
Oh! what an awful spectacle-to meet a father's eye,-
His infant-ande a vulture's prey, with terror to descry;
And know, with agonizing heart, and with a maniac rave,
That earthly power-could not avail- that innocent to save!
My infant-stretche! his little hands-imploringly to me,
And struggled with the ravenous bird, all eainly to get free:
At intervals, I hear ais cries, as loud he shriched, and screamed!
Gatil, upon the azure sky, a lessering spot he seemed.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought, but the torrent, is heard on the hill,
And nought, but the nightingale's song, in the grove.
Twas thus, by the eve of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began;
No more with himself, or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a man.
"Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo;
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ?
For spring shall return, and a lozer bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom i sthral.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad hay,

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mouru;
O soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away.
Full quickly they pass-but they never return.
"Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,

The moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays. But lately I mark'd, when, majestic ou high,

She shone, and the plane's were lost, in her Maze, Roll on, thou fair ort, and, with gla Iness, pursue

The path, that conducts thee to splendor again: But man's faded glory, what change shall renew! Ah fool to exult in a glory so vain!

Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:

I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

Kind nature the embryo blossom will save:
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn!
O, when shall day dawn, on the night of the grave
Twas thus, by the ghure of false science betray'd,
That leads, to bewiller; and dazzles, to blind;
My though's wont to man, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.

O pity, great Father of light, then I cried,
Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee!
Lo, hund led in dust, I relinquish my pride:
From doubt, and from darkness thou only, canst free.
"And darkness and doubt are now flying away:
No longer I am in conjecture forloru:

So breaks on the traveler, faint and astray,

The bright, and the balmy effulgence of morn
See truth, Love, and mercy, in triumph descen ling,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!

On the cold cheek of death smiles, and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.-Beattie,
O what a vision-were the stars,
When first I saw them burn on high,
Rolling along, like living cars

Of light-or gods to journey by.
The world--is full of poetry--the ar
Is living with its spirit: the wares-
Dance--to the music of its melodies,
And sparkle-in its brightness,

In struggling with misfortunes,
Lies the true proof-of virtue.

606. THE CHARACTER OF WOMAN. The influence of the female character-is now felt, and acknowledged, in all the relations of life. I speak not now, of those distinguished women, who instruct their age through the public press. Nor of those, whose devout strains we take upon our lips, when we worship. But of a much larger class; of those, whose influence is felt in the relations of neighbor, friend, daughter, wife, mother.

Who waits at the couch of the sick, to administer tender charities, while life lingers, or to perform the last acts of kindness, when death comes? Where shall we look for those examples of friendship, that most adorn our rature; those abiding friendships, which trust, even when betrayed, and survive all changes of fortune? Where shall we find the brightest illustration of filial piety? Have you ever seen a daughter, herself, perhaps, timid and helpless, watching the decline of an ared parent, and holding out, with heroic fortitude, to anticipate his wishes, to administer to his wants, and to sustain his tottering steps to the very borders of the grave?

But in no relation-does woman exercise so deep an influence, both immediately, and prospectively, as in that of mother. To her is committed the immortal treasure of the infant mind. Upon her-devolves the care of the first stages of that course of discipline, which is to form a being, perhaps the most frail and helpless in the world, the fearless ruler of animated creation, and the devout adorer of his great Creator.

Her smiles call into exercise the first affections, that spring up in our hearts. She cherishes, and expands-the earliest germs of our intellects. She breathes over us her deepest devotions. She lifts our little hands, and teaches our little tongues to lisp in prayer. She watches over us, like a guardian angel, and protects us through all our helpless years, when we know not of her cares, and her anxieties, on our account. She follows us into the world of men, and lives in us, and blesses us, when she lives not otherwise upon the earth.

What constitutes the centre of every home? Whither do our thoughts turn, when our feet are weary with wandering, and our hearts sick with disappointments? Where shall the truant and forgetful husband go-for sympathy, unalloyed, and without design, but to the bosom of her who is ever ready, and waiting to share in his adversity, or prosperity? And if there be a tribunal, where the sins and the follies of a froward child-may hope for pardon and forgiveness, this side heaven, that ibunal-is the heart of a fond, and devoted mother.

Finally, her influence is felt, deeply, in religion. "If christianity, should be compelled to flee from the mansions of the great, the academies of philosophers, the halls of legislators, or the throng of busy men, we should find her last. and purest retreat--with woman at the fireside; her last altar-would be the female heart; her last audience would be the children gathered round the knees of the mother; her last sacrifice, the secret prayer, escaping in silence from her lips, and heard, perhaps, only at the throne of God." How empty, learning, and how vain is art; Save where it guides the life, and mends the heart. Fancy and pride reach things at vast expense.

INDIAN NAMES.

"How can the red men be forgotten, while s may of our sta and territories, bays, lakes, and rivers, are indelibly stamped by names of their giving "

Ye say they all have pass'd away,

That noble race-and brave;
That their light canoes-have vanish'd
From off the crested wave;

That, 'mid the forests-where they roam (
There rings no hunter's shout;
But their name-is on your waters,
Ye may not wash it out.
'Tis where Ontario's billow-
Like ocean's surge-is curl'd;
Where strong Niagara's thunders-wake
The echo-of the world;
Where red Missouri--bringeth
Rich tribute-from the west;
And Rappahannock-sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.
Ye say their conelike cabins,

That cluster'd o'er the vale,
Have disappear'd, as wither'd leaves--
Before the autumn's gale;
But their memory--liveth on your hilis,
Their baptism-on your shore;
Your everlasting rivers-speak
Their dialect of yore.

Old Massachusetts-wears it-
Within her lordly crown;
And broad Ohio-bears it-

Amid his young renown:
Connecticut-hath wreath'd it--
Where her quiet foliage waves,
And bold Kentucky-breathes it hoarse-
Through all her ancient caves.
Wachusett-hides its lingering voice-
Within his rocky heart,

And Alleghany-graves its tone-
Throughout his lofty chart.
Monadnock, on his forehead hoar,
Doth seal the sacred trust;
Your mountains-build their monument,
Though ye destroy their dust.

IMPROVEMENT OF MIND WITHOUT D19PLAY. Well-informed persons will easily be discovered, to have read the best books, tho' they are not always detailing lists of authors: for a muster-roll of names--may be learned from the catalogue, as well as from the library. The honey--owes its exquisite taste--to the fragrance of the sweetest flowers; yet the skill of the little artificer, appears in this, that the delicious stores are so adinirably worked up, and there is such a due proporcion ob served in mixing them, that the perfection of the whole--consists in its, not lasting, indi vidually, of the rose, the jassamine, the carna tion, or any of those sweets, of the very es sence of all which it is compounded. But true judgment will discover the infusion, which true modesty will not display; and even common subjects, passing through a cultivated understanding, borrow a flavor of its richness.

What stronger breastplate than a heart untaint
Thrice is he armed, who hath his quarrel just;
And he, but naked, tho' locked in steel,
Whose conscience, with injustice is corrupted.

1

607. ODE ON THE PASSIONS.
When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet. in early Greece, she sung,
The Passions of, to hear her shell,
Thre ig'd-around her inagic cell;
Exu ting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart,
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each-for Madness ruled the hour-
Would prove his own expressive power.
First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords, bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Even at the sound himself had made.

Next. Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,

In lightnings, own'd his secret stings:
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept, with hurried hands, the strings.

With woful measures, wan Despair

Low, sullen sounds! his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad, by fits-by starts, 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope; with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure! Still it whisper'd-promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,

She call'd on Echo still, through all her song. And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smiled and wav'd her golden hair.

And longer had she sang-but, with a frown, Revenge-impatient rose,

[down;

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder

And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast, so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe;

And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat. [tween, And though. sometimes, each dreary pause beDejected Pity. at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Yet still, he kept his wild unalter'd mien;
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting
from his head.

Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state!

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd: And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy sat, retired;

And, from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes, by distance, made more sweet,

[stole;

P thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul:
And, dash ng soft, from rocks around,
Bubbling rannels joined the sound.
Thro' glades and glooms, the mingled measure
Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay,
Round--a holy calm d ffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing-

In hollow inurmurs-died away.
Put, oh. how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulders flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, [rung,
Blew an inspiring air. that dale and thicket
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known!

The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste eyed
Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, [queen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green;
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear;

And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear
Last, came Joy's ecstatic trial.
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd;

But soon, he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet, entrancing voice he lov'd the best
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maida,
Amid the festal-sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing;
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love, fram'd with Mirth, a gay fantastic round-
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound;
And he, amid his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odors-from his dewy wing

608. THE CHESTNUT HORSE.

An Eaton stripling, training for the law,
A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw,

One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf

His cap and gown, and stores of learned pelf,
With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome,
To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home.
Return'd, and past the usual how-d'ye-does,
Inquiries of old friends, and college news:

"Well, Tom, the road; what saw you worth discerning?
How's all at college, Tom ?—what is 't you 're learning ♬
"Learning-0, logic, logic!--not the shallow rules

Of Locke and Bacon-antiquated fools!
But wits' and wranglers' logic; for d'ye see,
I'll prove as clear,-as clear as A. B. C.,
That an eel pie's a pigeon; to deny it,
Is to say black's not black."-

"Come, let's try it!"
"Well, sir; an eel pie is a pie of fish." "Agreed."
"Fish pie may be a jack pie."" Well, well, proceed.
"A jack pie is a John pie-and, 'tis done!

For every John pie must be a pie-John."—(pigeon.)
"Bravo! bravo!" Sir Peter cries; "logic forever!
That beats my grandmother, and she was clever;
But now I think on 't, 't would be mighty hard
If merit such as thine met no reward;
To show how much I logic love in course,
I'll make thee master of a chestnut horse."
"A horse!" quoth Tom, "blood, pedigree, and paces!

O, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races!"
Tom dreamt all night of boots and leather breeches,
Of hunting-caps, and leaping rails and ditches;
Rose the next morn an hour before the lark,
And dragg'd his uncle, fasting, to the park;
Bridle in hand, each vale he scours of course,
To find out something like a chestnut horse;
But no such animal the meadows cropt,

Till under a large tree Sir Peter stopt,

Caught at a branch, and shook it, when down fell

A fine horse chestnut, in its prickly shell.

"There. Tom, take that.""Well, sir, and what basade >

"Why, since you're booted, saddle it and ride."

"Ride: what, a chestnut, sir?"-" Of course,

For I can prove that chestnut is a horse;

Not from the doubtful, fusty, musty rules

Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools,

Nor old Malebranch, blind pilot into knowledge,

But by the laws of wit and Eton college;
As you have prov'd, and which I don't deny,
That a pie John's the same as a John pie,
The matter follows, as a thing of course,

That a horse-chestnut is a chestnut horse,”
Know, Nature's children all divide her care;
The fur, that warms a monarch, warm'd a bear.
While man exclaims, "See all things for my use!”
"See man for mine!" replies the pamper'd goose.
And just as short of reason-he must fall,
Who thinks all made for one, not one-for all.

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