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Remorseless fiend! relax thy hold;
And I will cling to Jesus' knee;
THE DELEGATE'S SOLILOQUI.
Tadjourn or not adjourn, that is the question:
* Assemblyman so called.
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of fear, And enterprizes of no pith or moment With this regard, attentive ear receive And get the name of action.
THE MAN IN THE MOON. Yon lonely man, I've heard them say,
Who looks from out the moon, Broke, when on earth, the Sabbath day,
And work'da worthless loon!~
It used to be my whim,
Until my eyes grew dim. Methought I saw, quite plain enough,
His body, legs, and axe-
Which made me doubt the facts.
To warn poor sinful man
And then to work again.
His shoulder'd axe he shows
He seems to wade through snows. In winter, when the Moon doth swim
Adown the clear cold sky,
There is he, still on high!
Which now and then she shrouds,
Careering 'mid the clouds !
What art thou doing, lonely thing!
With axe in that cold clime ?
In all recorded time.
Of what on earth befel,
Like Sysiphus in hell.
Out in the distant sea,
As scoffers ought to be.
At least in some degree;
From which you could not flee.
He only saw the sea
Where fondly he would be.
Instead of glittering arms,
Naught else for him had charms.
Hast seen in its careers
For many thousand years.
For such a world as this,
Must have some smack of bliss. But no—a sombre shade it flings,
To feel guilt’s constant goad, And sea, earth, air, and heav'nly things,
But aggravate the load.
Farewell to thee, old Anchorite
And do not yet despair-
By sailing through the air.
Man every thing can do,
May come and chat with you.
MILITARY GLORY. The bones of the soldiers who fell at Waterloo, have been dug up and transported to Hull in England, to be ground into manure and sold to the farmers.- English Paper.
Alas! what a picture is here,
Ye lovers of Glory! come near
Behold what of Glory survives !-Here are wretches, exhuming the bones
Of heroes, who perild their lives, And who fell amidst carnage, commingling their groans, That the scourgers of earth might be seated on thrones.
To England they bear them to grind Unto powder to fertilize land
To her who hath borne them, consign'd; And the dust of the son who died wielding his brand, To be scatter'd on earth by a parent's own hand ! !
Ambition! sit then on this plain, Like the prophet Ezekiel of yore,
“Dry bones” are here “shaking” again“Will the flesh and the sinews come on them once more ?” “Or the breath come again, when they hear the winds
* Ezekiel, chap. xxxvii.
Ah, yes, when the trumpet shall sound,
But will they with laurels be crown'd?
The soldiers of Christ shall be crown'd,
Where then will earth's heroes be found ?-
PICTURES BY THE SUN.
And at thy power have been filled with wonder;
Without the least defect, or smallest blunder;
As well of this world as of those far hence; “Of Planets, Suns, and Adamantine regions,
Wheeling, unshaken, through the void immense;"4 Where hang those pictures ?-in what mighty Louvre? And which, I pray thee, was thy great chef d'oeuvre ? When first thou look’dst upon the world then void
When all was dark, and things about were bandied
As ev'ry object into form expanded?
As when he strolled about his charming garden;
Who came to soften, but alas ! did harden.
* Hosea, chap. viii.