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495

I really wish to know the world is partial ever·
If thou hast this great gift, and art indeed so clever."
The nightingale began her heavenly lays;

Through all the regions of sweet music ranging,
Varying her song a thousand different ways;
Rising and falling, lingering, ever changing:
Full of wild rapture now - then sinking oft
To almost silence-melancholy, soft,

As distant shepherd's pipe at evening's close: -
Strewing the wood with lovelier music;

All nature seems to listen and repose :

there

No zephyr dares disturb the tranquil air :-
All other voices of the grove are still,
And the charmed flocks lie down beside the rill.

The shepherd like a statue stands — afraid
His breathing may disturb the melody,
His finger pointing to the harmonious tree,
Seems to say,
"Listen!" to his favorite maid.

The singer ended: and our critic bowed
His reverend head to earth, and said aloud:

"Now that's so so;

thou really hast some merit Curtail thy song, and critics then might hear it;

Thy voice wants sharpness:

but if Chanticleer

Would give thee a few lessons, doubtless he
Might raise thy voice and modulate thy ear;
And thou in spite of all thy faults may'st be
A very decent singer.".

The poor bird

In silent modesty the critic heard,

And winged her peaceful flight into the air,
O'er
many and many a field and forest fair.

Many such critics you and I have seen:

Heaven be our screen!

*Pron. strō-ing.

LESSON CLXXIV.

Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul.

SCENE.CATO, alone, sitting in a thoughtful posture ;-in his hand PLATO's book on the immortality of soul;-a drawn sword on the table by him.

Cato. Ir must be so Plato, thou reasonest well!
Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or, whence this secret dread and inward horror,
Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us:

"T is Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity 4-thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me :
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there 's a'Power above us,
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud

Through all her works),
And that which he delights in must be happy.

he must delight in virtue;

But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar.

I'm weary of conjectures this must end them.

Thus am I doubly armed: my death * and life,†
My bane* and antidote † are both before me.
This, in a moment, brings me to an end;
But this † informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in

*The sword.

years;

+ The book.

But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth;
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

LESSON CLXXV.

The Dying Christian to his Soul.-POPE.

VITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!
Hark! they whisper; angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away!"
What is this absorbs me quite? .
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
The world recedes; it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!

O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

LESSON CLXXVI.

A Parental Ode to my Son, aged three years and five

months.-T. HOOD.

THOU happy, happy elf!

(But stop - first let me kiss away that tear

Thou tiny image of myself!

(My love, he 's poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry, laughing sprite!

With spirits feather light,

Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin,
(Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin !)

Thou little tricksy Puck!

With antic toys so funnily bestuck,

Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door! the door! he 'll tumble down the stair!)

Thou darling of thy sire!

(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!)

Thou imp of mirth and joy!

In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents (Drat the boy!

Fit playfellow for Fays by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth,

(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!)
Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey
From every blossom in the world that blows,
Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,
(Another tumble
that's his precious nose!)

Thy father's pride and hope!

(He 'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint, (Where DID he learn that squint ?)

Thou young domestic dove!

(He 'll have that jug off with another shove!)

Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest!

(Are those torn clothes his best?)
Little epitome of man!

(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan !) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life, (He's got a knife!)

Thou enviable being!

No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,

(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk With many a lamb-like frisk,

(He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown,) Thou pretty opening rose !

(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) Balmy, and breathing music like the south, (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star, (I wish that window had an iron bar!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove, (I'll tell you what, my love,

I cannot write unless he's sent above!)

What a world of merriment their melody foretells'
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle