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That fires the length of Ophiucus huge |
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair!
Shakes pestilence and war. |

Each at the head |

Levell❜d his deadly aim; | their fatal hands |

No second stroke intend; and such a frown
Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds |
With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on
Over the Caspian, | then stand front to front |
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow
To join their dark encounter in mid air: |

So frown'd the mighty combatants, that hell
Grew darker at their frown; so match'd they stood; |
For never but once more | was either like

To meet so great a foe. And now great deeds
Had been achiev'd, whereof all Hell had rung, |
Had not the snaky sorceress that sat

Fast by Hell-gate, and kept the fatal key,
Risen, and with hideous outcry rush'd between. |

WOMAN.

(CAMPBELL.)

In joyous youth, what soul hath never known |
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own? |
Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensive eye |
Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh? |
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, |
The power of grace, the magic of a name? |
|

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, |
Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow; |
There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, |
In self-adoring pride securely mail'd ;-

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But, triumph not, ye peace-enamour'd few! |
Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you! |
For you no fancy consecrates the scene [
Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between: |
"T is yours, unmoved, to sever and to meet ; |
No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet! |

Who that would ask a heart to dullness wed, |
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead? |
No; the wild bliss of nature needs alloy, I
And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy!|
And say without our hopes, without our fears,
Without the home that plighted love endears, |
Without the smile from partial beauty won, |
O! what were man?

a world without a sun! |

Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, |
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower! |
In vain the viewless seraph lingering there,
At starry midnight charm'd the silent air; |
In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep, |
To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep; |
In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, I
Aërial notes in mingling measure play'd; |
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, |
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;-1
Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day,

And still the stranger wist not where to stray: |
The world was sad! | the garden was a wild! |
And man, the hermit, sigh'd

| till woman smil❜d! |

SINCERITY.

(TILLOTSON.)

Truth and sincerity | have all the advantages of appearance, and many more. If the show of any thing be good, I am sure the reality is better; for why

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does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is not, - but because he thinks it good to have the qualities he pretends to? Now the best way for a man to seem to be any thing, is to be in reality what he would seem to be: | besides, it is often as troublesome to support the pretence of a good quality, | as to have it: and, if a man have it not, it is most likely he will be discovered to want it; and, then, all his labour to seem to have it, is lost. There is something unnatural in painting, which a skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty and complexion. [

Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed: and then his goodness will appear to every one's satisfaction. Particularly, as to the affairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages over all the artificial modes of dissimulation and deceit. | It is much the plainer and easier, much the safer, and more secure way of dealing in the world; it has less of trouble and difficulty, ❘ of entanglement and perplexity, of danger and hazard in it. |

The arts of deceit and cunning | continually grow weaker, and less serviceable to those that practise them; whereas integrity gains strength by use; and the more and longer any man practiseth it the greater service it does him; by confirming his reputation, | and encouraging those with whom he hath to do, to repose the greatest confidence in him; which is an unspeakable advantage in business and the affairs of life. I

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But insincerity is very troublesome to manage. A hypocrite hath so many things to attend to, as make his life a very perplexed and intricate thing. | A liar hath need of a good memory, lest he contradict at one time, what he said at another; but truth is always consistent, and needs nothing to help it out; | it is always near at hand, and sits upon our lips; whereas

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a lie is troublesome, and needs a great many more to make it good. I

In a word, whatsoever convenience may be thought to be in falsehood and dissimulation, it is soon over but the inconvenience of it is perpetual; | because it brings a man | under an everlasting jealousy and suspicion; so that he is not believed when he speaks the truth; nor trusted when, perhaps, he means honestly. | When a man hath once forfeited the reputation of his integrity, nothing will then serve his turn; neither truth nor falsehood. ]

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Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world for a day, and should never have occasion to converse more with mankind, it were then no great matter | (as far as respects the affairs of this world) | if he spent his reputation all at once; or ventured it at one throw. But if he be to continue in the world, and would have the advantage of reputation whilst he is in it, let him make use of truth and sincerity | in all his words and actions; for nothing but this will hold out to the end. | All other arts may fail; | but truth and integrity will carry a man through, and bear him out to the last. ¦

THE UNION OF THE STATES.

(WEBSTER.)

From an Address delivered at Washington City, on the Centennial Anniversary of the Birth of Washington.

There was in the breast of Washington | one sentiment deeply felt, so constantly uppermost, that no proper occasion | escaped without its utterance.—| From the letter which he signed in behalf of the convention, when the constitution was sent out to the people, to the moment when he put his hand to that last paper, in which he addressed his countrymen, | the union was the great object of his thoughts. [

In that first letter, he tells them that to him, | and

his brethren of the convention, union is the greatest interest of every true American; and in that last paper he conjures them to regard that unity of government, which constitutes them one people, ¡ as the very palladium of their prosperity and safety, and the security of liberty itself. He regarded the union of these states, not so much one of our blessings, as the great treasure-house which contained them all.

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Here, in his judgment, was the great magazine of all our means of prosperity; here, as he thought, and as every true American still thinks, are deposited all our animating prospects, | all our solid hopes for future greatness. He has taught us to maintain this government, not by seeking to enlarge its powers on the one hand, nor by surrendering them on the other; but by an administration of them, at once firm and moderate, adapted for objects truly national, and carried on in a spirit of justice and equity. I

The extreme solicitude for the preservation of the union, at all times manifested by him, I shows not only the opinion he entertained of its usefulness, | but his clear perception of those causes | which were likely to spring up to endanger it, and which, if once they should overthrow the present system, would leave little hope of any future beneficial reunion. [

Of all the presumptions indulged by presumptuous man, that is one of the rashest, which looks for repeated and favourable opportunities, for the deliberate establishment of a united government, | over distinct and widely extended communities. Such a thing has happened once in human affairs, | and but once: the event stands out, as a prominent exception to all ordinary history; and, unless we suppose ourselves running into an age of miracles, we may not expect its repetition.

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Pâl-la-de-um, [Lat.] a statue of Pallas, pretended to be the guardian of Troy; thence any security or protection.

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