A fever--scorched my body, fired my brain! I raged with thirst, and begged a coll, clear draught Of fountain water.-'Twas with tears, denied. I drank a uause us febrifuge, and slept; Thirst raget within me.-I sought the deepest vale, I climbed a mountain, and from cliff to cliff, Pursued a flying cloud, howling for water:- I crushed the withered herbs, and quawed dry roots, Still crying, Water! water-While the cliffs and caves, In horrid mockery, re-echoed "Water!" Below the mountain, gleamed a city, red With solar flame, upon the san ly bank Of a broad river.—“Soon, oh soon!" I cried, "I'll coel my burning body in that flood, And quaff my fill."--1 ran-I reached the shore.-- Meanwhile the skies, on which they dared not gaze, At sight of whom, a general groan-announced The breath of furnace-fierce, volcanic fire, To clouds. And the forests, we espied A faint, and bleating herd. Sudden, a shrill, And norrid strout arose of-"Blood! blood: blood!" We tell upon them with the tiger's thirst, The cry of blood was hushed, and dumb confusion reigned. I heard a laurb! and saw a wretched man Rip his own veins, and, bleeding, drink With eater joy. The example seized on all : Each fell upon himself, tearing his veins. Fiercely, in search of blood! And some there we Upon their neighbor's arms, and slew them for their blood- To their parched tongues! "Tis done!-now all is gone! "Rend, oh! ye lightnings! the sealed firmament, And flood a burning work-Rain' rain! pour! pour! Luxurious death! Ye earthquakes, split the globe, I saw the mountains open with a rear, Low as the seven apocalyptic thunders, Kind friends, at your call, I'm come here to sing: Though small's the delight to you I can bring Some noses are large, and others are small, To some folks, I'm told, she gives no nose at all, Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me! My cause of complaint, and the worst of my woes, Is, because I have got such a shocking long nose. Some insult or other, each day I do meet, And by joking, my friends are all foes; A woman, with matches one day, I came near, Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me! Each rascal, each day, some inuendo throws, I screw'd up my lips, just to give her a kiss, Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me! The ring that I gave, at my head soon she throws, And another tipp'd me, 'twas a w-ring on the nose. Like a porter all day, with fatigue fit to crack, I'm seeking for rest, at each place, Or, like pilgrim of old, with his load at his back, Only my load I bear on my face. I can't get a wife, though each hour hard I try, The girls they all blush, like a rose; "I'm afraid to have you!" when I ask 'em for why? Because, you have got such a nose. Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me! A wag, you must know, just by way of a wipe, If I ask any one my way to disclose, If I lose it-they answer, why, follow your nose. The 642. NOBILITY OF LABOR. Why, in the great scale of things, is labor ordained for us? Easily, had it so pleased the great Ordainer, might it have been dispensed with. world itself, might have been a mighty machinery, for producing all that man wants. Houses might have risen like an exhalation, "With the sound Of dulcet symphonies, and voices sweet, Built like a temple." Gorgeous furniture might have been placed in them, and soft couches and luxurious banquets spread, by hands unseen; and man, clothed with fabrics of nature's weaving, rather than with imperial purple, might have been sent to disport himself in those Elysian palaces. "Fair scene!" I imagine you are saying: "fortunate for us had it been the scene ordained for human life!" But where, then, had been human energy, perseverance, patience, virtue, heroism? Cut off labor with one blow, from the world, and mankind had sunk to a crowd of Asiatic voluptuaries. Better, No-it had not been fortunate! that the earth be given to man as a dark mass, whereupon to labor. Better, that rude, and unsightly materials be provided in the ore-bed, and in the forest, for him to fashion in splendor and beauty. Better I say, not because of that splendor, and beauty, but, because the act of creating them, is better than the things themselves; because exertion is nobler than enjoyment; because the laborer is greater and more worthy of honor, than the idler. 643. DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM. Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am ch II, As to my bosom-I have tried to press thee. How was I wont-to feel my pulses thr ll, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush [come But thou-no more, with thy sweet voice, shall To meet me, Absalom! But, oh: when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, [token! Yearn for thine ear-to drink its last-deep And now-farewell! 'Tis hard-to give thee up, I call upon those whom I address, to stand up for the nobility of labor. It is heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not the great ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down; and it has been broken down for ages. Let it then be built again; here, if any where, on the shores of a new world-of a new civilization. But how, it may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil? it may be said. He covered up his face, and bowed himself, They do indeed toil, but they too generally do, because they must. Many submit to it, A moment, on his child; then, giving him as in some sort, a degrading necessity; and A look of melting tenderness, he clasped they desire nothing so much on earth, as an His hands, convulsively, as if in prayer; escape from it. They fulfil the great law of And, as a strength were given him of God, labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit. He rose up, calmly, and composed the pall, To some field of labor, mental or manual, Firmly, and decently, and left him there,-every idler should hasten, as a chosen, covet-As if his rest--had been a breathing sleep. Wills. ed field of improvement. But so he is not compelled to do, under the teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, This way of and blesses himself in idleness. thinking, is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to toil! Ashamed of thy dingy work-shop, and dusty labor-field; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honorable than that of war; of thy soiled and weatherstained garments, on which mother nature has embroidered mist, sun and rain, fire and steam, her own heraldic honors? Ashamed of those tokens, and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness, and vanity! It is treason to nature, it is impiety to heaven; it is breaking heaven's great ordinance. Toil, I repeat-toll, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood, the only true nobility!-Dewey. The theatre was from the very first, Angels, and holy men, trembling, retired : 644. MARCO BOZZARRIS. He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the ete of the ancient Platea, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were-"To die for liberty, is a pleasure, and not a pain." At midnight-in his guarded tent, The Turk-was dreaming of the hour, In dreams, through camp-and court, he bore In dreams, his song of triumph heard; At midnight,-in the forest shades, There, had the Persian's thousands stood, And now, there breathed that haunted air, An hour passed on-the Turk-awoke- And death-shots-falling thick and fast "Strike! till the last armed foe expires; They fought, like brave men, long and well; His few surviving comrades saw Then saw, in death, his eyelids close Come to the bridal chamber,-Death! Come, when the heart beats high, and warm, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, But, to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice-sounds like a prophet's word, The thanks of millions-yet to be. Greece nurtured. in her glory's time, That were not born-to die.-Halleck. 645. MAID OF MALAHIDE. In the church of Malahide, in Ireland, are the tomb and effigy of the Lady Maid Plunkett, sister of the first Lord Dunsanny, ef whom it is recorded that "she was maid, wife, and widow in one day." Her first husband, Hussy, Baron of Galtrim, was called from the altar to head "a hosting of the English against the Irish," and was brought back to the bridal banquet a corpse, porn the shields of his followers. The dark-eyed Maid-of Malah.de, Her silken bodice laced, And Galtrim-claims his blushing bride, But hark! what fearful sounds are those? The gallants-all are mustering now- One kiss-and he is gone ; The feast is spread, but many a knight, The garlands-bright with rainbow dyes, The starry lamps-out-shine the skies, Hath sympathy-with none I have no need-of such things now :" And then--her cheek-she placed- When the last hope,--the heart had kept, Lies buried-in the deep. Long years have passed,-since that young [bride The holy walls--of Malahide- That form-she wore in life,-whose love- Did grace--her woman's heart.-Crawford. The influence of example-is a terrible responsibility-on the shoulders of every individual. 646. AARON BURR AND BLENNERHAS-1 and the seductive, and fascinating power of SETT. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and what his address. The conquest was not a diffi the part which he has borne in this transac- cult one. Innocence is ever simple, and tion! He is its author; its projector; its ac- credulous; conscious of no design itself, at tive executor. Bold, ardent, restless, and as- suspects none in others; it wears no guards piring, his brain conceived it; his hand before its breast: every door, and portal, and brought it into action. Beginning his opera-avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all, tons in New York, he associates with him, who choose it, enter. Such, was the state of men, whose wealth is to supply the neces- Eden, when the serpent entered its bowers. sary funds. Possessed of the mainspring, The prisoner, in a niore engaging form, windhis personal labor contrives all the machine-ing himself into the open and unpracticed ry. Pervading the continent from New-York | heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found to New-Orleans, he draws into his plan, by but little difficulty, in changing the native every allurement which he can contrive, men character of that heart, and the objects of its of all ranks, and all descriptions. To youth-affection. By degrees, he infuses into it the ful ardor he presents danger and glory; to poison of his own ambition; he breathes into ambition, rank, and titles, and honors; to av-it the tire of his own courage; a daring and des arice, the mines of Mexico. To each person whom he addresses, he presents the object adapted to his taste: his recruiting officers are appointed; men are engaged throughout the continent: civil life is indeed quiet upon the surface; but in its bosom this man has contrived to deposit the materials, which, with the slighest touch of his match, produces an explosion, to shake the continent. All this his restless ambition has contrived; and, in the autumn of 1806, he goes forth, for the last time, to apply this match. On this excursion he meets with Blennerhassett. perate thirst for glory; an ardor, panting for all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. In a short time, the whole man is changed, and every object of his former delight relinquished. No more he enjoys the tranquil scene; it has become flat, and insipid to his taste; his books are abandoned; his retort, and crucible, are thrown aside; his shrubbery in vain blooms, and breathes its fragrance upon the air-he likes it not; his ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music; it longs for the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's roar; even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, Who is Blennerhassett! A native of Ire- no longer affects him; and the angel smile of land, a man of letters, who fled from the his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom storms of his own country to find quiet in ours. with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt His history shews, that war is not the natu- and unseen. Greater objects have taken posral element of his mind; if it had been, he session of his soul-his imagination has been would never have exchanged Ireland for dazzled by visions of diadems, and stars, and America. So far is an army from furnishing garters, and titles of nobility: he has been the society, natural and proper to Mr. Blen- taught to burn with restless emulation at the nerhassett's character, that on his arrival in names of Cromwell, Cesar, and Bonaparte. America, he retired, even from the popula- His enchanted island is destined soon to retion of the Atlantic states, and sought quiet, lapse into a desert; and, in a few months, and solitude, in the bosom of our western for- we find the tender, and beautiful partner of ests. But he carried with him taste, and sci- his bosom, whom he lately "permitted not ence, and wealth; and "lo, the desert smiled." the winds of" summer" to visit too roughly," Possessing himself of a beautiful island in we find her shivering, at midnight, on the the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and dec-winter banks of the Chio, and mingling her orates it with every romantic embellishment tears with the torrents, that froze as they fell. of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might Yet, this unfortunate man, thus deluded from have envied, blooms around him; music that his interest, and his happiness-thus seduced might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, from the paths of innocence, and peace--thus is his; an extensive library spreads its treas- confounded in the toils, which were deliberures before him; a philosophical apparatus ately spread for him, and overwhelmed by ofers to him all the secrets, and mysteries of the inastering spirit, and genius of anothernature; peace, tranquillity, and innocence this man, thus ruined, and undone, and made shed their mingled delights around him; and, to play a subordinate part in this grand drama to crown the enchantment of the scene, a of guilt and treason-this man is to be called wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond the principal offender; while he, by whom he her sex, and graced with every accomplish-was thus plunged, and steeped in misery, is ment, that can render it irresistible, had blesred him with her love, and made him the father of her children. The evidence would convince you, that this is but a faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocence, and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the heart-the destroyer comes he comes-to turn this paradise-into a hell-yet the flowers do not wither at his approach, and no monitory shuddering, through the bosom of their un fortunate possessor, warns him of the ruin, that is coming upon him. A stranger presents himself. Introduced to their civilities, by the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts, by the dignity, and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, comparatively innocent-a mere accessory. 648. RICH AND POOR MAN. 647. TALENTS ALWAYS ASCENDANT. as unavailing, as would a human effort "to Talents, whenever they have had a suitable quench the stars."-Wirt. theatre, have never failed to emerge from obscurity, and assume their proper rank in the estimation of the world. The jealous pride of power may attempt to repress, and crush them; the base, and malignant rancor of impotent spleen, and envy-may strive to embarrass and retard their flight: but these efforts, so far from achieving their ignoble purpose, so far from producing a discernible obquity, in the ascent of genuine, and vigorous talents, will serve only to increase their momentum, and mark their transit, with an additional stream of glory. When the great earl of Chatham-first made his appearance in the house of commons, and began to astonish, and transport the British parliament, and the British nation, by the boldness, the force, and range of his thoughts, and the celestial fire, and pathos of his eloquence, it is well known, that the minister, Walpole, and his brother Horace, from motives very easily understood, exerted all their wit, all their oratory, all their acquirements of every description, sustained and enforced by the unfeeling "insolence of office," to heave a mountain on his gigantic genius, and hide it from the world. Poor and powerless attempt! The tables were turned. He rose upon them, in the might, and irresistible energy of his genius, and, in spite of all their convulsions, frantic agonies, and spasms, he strangled them, and their whole faction, with as much case as Hercules did the serpent Python. Who can turn over the debates of the day, and read the account of this conflict between youthful ardor, and hoary-headed cunning, and power, without kindling in the cause of the tyro, and shouting at his victory? That they should have attempted to pass off the grand, yet solid and judicious operations of a mind like his, as being mere theatrical start and emotion; the giddy, hair-brained eccentricities of a romantic boy! That they should have had the presumption to suppose themselves capable of chaining down, to the floor | of the parliament, a genius so etherial, towering and sublime, seems unaccountable! Why did they not, in the next breath, by way of crowning the climax of vanity, bid the magnificent fire-ball to descend from its exalted, and appropriate region, and perform its splendid tour along the surface of the earth? So goes the world-if wealthy, you may call As Cræsus rich; I'm sure He could not pride himself upon his wit, What a confusion!--all stand up erect- "This is indeed, beyond my comprehension:" One friendly face he found. But wisdom-none can borrow, none can lend?" THE ABUSE OF AUTHORITY. Talents, which are before the public, have nothing to dread, either from the jealous pride of power, or from the transient misrepresentations of party, spleen, or envy. In spite of opposition from any cause, their buoyant spirit will lift them to their proper grade. The Te have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous man who comes fairly before the world, and To use it like a giant. who possesses the great, and vigorous stami-Could great men thunder For every pelting, petty officer, [thunder. Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but Merciful heaven! Ia, which entitle him to a niche in the temple As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet: or glory, has no reason to dread the ultimate result; however slow his progress may be, he will, in the end, most indubitably receive that distinction. While the rest, "the swallows of science," the butterflies of genius, may flutter for their spring; but they will soon pass away, and be remembered no more. No enterprising man, therefore, and least of all, the truly great man, has reason to droop, or repine, at any efforts, which he may suppose to be made, with the view to depress him. Let, then, the tempest of envy, or of malice howl around him. His genius will consecrate him; and any attempt to extinguish that, will be Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, |