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LESSON LXXXVII.

Curiosity.

1. It came from Heaven-it reigned in Eden's shades—
It roves on earth—and every walk invades :
Childhood and age alike its influence own;

It haunts the beggar's nook, the monarch's throne;
Hangs o'er the cradle, leans above the bier,
Gazed on old Babel's tower-and lingers here.

2. To all that's lofty, all that's low it turns,
With terror curdles, and with rapture burns;
Now feels a seraph's throb, now, less than man's,
A reptile tortures and a planet scans;
Now idly joins in life's poor, passing jars,

Now shakes creation off, and soars beyond the stars.

3. 'Tis CURIOSITY-Who hath not felt
Its spirit, and before its altar knelt?

In the pleased infant see its power expand,
When first the coral fills its little hand;
Throned in his mother's lap, it dries each tear,
As her sweet legend falls upon his ear;
Next it assails him in his top's strange hum,
Breathes in his whistle, echoes in his drum;
Each gilded toy, that doting love bestows,
He longs to break, and every spring expose.

4. Placed by your hearth, with what delight he pores
O'er the bright pages of his pictured stores!
How oft he steals upon your graver task,

Of this to tell you, and of that to ask!
And, when the waning hour to-bedward bids,
Though gentle sleep sit waiting on his lids,
How winningly he pleads to gain you o'er,
That he may read one little story more!

5. Nor yet alone to toys and tales confined,

It sits, dark brooding, o'er his embryo mind:
Take him between your knees, peruse his face,
While all you know, or think you know, you trace;
Tell him who spoke creation into birth,

Arched the broad heavens and spread the rolling earth;

Who formed a pathway for the obedient sun,
And bade the seasons in their circles run;
Who filled the air, the forest, and the flood,
And gave man all, for comfort or for food;
Tell him they sprang at God's creating nod-
He stops you short with, "Father, who made God?"
6. Thus through life's stages may we mark the power
That masters man in every changing hour.
It tempts him from the blandishments of home,
Mountains to climb and frozen seas to roam;
By air-blown bubbles buoyed, it bids him rise,
And hang, an atom in the vaulted skies;

Lured by its charm, he sits and learns to trace
The midnight wanderings of the orbs of space;
Boldly he knocks at wisdom's inmost gate,
With nature counsels, and communes with fate;
Below, above, o'er all he dares to rove,

In all finds God, and finds that God all love.
7. Turn to the world-its curious dwellers view,
Like Paul's Athenians, seeking something new.
Be it a bonfire's or a city's blaze,

The gibbet's victim, or the nation's gaze,
A female atheist, or a learned dog,

A monstrous pumpkin, or a mammoth hog,
A murder, or a muster, 'tis the same;
Life's follies, glories, griefs, all feed the flame.
8. Hark, where the martial trumpet fills the air,
How the roused multitude come round to stare!
Sport drops his ball, Toil throws his hammer by,
Thrift breaks a bargain off, to please his eye;
Up fly the windows; even fair mistress cook,
Though dinner burn, must run to take a look.
In the thronged court the ruling passion read,
Where Story dooms, where Wirt and Webster plead ;
Yet kindred minds alone their flights shall trace,
The herd press on to see a cut-throat's face.

9. Around the gallows' foot behold them draw,
When the lost villain answers to the law;
Soft souls, how anxious on his pangs to gloat,
When the vile cord shall tighten round his throat!
And ah! each hard-bought stand to quit how grieved,
As the sad rumor runs-" The man's reprieved!"

10. Behold the sick man in his easy chair;
Barred from the busy crowd and bracing air,
How every passing trifle proves its power
To while away the long, dull, lazy hour!
As down the pane the rival rain-drops chase,
Curious he'll watch to see which wins the race;
And let two dogs beneath his window fight,
He'll shut his Bible to enjoy the sight.

11. So with each new-born nothing rolls the day,
Till some kind neighbor, stumbling in his way,
Draws up his chair, the sufferer to amuse,
And makes him happy while he tells-The News.
12. The News! our morning, noon, and evening cry;
Day unto day repeats it till we die.

For this the cit, the critic, and the fop,
Dally the hour away in Tonsor's shop;
For this the gossip takes her daily route,
And wears your threshold and your patience out;-

13. For this we leave the parson in the lurch,

And pause to prattle on the way to church;
Even when some coffined friend we gather round,
We ask, "What news?" then lay him in the ground;
To this the breakfast owes its sweetest zest,
For this the dinner cools, the bed remains unpressed.

14. Undraw yon curtain, look within that room,
Where all is splendor, yet where all is gloom :
Why weeps that mother? why, in pensive mood,
Group noiseless round, that little, lovely brood?
The battledoor is still, laid by each book,
And the harp slumbers in its 'customed nook.
Who hath done this? what cold, unpitying foe
Has made this house the dwelling-place of wo?

15. "Tis he, the husband, father, lost in care,
O'er that sweet fellow in his cradle there:
The gallant bark that rides by yonder strand,
Bears him to-morrow from his native land.
Why turns he, half unwilling, from his home,
To tempt the ocean, and the earth to roam?
Wealth he can boast, a miser's sigh would hush,
And health is laughing in that ruddy blush;

Friends spring to greet him, and he has no foe-
So honored and so blessed,-what bids him go?—
16. His eye must see, his foot each spot must tread,
Where sleeps the dust of earth's recorded dead;
Where rise the monuments of ancient time,
Pillar and pyramid in age sublime;

The Pagan's temple and the Churchman's tower,
War's bloodiest plain and Wisdom's greenest bower;
All that his wonder woke in school-boy themes,
All that his fancy fired in youthful dreams.

17. Where Socrates once taught he thirsts to stray,
Where Homer poured his everlasting lay;
From Virgil's tomb he longs to pluck one flower,
By Avon's stream to live one moonlight hour;
To pause where England "garners up
" her great,
And drop a patriot's tear to Milton's fate;
Fame's living masters, too, he must behold,
Whose deeds shall blazon with the best of old ;
Nations compare, their laws and customs scan,
And read, wherever spread, the book of man ;-
For these he goes, self-banished from his hearth,
And wrings the hearts of all he loves on earth
18. Yet say, shall not new joy those hearts inspire,
When, grouping round the future winter fire,
To hear the wonders of the world they burn,
And lose his absence in his glad return?—
Return? alas! he shall return no more,

To bless his own sweet home, his own proud shore.
19. Look once again-cold in his cabin now,
Death's finger-mark is on his pallid brow;
No wife stood by, her patient watch to keep,
To smile on him, then turn away to weep;
Kind woman's place rough mariners supplied,
And shared the wanderer's blessing when he died.
20. Wrapped in the raiment that it long must wear,
His body to the deck they slowly bear;
Even there the spirit that I sing is true;
The crew look on with sad, but curious view;
The setting sun flings round his farewell rays,
O'er the broad ocean not a ripple plays;

How eloquent, how awful in its power,

The silent lecture of death's Sabbath-hour!

21. One voice that silence breaks-the prayer is said,
And the last rite man pays to man is paid;
The plashing waters mark his resting-place,
And fold him round in one long, cold embrace;
Bright bubbles for a moment sparkle o'er,
Then break, to be, like him, beheld no more;
Down, countless fathoms down, he sinks to sleep,
With all the nameless shapes that haunt the deep.

LESSON LXXXVIII.

Washing-Day.

1. THE Muses are turned gossips; they have lost
The buskined step, and clear, high-sounding phrase,
Language of gods. Come, then, domestic Muse,
In slipshod measure loosely prattling on

Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream,
Or drowning flies, or shoe lost in the mire
By little, whimpering boy, with rueful face;
Come, Muse, and sing the dreaded Washing-Day.
2. Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend,
With bowed soul, full well ye ken the day
Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on
Too soon;-for to that day nor peace belongs
Nor comfort;-ere the first gray streak of dawn,
The red-armed washers come and chase repose.
3. Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth,
E'er visited that day: the very cat,

From the wet kitchen scared, and reeking hearth,
Visits the parlor,-an unwonted guest.

4. The silent breakfast meal is soon dispatched;
Uninterrupted, save by anxious looks

Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower.
For should the skies pour down, adieu to all
Remains of quiet: then expect to hear
Of sad disasters,-dirt and gravel stains
Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once

Snapped short, and linen-horse by dog thrown down,
And all the petty miseries of life.

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