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And yet upon his golden breast-plate plays
The gentle brightness of the sunset rays.

He sits, and muses on the rapid stream,

While deep thoughts struggling from his bosom rise:
"Emblem of man! here brightly pictured seem
The world's gay scenery and its păgeantries;
Which, as delusive as thy shining wave,
Glow for the proud, the coward and the slave.

So is our little stream of life poured out
In the wild turbulence of passion: so,
Midst glory's glance and victory's thunder-shout,
The joys of life in hurried exile go-

Till hope's fair smile, and beauty's ray of light,
Are shrouded in the griefs and storms of night.

Day after day prepares the funeral shroud;
The world is gray with age :-the striking hour
Is but an echo of death's summons loud-
The jarring of the dark grave's prison-door:
Into its deep abyss-devouring all—

Kings and the friends of kings alike must fall."

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O glory! glory! mighty one on earth!
How justly imaged in this waterfall!
So wild and furious in thy sparkling birth,
Dashing thy torrents down, and dazzling all;
Sublimely breaking from thy glorious height,
Majestic, thundering, beautiful and bright.
How many a wondering eye is turned to thee,
In admiration lost;-shortsighted men!
Thy furious wave gives no fertility;

Thy waters, hurrying fiercely through the plain,
Bring nought but devastation and distress,
And leave the flowery vale a wilderness.

O fairer, lovelier is the modest rill,
Watering with steps serene the field, the
grove-
Its gentle voice as sweet and soft and still,
As shepherd's pipe, or song of youthful love.
It has no thundering torrent, but it flows
Unwearied, scattering blessings as it goes.
To the wild mountain let the wanderer come,
And, resting on the turf, look round and see,

With saddened eye, the green and grassy tomb,
And hear its monitory language: he-

He sleeps below, not famed in war alone;

The great, the good, the generous minded one.

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O! what is human glory, human pride?

What are man's triumphs when they brightest seem?
What art thou, mighty one! though deified?
Methuselah's long pilgrimage, a dream;

Our age is but a shade, our life a tale,
A vacant fancy, or a păssing gale,

Or nothing! 'Tis a heavy hollow ball,
Suspended on a slender, subtile* hair,

And filled with storm-winds, thunders, passions, all
Struggling within in furious tumult there.

Strange mystery! man's gentlest breath can shake it,
And the light zephyrs are enough to break it.
But a few hours, or moments, and beneath
Empires are buried in a night of gloom:
The very elements are leagued with death,
A breath sends giants to their lonely tomb.
Where is the mighty one? He is not found,
His dust lies trampled in the noiseless ground!

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But gratitude still lives, and loves to cherish
The patriot's virtues, while the soul of song
In sacred tones, that never, never perish,
Fame's everlasting thunder bears along.
The lyre has an eternal voice-of all
That's holy, holiest is the good man's pall.
List then, ye worldly waterfalls! Vain men,
Whose brains are dizzy with ambition, bright
Your swords your garments flowery like a plain
In the spring time-if truth be your delight,
And virtue your devotion, let your sword
Be bared alone at wisdom's sacred word.
Roar, roar, thou waterfall! lift up thy voice
Even to the clouded regions of the skies:
Thy brightness and thy beauty may rejoice,
Thy music charms the ears, thy light the eyes,
Joy-giving torrent! sweetest memory

Receives a freshness and a strength from thee.

*Pron. sub'til.

Roll on! no clouds shall on thy waters lie
Darkling: no gloomy thunder-tempest break
Over thy face: let the black night-dews fly
Thy smiles, and sweetly let thy murmurs speak
In distance and in nearness: be it thine
To bless with usefulness, with beauty shine,
Thou parent of the waterfall! proud river!
Thou northern thunderer, Suna! hurrying on
In mighty torrent from the heights, and ever
Sparkling with glory in the gladdened sun,
Now dashing from the mountain to the plain,
And scattering purple fire and sapphire rain.
'Tis momentary vehemence; thy course
Is calm and soft and silent: clear and deep
Thy stately waters roll: in the proud force
Of unpretending majesty, they sweep
The sideless marge, and brightly, tranquilly
Bear their rich tributes to the grateful sea.

Thy stream, by baser waters unalloyed,
Washes the golden banks that o'er thee smile;
Until the clear Onega drinks its tide,

And swells while welcoming the glorious spoil :
O what a sweet and soul-composing scene,
Clear as the cloudless heavens, and as serene!

LESSON CLXIII.

Scene from Percy's Masque.-HILLHOUSE.

SCENE. A high-wood walk in a park. The towers of Warkworth castle, in Northumberland, seen over the trees.

Enter ARTHUR, in a huntsman's dress.

Arthur. HERE let me pause, and breathe awhile, and wipe These servile drops from off my burning brow.

Amidst these venerable trees, the air

Seems hallowed by the breath of other times.-
Companions of my fathers! ye

have marked

Their generations pass. Your giant arms
Shadowed their youth, and proudly canopied
Their silver hairs, when, ripe in years and glory,

These walks they trod to meditate on heaven.
What warlike pageants have ye seen! what trains
Of captives, and what heaps of spoil! what pomp,
When the victorious chief, war's tempest o'er,
In Warkworth's bowers unbound his panoply!
What floods of splendor, bursts of joc ́und din,
Startled the slumbering tenants of these shades
When night awoke the tumult of the feast,

The song of damsels and the sweet-toned lyre!
Then, princely Percy reigned amidst his halls,
Champion, and Judge, and Father of the North.
O, days of ancient grandeur! are ye gone?
For ever gone? Do these same scenes behold
His offspring here, the hireling of a foe!
O, that I knew my fate! that I could read
The destiny that heaven has marked for me!
Enter a Forester.

For. A benison upon thee, gentle huntsman !
Whose towers are these that overlook the wood?
Ar. Earl Westmoreland's.

For. The Nev'ille's towers I seek.

By dreams I learn, and prophecies most strange,
A noble youth lurks here, whose horoscope
Declares him fated to amazing deeds.

Ar. (starting back) Douglas!—

Doug. Now do I clasp thee, Percy; and I swear
By my dear soul, and by the blood of Douglas,
Linked to thy side, through every chance, I go,
Till here thou rul'st, or death and night end all.
Per. Amazement! Whence ?-or how?-
Doug. And didst thou think

Thus to elude me?

Per. Answer how thou found'st me.

What miracle directed here thy steps?

Doug. Where should I look for thee, but in the post Where birth, fame, fortune, wrongs, and honor call thee? Returning from the Isles, I found thee gone.

A while in doubt, each circumstance I weighed;

Thy difficulties, wrongs, and daring spirit;

The gay

delusive show, so long maintained

To lull observers; then set forth, resolved

Never to enter more my native towers

Till I had found and searched thee to the soul.

Per. Still must I wonder; for so dark a cloud

Doug. O, deeper than thou think'st, I've read thy heart. A gilded insect to the world you seemed; The fashion's idol; person, pen, and lyre, The soft devoted darling of the Fair. By slow degrees I found Herculean nerve, Hid in thy tuneful arm;—that hunger, thirst, The sultry chase, the bleakest mountain bed, The dark, rough, winter torrent, were to thee But pastime; more were courted than repose. To others, your discourse still wild and vain, To me, when none else heard thee, seemed the voice Of heavenly oracles.

Per. O, partial friendship.

Doug. Yet I had never guessed your brooded purpose.Rememberest thou the Regent's masque? the birth-night ?— Per. Well.

Doug. That night you glittered through the crowded halls, Gay, and capricious as a sprite of air.

Apollo rapt us when you touched the lyre;
Cupid fanned odors from your purple wings;
Or Mercury amused with magic wand,*
Mocking our senses with your feathered heel.
In every fancy, shape, and hue, you moved,
The admiration, pity, theme of all.-

One bed received us. Soon, your moaning voice
Disturbed me. Dreaming, heavily you groaned,
O, Percy! Percy! Hotspur! O, my father!
Upbraid me not! hide, hide those ghastly wounds!
Usurper! Traitor! thou shalt feel me !'

Per. Heavens !

Doug. 'Tis true:-and more than I can now remember.
Per. And never speak of it?

Doug. Inly I burned;

But honor, pride, forbade.t Pilfer from dreams!
Thou knew'st the ear, arm, life of Douglas, thine-
Per. And long ago I had disclosed to thee

My troubled bosom, but my enterprise

So rife with peril seemed to hearts less touched,
So hopeless! Knowing thy impetuous soul,
How could I justify the deed to heaven,

How to thine aged sire? Armed proof I stand,

To fate: come what will come-the wide earth bears
No heart of kindred blood to mourn my fall.

* Pronounced as the first syllable in wander.

† Pron. forbad.

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