through the gates of death, that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. 5. "The islands," said he, "that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted, as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the sea-shore. There are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching further than thine eye, or even thine imagination, can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to the degrees and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them. Every island is a paradise, accommodated to its respective inhabi tants. 6. "Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives the opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not, man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him." `I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on those happy islands. At length, said I, "Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie under those dark clouds, that cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant." 7. The Genius making me no answer, I turned about to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he had left me. I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long contemplating; but, instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels, grazing upon the sides of it. LESSON XLV. THE BETTER LAND.-S. J. PIKE. [Let the pupil scan the following piece, tell the kind of verse to which it belongs, and what is peculiar in regard to its form; and also note the cæsural pauses. See pages 213 and 218. 1. Toiling pilgrims, faint and weary, lift we up our tearful eyes To the radiant bourn and blissful, whitherward our journey lies; To a land, to groping Reason glimmering dimly and afar, While to Faith's clear gaze, it shineth like a fixed, unwaning star. 2. There no blinding beams of noontide, on the vision flash and glow; Shrouded midnight never cometh with her foot-falls hushed and slow; But undarkening brilliance floateth on the waves of holy air, Kindled by the smile eternal, which our Father deigns to wear. 3. There the verdure fadeth never, and the odors never die; There, beneath unwilting blossoms, piercing thorns may never lie; Music, softer and diviner than from earthly lyres hath rolled, Through angelic utterance breaketh, and from quivering chords of gold. 4. Like a dove of snowy plumage, brooding on her leafy nest, Peace in sacred beauty resteth deep in every saintly breast; Hope hath found the dazzling splendor of her grandest day outshone, While through every bosom thrilleth joy that sense hath never known. 5. Tears, that trembled on the lashes in affliction's keenest hours, Were as dews of summer evenings, on the thirsty lips of flowers; Gleaming crowns adorn each forehead, by the thorns of sorrow torn, And he wears the whitest raiment, who the heaviest cross hath borne. LESSON XLVI. NOW AND THEN.-ANON. [This fable teaches an important lesson. Let the reader deduce the moral, and endeavor to heed its instruction.] 1. In distant days, of wild romance, Of magic, mist, and fable; When stones could argue, trees advance, And brutes to talk were able; When shrubs and flowers were said to preach, And manage all the parts of speech: 2. 'Twas then, no doubt, if 'twas at all, (But doubts we need not mention,) But how they made each other hear, 3. Then was a sprite of subtile frame, Her sparkling eyes, of azure hue, Seemed borrowed from the distant blue. 4. Now rested on the solid earth, And sober was her vesture; 5. Then, sang a wild, fantastic song, Where clouds of radiance, fringed with gold, 6. Now, rarely raised her sober eye In hope of Then's assistance; 7. She ate the sweet but homely fare, That passing moments brought her; While Then, expecting dainties rare, Despised such bread and water; And waited for the fruits and flowers Of future, still receding hours. 8. Now, venturing once to ask her why, 10. "That fairy land, that looks so real, Recedes as you pursue it; Thus, while you wait for times ideal, I take my work, and do it; 11. "Ah, well," said Then, "I envy not With thousands of my neighbors; "But that," says Now, "you never will!" 12. "And e'en suppose you should," says she, 13. Time was is past; thou canst not it recall; |