583. CHANGING AND UNCHANGING. we have looked on the pleasures of life, and they have vanished away; when we have looked on the works of nature, and perceived that they were changing; on the monuments of art, and seen that they would not stand; on our friends, and they have fed while we were gazing; on ourselves, and felt that we were as fleeting as they; when we have looked on every object to which we could turn our arrious eyes, and they have all told us that they uld give us no hope nor support, because they were so feeble themselves; we can look to the throne of God: change and decay have never reached that; the revolution of ages has never moved it; the waves of an eternity have been rushing past it, but it has remained unshaken; the waves of another eternity are rushing toward it, but it is fixed, and can never be disturbed.


Sleep on, sweet babe! the flowers, that wake
Around thee, are not half so fair;
Thy dimpling smiles, unconscious break,
Like sunlight, on the vernal air.
Sleep on! no dreams of care are thine,
No anxious thoughts, that may not rest;
For angel arms around thee twine,

To make thy infant slumbers bless'd.
Perchance her spirit hovers near,
Whose name, thy infant beauty bears,
To guard thine eyelids, from the tear
That every child of sorrow shares.
Oh! may thy life, like hers endure,
Unsullied to its spotless close;
And bend to earth, as calm and pure

As ever bowed the summer rose.-Dawes. 584. The estimate and valor of a man, consist in the heart, and in the will; there, his true honor lives; valor is stability, not of legs and arms, but of courage, and the soul; it does not lie in the valor of our horse, nor of our arms, but in ourselves. He, that falls obstinate in his courage, Si succiderit de genu pugnat; if his legs fail him, fights upon his knees.

Hast thou sounded the depths-of yonder sea,
And counted the sands, that under it be?
Hast thou measured the height-of heaven above?
Then-mayest thou mete out-the mother's love.
Hast thou talked with the blessed, of leading on,
To the throne of God-some wandering son?
Hast thou witnessed the angels' bright employ?
Then-mayest thou speak of a mother's joy.
Evening and morn-hast thou watched the bee
Go forth, on her errands of industry?
The bee, for herself, hath gather'd and toil'd,
But the mother's cares-are all for her child.
Hast thou gone with the traveler, Thought, afar,
From pole to pole, and from star to star!
Thou hast but on ocean, earth, or sea,
The heart of a mother-has gone with thee.
There is not a grand, inspiring thought,
There is not a truth-by wisdom taught,
There is not a feeling, pure and high,
That may not be read-in a mother's eye.
There are teachings on earth, and sky, and air,
The heavens-the glory of God declare;
But louder-than voice beneath, above,
(le is heard to speak-through a mother's love.

It rains. What lady-loves a rainy day?
Not she, who puts prunello on her foot,
Zephyrs around her neck, and silken socks
Upon a graceful ankle,-nor yet she,
Who sports her tasseled parasol along
The walks, beau-crowded, on some sunny noon,
Or trips in muslin, in a winter's night,
On a cold sleigh-ride-to a distant ball.
She loves a rainy day, who sweeps the hearth,
And threads the busy needle, or applies
The scissors to the torn, or thread-bare sleeve;
Who blesses God, that she has friends at home;
Who, in the pelting of the storm, will think
Of some poor neighbor, that she can befriend;
Who trims the lamp at night, and reads aloud,
To a young brother, tales he loves to hear;
Or ventures cheerfully abroad, to watch
The bedside of some sick, and suffering friend,
Administering that best of medicines,
Kindness, and tender care, and cheering hope;
Such-are not sad, e'en on a rainy day.
Mankind are all hunters in various degree;
The priest hunts a living-the lawyer a fee,
The doctor a patient-the courtier a place,
Though often, like us, he's flung out in the chace.
The cit hunts a plum--while the soker hunts
The poet a dinner--the patriot a name; [fame,
And the practic'd coquette, tho' she seems to re-
In spite of her airs, still her lover pursues. [fuse,
He's on his guard, who knows his enemy;
And innocence-may safely trust her shield
Against an open foe; but who's so mailed,
That slander shall not reach him? Coward
Stabs in the dark.
Heaven's great view is one, and that-the whole.

587. Oun COUNTRY. And let the sa- 588. MORAL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCR cred obligations which have devolved on The sufferings of animal nature, occasioned this generation, and on us, sink deep into by intemperance, are not to be compared with our hearts. Those are daily dropping from the moral agonies, which convulse the soul among us, who established our liberty and It is an immortal being, who sins, and suffers; our government. The great trust now des- and, as his earthly house dissolves, he is apcends to new hands. Let us apply our-proaching the judgment-seat, in anticipation selves to that which is presented to us, as of a miserable eternity. He feels his captiour appropriate object. We can win no lau- vity, and, in anguish of spirit, clanks his rels in a war for independence. Earlier and chain, and cries for help. Conscience thunworthier hands have gathered them all. Nor ders, remorse goads, and, as the gulph opens are there places for us by the side of Solon, before him, he recoils, and trembles, and and Alfred, and other founders of states. weeps, and prays, and resolves, and proOur fathers have filled them. But there re-mises, and reforms, and "seeks it yet again;" mains to us a great duty of defence and preservation; and there is opened to us, also, a noble pursuit, to which the spirit of the times strongly invites us. Our proper business is improvement. Let our age be the age of improvement. In a day of peace, let us advance the arts of peace, and the works of peace; let us develop the resources of our land; call forth its powers, build up its institutions, proinote all its great interests, and see whether we also, in our day and generation, may not perform something worthy to be remembered. Let us cultivate a true spirit of union and harmony. In pursuing the great objects which our condition points out to us, let us act un-ness and tenderness, and conscience loses its der a settled conviction, and an habitual feeling, that these twenty-six states are one country. Let our conceptions be enlarged to the circle of our duties. Let us extend our ideas over the whole of the vast field in which we are called to act. Let our object be, our country, our whole country, and nothing but our country. And, by the blessing of God, may that country itself become a vast and splendid monument, not of oppression and terror, but of wisdom, of peace, and of liberty, upon which the world may gaze with admiration forever.-Webster.


In full-blown dignity-see Wolsey stand,
Law-in his voice, and fortune-in his hand; [sign;
To him, the church, the realm, their powers con-
Through him, the rays of regal bounty shine;
Turn'd by his nod, the stream of honor flows;
His smaile alone, security bestows.

Still, to new heights, his restless wishes tower;
Claim leads to claim, and power advances power;
Till conquest, unresisted, ceased to please,
And rights submitted-left him none to seize.
At length, his sovereign frowns; the train of state
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate.
Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye;
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly.
How drops, at once, the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glittering plate,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The liveried army, and the menial lord!
With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed,
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.
Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings,
And his last sighs-reproach the faith of kings.
Expectation. It is proper for all to re-
member, that they ought not to raise expecta-
tion, which it is not in their power to satisfu,
and that it is more pleasing to see smoke
brightening into flame, than flame-sinking
into smoke.

Pailly-thy naine Man; the earth-waits her king.
Builty-thy name is Woman; the earth-waits ber queen.

again resolves, and weeps, and prays, and "seeks it yet again!" Wretched man! he has placed himself in the hands of a giant, who never pities, and never relaxes his iron gripe. He may struggle, but he is in chains. He may cry for release, but it comes not; and lost! lost! may be inscribed on the doorposts of his dwelling. In the meantime, these paroxysms of his dying nature decline, and a fearful apathy, the harbinger of spiritual death, comes on. His resolution fails, and his mental energy, and his vigorous enter prise; and nervous irritation and depression ensue. The social affections lose their full

power, and the heart its sensibility, until all
that was once lovely, and of good report, re-
tires and leaves the wretch, abandoned to
the appetites of a ruined animal. In this de-
plorable condition, reputation expires, busi-
ness falters, and becomes perplexed, and
temptations to drink multiply, as inclination
to do so increases, and the power of resistance
declines. And now the vortex roars, and the
struggling victim buffets the fiery wave, with
feebler stroke, and warning supplication, un-
til despair flashes upon his soul, and, with an
outcry, that pierces the heavens, he ceases to
strive, and disappears.-Beecher.

The Assyrian came down, like a wolf-on the fold,
And his cohorts-were gleaming-in purple, and gold;
And the sheen of his spears--was like stars-on the sea,
When the blue wave-rolls nightly, on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest-when summer is green,
That host, with their banners, at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host, on the morrow lay withered and strown..
For the angel of death-spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe, as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers-waxed deadly, and chill,
And their hearts, but once heaved, and forever, were still
And there-lay the steed, with his nostrils all wide,
But through them-there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping-lay white on the turf,
And cold-as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there-lay the rider, distorted, and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances-unlifted, the trumpets-unblown.
And the widows of Ashur-are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke-in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted, like snow, in the glance of the Lord!-Byron.
Justice—is as strictly due between neigh
bor nations, as between neighbor citizens.
he plunders in a gang, as when single, and
A highwayman is as much a robber, when
a nation, that makes an unjust war, is only
a great gang.

True happiness-is to no place confined:
But still is found-in a contented ind



We are asked, what have we gained by the war? I have shown, that we have lost nothing, either in rights, territory, or honor; nothing, for which we ought to have contended, according to the principles of the gentlemen on the other side, or according to our own. Have we gained nothing-by the war? Let any man--look at the degraded condition of this country--before the war, the scorn of the universe, the contempt of ourselves, and tell me if we have gained nothing by the war. What is our present situation? Respectability, and character, abroad, security, and confidence, at home. If we have not ob tained, in the opinion of some, the full measure of retribution, our character, and constitution, are placed on a solid basis, never to be shaken.

The glory acquired by our gallant tars, by our Jacksons, and our Browns on the land-is that-nothing? True we had our vicissitudes: there are humiliating events, which the patriot cannot review, without deep regret--but the great account, when it comes to be balanced, will be found vastly in our favor. Is there a man, who would obliterate, from the proud pages of our history, the brilliant achievements of Jackson, Brown, and Scott, and the host of heroes on land, and sea, whom I cannot enumerate? Is there a man, who could not desire a participationin the national glory, acquired by the war? Yes, national glory, which, however the expression may be condemned by some, must be cherished by every genuine patriot.

The morrow, and the morrow's meeds,—
No daunting thoughts-came o'er him;
He looked around him, and his eye-
Defiance flashed-to earth, and sky.
He looked on ocean,-its broad breast
Was covered-with his fleet;

On earth and saw, from east-to west,
His bannered millions meet:
While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast
Shook-with the war-cry of that host,

The thunder--of their feet!
He heard--the imperial echoes ring,-
He heard, and felt himself-a king.
I saw him, next, alone: nor camp,
Nor chief, his steps attended;
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp,
With war-cries, proudly blended,
He, stood alone, whom fortune high,
So lately, seemed to deify;

He, who with heaven contended,
Fled, like a fugitive, and slave!
Behind-the foe; before,-the wave.

He stood; fleet, army, treasure,—gone.—
Alone, and in dispair!

But wave, and wind-swept ruthless on,
For they were monarchs there;
And Xerxes, in a single bark,
Where late-his thousand ships were lark,
Must all their fury dare:
What a revenge-a trophy, this-
For thee, immortal Salamis !-Jewsbury.
Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! the si-

What do I mean by national glory? Glory such as Hull, Jackson, and Perry have acquired. And are gentlemen insensible to their deeds--to the value of them in anima-lence of thy face is pleasant! Thou comest ting the country in the hour of peril hereafter? Did the battle of Thermopyle-preserve Greece but once? Whilst the Mississippi--continues to bear the tributes of the Iron Mountains, and the Alleghenies--to her Delta, and to the Gulf of Mexico, the eighth of January shall be remembered, and the glory of that day shall stimulate future patriots, and nerve the arms of unborn freemen, in driving the presumptuous invader from our country's soil.

Gentlemen may boast of their insensibility to feelings inspired by the contemplation of such events. But I would ask, does the recollection of Bunker's Hill, Saratoga, and Yorktown, afford no pleasure? Evely act of noble sacrifice of the country, every instance of patriotic devotion to her cause, has its beneficial influence. A nation's character -is the sum of its splendid deeds; they constitute one common patrimony, the nation's inheritance. They awe foreign powers; they arouse and animate our own people. I love true glory. It is this sentiment which ought to be cherished; and, in spite of cavils, and neers, and attempts to put it down, it will rise triumphant, and finally conduct this nation to that height--to which nature, and nature's God-have destined it.-Clay.


I saw him--on the battle-eve,
When. like a king. he bore him.-
Proud hosts, in glittering helm, and greave,
And prouder chiefs-before him:
The warrior, and the warrior's deeds-

forth in lovliness. The stars attend thy blue course in the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, O moon. They brighten their dark-brown sides. Who is like thee, in heav en, light of the silent night! The stars, in thy presence, turn away their sparkling eyes. Whither dost thou retire from thy course, when the darkness of thy countenance grows? Hast thou thy hall, like Ossian? Dwellest thou in the shadow of grief! Have thy sisters fallen from heaven? Are they, who rejoice with thee at night, no more? they have fallen, fair light! and thou dost often retire to mourn. But thou thyself shalt fail, one night, and leave thy blue path in



The stars will then lift up their heads, and rejoice. Thou art now clothed with thy brightness. Look from thy gates in the sky. Burst the cloud, O wind, that the daughter of night may look forth: that the shaggy mout tains may brighten, and the ocean roll its

white waves in light.


Her sails were set, but the dying wind
Scarce wooed them, as they trembled on the yard
With an uncertain motion. She arose,
As a swan rises on her gilded wings,
When on a lake, at sunset, she uprears
Her form from out the waveless stream, and steers
Into the far blue ether-so, that ship
Seem'd lifted from the waters, and suspended,
Wing'd with her bright sails, in the silent air.
For age, and want, serve-while you may;
No morning sun--lasts a whole day

And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it;
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,
And stemming it, with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried," Help me, Cassius, or I sink.”
I. as Encas, our great ancestor,

592. A BATTLE-FIELD. We cannot see | Cæsar says to me,-"Darest thou, Cassius, now an individual expire, though a stranger, or Leap in with me, into this angry flood, an enemy, without being sensibly moved, and And swim to yonder point ?"—Upon the word, prompted by compassion, to lend him every Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, assistance in our power. Every trace of resentment-vanishes in a moment; every other emotion-gives way to pity and terror. In these last extremities, we remember nothing, but the respect and tenderness, due to our common nature. What a scene, then, must a field of battle present, where thousands are left, without assistance, and without pity, with their wounds exposed to the piercing air, while their blood, freezing as it flows, binds them to the earth, amid the trampling of horses, and the insults of an enranged foe! Far from their native home, no tender assiduities of friendship, no wellknown voice, no wife, or mother, or sister, is near, to soothe their sorrows, relieve their thirst, or close their eyes in death. Unhappy man! and must you be swept into the grave, unnoticed, and unnumbered, and no friendly tear be shed for your sufferings, or mingled with your dust?

593. BURIAL OF SIR JOHN moore.
Not a drum was heard nor a funeral | note,
As his corse to the ramparts | we hurried,
Not a soldier i discharged his farewell shot,
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him | darkly at dead of night,

The turf with our bay'nets | turning.
By the struggling moonbeam's I misty light,
And our lanterns I dimly burning.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow, [dead,
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the
And we bitterly thought I on the morrow.
No useless coffin | confined his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud I we bound him,
But he lay like a warrior | taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
We thought as we heaped the narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger I would tread o'er
And we far away on the billow. [his head,
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,
But nothing he'll reck if they let him sleep on,
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
But half our heavy task was done,

When the clock I told the hour for retiring,
And we heard the distant and random gun,
That the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame, fresh, and gory,
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But we left him | alone in his glory.

Honor-is the subject of my story ;-
I cannot tell what you, and other men--
Think of this life; but for my single self,

I had as lief not be, as live to be

in awe of such a thing-as myself.

I was born free as Cæsar; so were you;
We have both fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For, once upon a raw and gusty day,

The troubled Tiber, chafing with its shores,

Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves or
Did I-the tired Cesar; and this man- [Tiber
Is now-become a god; and Cassius-is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar-carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their color fly;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the
Did lose its lustre ; I did hear him groan, [world,
Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
"Alas!" it cried-"Give me some drink, Titinius"
As a sick girl.

Ye gods! it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper-should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world,
Like a Colossus, and we, petty men,
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about,
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men, at some time, are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. [Cæsar?
Brutus--and Casar! What should be in that
Why should that name be sounded more than

Write them together: yours is as fair a name ;
Sound them: it doth become the mouth as well,
Weigh them: it is as heavy; conjure with 'em.
Brutus-will start a spirit, as soon as Cæsar.

Now, in the name of all the gods at once,
Upon what meats-doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he hath grown so great 1 Age, thou art

Rome, thou hast 18st the breed of noble bloods.
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man!
When could they say, till now, that talked or

That her wide walls encompassed but one mans
Oh! you, and I-have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once, th't would have brooked
The infernal devil, to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king.

A warm heart-in this cold world-is like

A beacon-light-wasting feeble flame
Upon the wintry deep, that feels it not,
And, trembling with each pitiless gust th't blows,
Till its faint fire-is spent.

Nature, in her productions slow, aspires,
By just degrees, to reach perfec ion's height.

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604. AGAINST THE AMERICAN WAR. I cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on misfortune, and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous, and tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation: the smoothness of flattery-cannot save us, in this rugged, and awful crisis. It is now necessary, to instruct the throne, in the language of truth. We must. if possible, dispel the delusion, and darkness, which envelop it; and display, in its full danger, and genuine colors, the ruin, which is brought to our doors. Can ministers, still presume to expect support, in their infatuation? Can parliament, be so dead to its dignity, and duty, as to give their support to measures, thus obtruded, and forced upon them? Measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire-to scorn, and contempt! "But yesterday, and Britain might have stood against the world; now, none so poor, as to do her reverence. The people, whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us, supplied with every military store, have their interest consulted, and their embassadors entertained by our inveterate enemy-and ministers do not, and DARE not, interpose, with dignity, or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad, is in part known. No man more highly esteems, and honors the British troops, than I do; I know their virtues, and their valor; know they can achieve anything, but impossibilities; and I know that the conquest of British America is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst; but we know, that in three campaigns, we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, and accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot: your attempts will be forever vain, and impotent-doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid, on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine, and plunder, devoting thein, and their possessions, to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms; No-Never, never, never.-Chatham.


The kings, who rule mankind with haughty sway,
The prouder pope, whom even kings obey- [fall,
Love, at whose shrine both popes, and monarchs
And e'en self-interest, that controls them all-
Possess a petty power, when all combined.
Compared with fashion's influence on mankind;
For love itself will oft to fashion bow;
The following story will convince you how:
A petit maitre wooed a fair,

Of virtue, wealth, and graces rare;
But vainly had preferr'd his claim,
The maiden own'd no answering flame;
At length, by doubt and anguish torn,
Suspense, too painful to be borne,
Low at her feet he humbly kneel'd,
And thus his ardent flame reveal'd:
"Pity my grief, angelic fair,
Behold my anguish, and despair;
For you, this heart must ever burn-
O bless me, with a kind return;
My love, no language can express,
Reward it then, with happiness;

Nothing on earth, but you I prize,
All else is trifling in my eyes;
And cheerfully, would I resign
The wealth of worlds, to call you mine.
But, if another gain your hand,
Far distant from my native land,
Far hence, from you, and hope, I'll fly,
And in some foreign region die."

The maiden heard, and thus replied:
"If my consent to be your bride,
Will make you happy, then be blest;
But grant me, first, one small request;
A sacrifice I must demand,

And, in return, will give my hand"

"A sacrifice! O speak its name, For you I'd forfeit wealth, and fame; Take my whole fortune-every cent" ""Twas something more than wealth I mean." "Must I the realms of Neptune trace O speak the word-where'er the place, For you, the idol of my soul, I'd e'en explore the frozen pole; Arabia's sandy desert tread, Or trace the Tigris to its head."

"O no, dear sir, I do not ask,
So long a voyage, so hard a task;
You must-but ah! the boon I want,
I have no hope that you will grant."

"Shall I, like Bonaparte, aspire
To be the world's imperial sire?
Express the wish, and here I vow,
To place a crown upon your brow."
"Sir, these are trifles"-she replied-
But, if wish me for your bride,
You must-but still I fear to speak-
You'll never grant the boon I seek."


"O say!" he cried-" dear angel say→ What must I do, and I obey;

No longer rack me with suspense,
Speak your commands, and send me hence."
"Well, then, dear generous youth!" she cries,
"If thus my heart you really prize,
And wish to link your fate with mine,
On one condition I am thine;
"Twill then become my pleasing duty,
To contemplate a husband's beauty;
And, gazing on his manly face,
His feelings, and his wishes trace;
To banish thence each mark of care,
And light a smile of pleasure there.
O let me then, 'tis all I ask,
Commence at once the pleasing task;
O let me, as becomes my place,
Cut those huge whiskers from your face."
She said-but O, what strange surprise-
Was pictured in her lover's eyes!
Like lightning, from the ground he sprung,
While wild amazement tied his tongue;
A statue, motionless, he gazed,
Astonish'd, horror-struck, amazed
So, look'd the gallant Perseus, when
Medusa's visage met his ken;

So, look'd Macbeth, whose guilty eye
Discern'd an air-drawn dagger" nigh;
And so, the prince of Denmark stared,
When first his father's ghost appeared.

At length, our hero, silence broke,
And thus, in wildest accents spoke:
"Cut off my whiskers! O ye gods'
I'd sooner lose my ears, by odds;
Madam, I'd not be so disgraced,
So lost to fashion, and to taste,

To win an empress to my arms;
Though blest with more than mortal charms,
He said no more,
My whiskers! Zounds!"

But quick retreated through the door,
And sought a less obdurate fair,

To take the beau, with all his hair.-Woodworta.
This path, you say, is hid in endless night;

Tis self conceit, alone, obstructs your sight.

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