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The carol from the leafy bower,
The strains that from creation roll,
When on my harp she breathes her soul,
Are emblems of the joy that springs
Deep, measureless, unspoken,
When the dark chain of despot kings
Is from the spirit broken.
Hear'st thou such music in thy hall
When warring blasts hold festival?”
“Thou, who t” annul the law dost seek
By which the strong control the weak,
Wouldst thou in frantic madness sweep
This glorious structure to the deep
Whelm in the dust yon turrets proud
Which hurl their gauntlet 'gainst the cloud!
And make these gem-encrusted plains
A vulgar haunt for piping swains,
And brawling brooks, and baby bowers,
And nameless troops of vagrant flowers ?
Usurper, hence!” he rudely said,
And trembling from his realm she fled,
For thund'ring o'er the rocky crown,
An avalanche rush'd fiercely down,
And in its wide and wrecking storm
Perchance had whelm'd her shrinking form.
But a bright cloud its tissued fold
Unclasp'd, of crimson blent with gold,
And soaring on its wing, she rose
Homeward to heaven, to find repose
Upon her couch of fadeless rose.
The waking hermit, o'er whose head
The lustre of this pageant fled,
Retraced its scenes with wonder new,
And musing, thus the moral drew.
“The genial gifts of Spring to earth,
Methinks, are types of Freedom's birth,
And the dark Winter of my dream,
Oppression's emblem well may seem ;
For many a clime that meets our view
Will prove these varying symbols true.
Unhappy Spain though nature pours
Wide wealth o'er thy enchanting shores,
Though richer fruits, or prouder coast,
Or purer skies, no realm may boast,
Yet moral midnight wraps the mind,
And Winter rules o'er human kind,
Bids his dark storms unpitying roll,
And famine blight the dwindled soul.
Far hence, where western suns decline,
Behold an infant empire shine,
Where Spring protects with florist's care
Of peace and hope the blossoms fair,
And liberty doth strike her lyre
From rock, and vale, and village spire,
Warning each free and valiant sire,
Nightly to teach his cradled son
The watch-word name of Washington.
Bright Albion look from Ocean's breast,
In Summer's radiance richly drest,
Anointed land where monarchs reign
Without the despot's scourge and chain,
Where, sleepless at their mighty helm,
The watchful pilots of thy realm
Allot to all the fair degree,
Not meanly tame, or madly free.
But oh, Italia! mark'd by fate,
So glorious, yet so desolate
What vernal warmth can e'er reclaim
The sick'ning Autumn of thy fame 7
Thy buried harvest who resume
From the deep garner of the tomb 7"
He ceased, for tears of anguish fell,
And hasting to his inmost cell,
O'er Rome, – of earth the ancient queen,
Who on her ruin’d throne is seen
With hectic cheek, and withering eye,
He mourn'd, -till Memory's flowrets sigh'd,
And Hope's last, saint illusion died.
“Honor thy father and thy mother,” is the first commandment, with promise. The honor which children are required to give to their parents includes in it, love, reverence, obedience, and relief, if needed. From them, they have received their very existence, and consequently all the pleasures and enjoyments of life. The occasion which demands from children the greatest tokens of respect and tenderness in their behaviour to their parents, is when they labor under infirmities of body or mind, and in the time of extreme old age. “Me let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of declining age, With lenient arts extend a parent's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death;
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep awhile a parent from the sky.”
Upon a time, a neighing Steed,
Who grazed among a numerous breed,
With mutiny had fired the train,
And spread dissension through the plain.
On matters that concern'd the state,
The council met in grand debate.
A Colt, whose eyeballs flamed with ire,
Elate with strength and youthful fire,
In haste stepp'd forth before the rest,
And thus the listening throng address'd :-
“Good gods ! how abject is our race!
Condemn'd to slavery and disgrace.
Shall we our servitude retain, Because our sires have borne the chain 7 Consider, friends, your strength and might, 'T is conquest to assert your right. How cumb’rous is the gilded coach' The pride of man is our reproach. Were we design'd for daily toil, To drag the ploughshare through the soil; To sweat in harness through the road; To groan beneath the carrier's load 7 How feeble are the two-legg'd kind! What force is in our nerves combined ' Shall, then, our nobler jaws submit To foam and champ the galling bit 7 Shall haughty man my back bestride 7 Shall the sharp spur provoke my side 7 Forbid it, heavens ! reject the rein; Your shame, your infamy disdain. Let him the lion first control, And still the tiger's famish'd growl! Let us, like them, our freedom claim; And make him tremble at our name.” A general nod approved the cause, And all the circle neigh'd applause; When, lo! with grave and solemn pace A Steed advanced before the race, With age and long experience wise; Around he casts his thoughtful eyes, And, to the murmurs of the train, Thus spake the Nestor of the plain: “When I had health and strength, like you The toils of servitude I knew. Now grateful man rewards my pains, And gives me all these wide domains. At will I crop the year's increase; My latter life is rest and peace.