681. THE NATURE OF ELOQUENCE. When public bodies are to be addressed, on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, farther than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it, but cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory, contemptible. Even genius itself then feels repuked, and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, selfdevotion is eloquent. The clear conception, cut-running the deductions of logic, the high purpose, of firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object,-this-is eloquence.-Webster. 682. THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. I said to Sorrow's awful storm, "Rage on! thou may'st destroy this form, But still the spirit that now brooks Thy tempest, raging high, Undaunted, on its fury looks- With steadfast eye." I said to Pentry's meagre train, I said-to cold Neglect, and Scorn, And being-are forgot; Its high-born smiles." said-to Friendship's menaced blow, Yet still-the spirit, that sustains This last severe distress, Shall smile-upon its keenest pains, I said to Death's uplifted dart, Shall, smiling, pass away." 683. PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA. 'Mid the light spray, their snorting camels stood, Nor bath'd a fetlock, in the nauseous flood: He comes-their leader comes! the man of God, o'er the wide waters, lifts his mighty rod, And onward treads. The circling waves retreat In hoarse, deep murmurs, from his holy feet; And the chas'd surges, inly roaring, show The hard wet sand, and coral hills below. With limbs, that falter, and with hearts, that swell, "Fly, Misraim, fly!" The ravenous floods they see, -684. GREEK LITERATURE. It is impos- | And, lost each human trace, surrendering up sible to contemplate the annals of Greek lit-Thine individual being, shalt thou go, erature, and art, without being struck with To mix forever with the elements, them, as by far the most extraordinary, and To be a brother-to th' insensible rock, brilliant phenomenon, in the history of the hu-And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain man mind. The very language, even in its primitive simplicity, as it came down from the Turns with his share, and treads upon. rhapsodists, who celebrated the exploits of Hercules, and Theseus, was as great a wonder, as any it records. All the other tongues, that civilized men have spoken, are poor, and feeble, and barbarous, in comparison of it. Its compass, and flexibility, its riches, and its powers, are altogether unlimited. It not only expresses, with precision, all that is thought, or known, at any given period, but it enlarges itself naturally, with the progress of science, and afrords, as if without an effort, a new phrase, or a systematic nomenclature, whenever one is called for. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy m The hills, [all, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between; It is equally adapted to every variety of The venerable woods; rivers, that move style, and subject, to the most shadowy sub-In majesty, and the complaining brooks tlety of distinction, and the utmost exactness of definition, as well as to the energy, and the pathos of popular eloquence, to the majesty, the elevation, the variety of the Epic, and the boldest license of the Dithyrambic, no less than to the sweetness of the Elegy, the simplicity of the Pastoral, or the heedless gayety, and delicate characterization of Comedy. Above all, what is an unspeakable charm, a sort of naivete is peculiar to it, and appears in all those various styles, and is quite as becoming, and agreeable, in an historian, or a philosopher, Xenophon for instance, as in the light and jocund numbers of Anacreon. Indeed, were there no other object, in learning Greek, but to see-to what perfection language is capable of being carried, not only as a medium of communication, but as an instrument of thought, we see not why the time of a young man would not be just as well bestowed, in acquiring a knowledge of it, for all the purposes, at least of a liberal, or elementary education, as in learning algebra, another specimen of a language, or arrangement of signs perfect in its kind.-Legare. 685. OUR EXIT: THANATOPSIS. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, "Yet a few days, and thee, That make the meadows green; and, poured round All that tread So live, that when thy summons comes, to join It is jealousy's-peculiar nature, To swell small things-to great; nay, out of nought 686. BENEFITS OF AGRICULTURE. Agri- | culture-is the greatest among the arts; for it is first in supplying our necessities. It is the mother, and nurse-of all other arts. It favors and strengthens population; it creates and maintains manufactures; gives employment to navigation, and materials to commerce. It animates every species of industry, and opens-to nations the surest channels of opulence. It is also the strongest bond of well regulated society, the surest basis of internal peace, the natural association of good morals. We ought to count, among the benefits of agriculture, the charm, which the practice of it communicates to a country life. That charm, which has made the country, in our view, the retreat of the hero, the asylum of the sage, and the temple of the historic muse. The strong desire, the longing after the country, with which we find the bulk of mankind to be penetrated, points to it as the chosen abode of sublunary bliss. The sweet occupations of culture, with her varied products and attendant enjoyments, are, at least, a relief from the stifling atmosphere of the city, the monotony of subdivided employments, the anxious uncertainty of commerce, the vexations of ambition so often disappointed, of self-love so often mortified, of factitious pleasures, and unsubstantial vanities. Health, the first and best of all the blessings of life, is preserved and fortified by the practice of agriculture. That state of well-being, which we feel and cannot define; that selfsatisfied disposition, which depends, perhaps, on the perfect equilibrium, and easy play of vital forces, turns the slightest acts to pleasure, and makes every exertion of our faculties a source of enjoyment; this inestimable state of our bodily functions is most vigorous in the country, ai! if lost elsewhere, it is in the country we exct to recover it. The very theatre agricultural avocations, gives them a value te is peculiar; for who can contemplate, withes motion, the magnificent spectacle of natury, when, arrayed in vernal hues, she renews the scenery of the world! All things revive her erful voice -the meadow resumes its freshneas and verdure; a living sap circulates through every budding tree; flowers spring to meet the warm caresses of Zephyr, and from their opening petals pour forth rich perfume. The songsters of the forest once more awake, and in tones of melody, again salute the coming | dawn; and again they deliver to the evening echo their strains of tenderness and love. Can man-rational, sensitive man-can he remain unmoved by the surrounding presence! and where else, than in the country, can he behold, where else can he feel-this jubilee of nature, this universal joy!--MacNeven. Let me lead you from this place of sorrow, 687. THE AMERICAN FLAG. And set the stars of glory-there. Who rear'st aloft-thy regal form, When strive-the warriors of the storm, And rolls-the thunder-drum of heaven,Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given, To guard the banner of the free, To hover-in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke, And bid its blendings-shine, afar, Like rainbows-on the cloud of war, The harbingers-of victory! Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope-and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line-comes gleaming on. Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, Each soldier eye-shall brightly turn To where thy meteor glories burn; And, as his springing steps advance, Catch war, and vengeance-from the glance. And when the cannon-mouthings loud, Heave, in wild wreaths, the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise, and fall, Like shoots of flame-on midnight's pall; There shall thy victor glances glow, And cowering foes-shall fall beneath Each gallant arm, that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave, Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave: When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly-round the bellied sail, And frighted waves-rush wildly backBefore the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea, Shall look, at once, to heaven-and thee, And smile-to see thy splendors fly, In triumph-o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's only home! By angel hands--to valor given; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues--were born in heaven. Forever float--that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe-but falls before With Freedom's soil--beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner-streaming o'er us! His being was in her alone, And he not being, she was none. They joy'd one joy, one grief they griev'd, One love they lov'd, one life they liv'd. Bowl-rang to bowl,-steel-clanged to steel,—and rose a deafen- That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high: O then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. 688. TRIBUTE.O WASHINGTON. Hard, hard indeed, was the contest for freedom, and the struggle for independence. The golden sun of liberty-had nearly set, in the gloom of an eternal night, ere its radiant beams illumined our western horizon. Had not the tutelar saint of Columbia-hovered around the American camp, and presided over her destinies, freedom must have met with an antimely grave. Never, can we sufficiently admire the wisdom of those statesmen, and the skill, and bravery, of those unconquerable veterans, who, by their unwearied exertions in the cabinet, and in the field, achieved for us the glorious revolution. Never, can we duly appreciate the merits of a Washington; who, with but a handfull of undisciplined yeomanry, triumphed over a royal army, and prostrated the lion of England at the feet of the American eagle. His name, so terrible to his foes, so welcome to his friends,--shall live forever upon the brightest page of the historian, and be remembered, with the warmest emotions of gratitude, and pleasure, by those, whom he had contributed to make happy, and by all mankind, when kings, and princes, and nobles, for ages, shall have sunk into their merited oblivion. Unlike them, he needs not the assistance of the sculptor, or the architect, to perpetuate his memory: he needs no princely dome, no monumental pile, no state-Time out of mind, the fairies' coach-makers. ly pyramid, whose towering height shall And in this state she gallops, night by night, pierce the stormy clouds, and rear its lofty Thro' lovers' brains, and then they dream of love? head to heaven, to tell posterity his fame. On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies strat; His deeds, his worthy deeds, alone have ren- O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees' dered him immortal! When oblivion shall O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream have swept away thrones, kingdoms, and Sometimes, she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, principalities--when human greatness, and grandeur, and glory, shall have mouldered in- And then, dreams he of smelling out a suit: to dust,--eternity itself shall catch the glow- And sometimes comes she, with a tithe-pig's til, ing theme, and dwell with increasing rapture Tickling the parson, as he lies asleep; on his name!--Gen. Harrison. Then dreams he-of another benefice. Sometimes, she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,/ Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathoms deep; and then anon Drums in his ears, at which he starts, and wakes; And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, And sleeps again.-Shakspeare. 689. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. The stern-old Baron Rudiger, whose frame-had ne'er been bent And what is death? I've dared him oft-before the Paynim spear, Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here? 've met him, faced him, scorn'd him, when the fight was raging hot, I try his might-I'll brave his power: defy, and fear him not. An hundred hands were busy then, the banquet forth was spread, And rung-the heavy oaken floor, with many a martial tread; Lights-gleamed on 1 arness, plume and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall. Fast hurrying through the outer gate-the mailed retainers pour'd, Fill every breaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine, 2 B of youth--is slowly wasting away into the YOUTH AND AGE. When the summer day nightfall of age, and the shadows of past years grow deeper and deeper, as life wears to its close, it is pleasant to look back, through the vista of time, upon the sorrows and felicities of our earlier years. If we have a home to shelter, and hearts to rejoice with us, and friends have been gathered together around wayfaring will have been worn and smoothed our firesides, then, the rough places of our away, in the twilight of life, while the sunny spots we have passed through, will grow brighter and more beautiful. Happy, indeed, are they, whose interference with the world has not changed the tone of their holier feelings, or broken those musical chords of the heart, whose vibrations are so melodious, so tender and touching, in the evening of age. When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose. Each change of many-color'd life he drew; Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new: Existence-saw him spurn her bounded regn; And panting Time-toil'd after him in vain. A But still, as wilder grew the wind, I boat--has left the stormy land, 4 One lovely hand--she stretched for aid, And I'll forgive your Highland chief: 691. 1 HE PASSING OF TE RUBIcon. gentleman, Mr. President, speaking of Cesar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance, with which he cn red into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon ?" How came he to the brink of that river! How dared he cross it! Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river. Oh! but he paused upon the brink! He should have perished upon the brink, cre he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed! Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye, taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscierce! 'Twas that made Cesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion! What compassion! The compassion of an assin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to cut! Cesar paused up the brink of the Rubicon! What was Rubicon? The boundary of Cesar's price. From what And he was left-lamenting.-Campbell. did it separate his provi. From his country. Was that coun desert? No: it 693. PROGRESS OF GOVERNMENT. In was cultivated and fe; rich and popu- government, as in science, it is useful, often lous! Its sons were en of genius, spirit, to review its progress, and to revert, even to and generosity! Its Caughters were lovely, its simplest elements. It will be salutary, fresusceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its quently to ascertain, how far society, and inhabitant! Love was its inhabitant! Do- laws, in their present condition, accord with mestic affection was its inhabitant! Liberty those, which we have been accustomed to was its inhabitant! All bounded by the consider, as their first and purest principles; stream of the Rubicon! What was Česar, how far, in the lapse of time, they may have that stood upon the bank of that stream? A deviated from their original form and structraitor, bringing war and pestilence into the ture. Even when we recur to inquiries, heart of that country! No wonder that he merely speculative, to imaginary" social cor paused- -no wonder if, his imagination tracts," to abstract rights, we may often gathwrought upon by his conscience, he had beer instruction, and detect some concealed, or held blood-instead of water; and heard neglected truth, applicable to our own times groans, instead of murmurs! No wonder if and to our own immediate condition. some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot! But, no!-he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged!--he crossed!and Rome was free no more!-Knowles. 692. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. The waters wild went o'er his child, But when a government is derived, not from fictitious assumptions, not from ancient or obscure sources, or traditions, but, from actual, and specific agreement; when many, and various interests have been combined and compromised, and a written covenant has assured to many parties, rights, and powers, and privileges, it becomes a duty to revise this compact frequently and strictly, that no one entitled to its protection may be de "Now, who be ye-would cross Loch-Gyle, prived, through inadvertence on the one part, This dark-and stormy water?" My blood-would stain the heather. or encroachment on the other, of his vested To habit in, and it more fairly dight This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind! On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires: Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. |