So Ocean, from the plains, his waves had late
To desolation swept, retired in pride,

Exulting in the glory of his might,

And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought.

As some fierce comet, of tremendous size,
To which the stars did reverence as it passed,
So he through learning and through fancy took
His flight sublime, and on the loftiest top

Of Fame's dread mountain sat; not soiled and worn
As if he from the earth had labored up;

But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair,

He looked, which down from higher regions came.
And perched it there, to see what lay beneath.

The nations gazed, and wondered much, and praised;
Critics before him fell in humble plight
Confounded fell, and made debasing signs

To catch his eye, and stretched and swelled themselves
To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words

Of admiration vast; and many, too,

Many that aimed to imitate his flight,

With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made,

And gave abundant sport to after days.

Great man! the nations gazed, and wondered much,

And praised; and many called his evil good.

Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness;

And kings to do him honor took delight.
Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame,

Beyond desire, beyond ambition full,

He died. He died of what? Of wretchedness.
Drank every cup of joy; heard every trump

Of fame; drank early, deeply drank; drank draughts
That common millions might have quenched — then died
Of thirst, because there was no more to drink.

His goddess, Nature, wooed, embraced enjoyed,

Fell from his arms abhorred; his passions died,
Died, all but dreary, solitary Pride;

And all his sympathies in being died.

As some ill-guided bark, well built and tall,
Which angry tides cast out on desert shore,
And then, retiring, left it there to rot

And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven,
So he, cut from the sympathies of life,
And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge,
A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing,
Scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul,

A gloomy wilderness of dying thought,

Repined, and groaned, and withered from the earth.
His groanings filled the land, his numbers filled;
And yet he seemed ashamed to groan
Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help.

-poor man!

Proof this, beyond all lingering of doubt,
That not with natural or mental wealth,
Was God delighted, or his peace secured;
That not in natural or mental wealth

Was human happiness or grandeur found.
Attempt how monstrous, and how surely vain!
With things of earthly sort, with aught but God,
With aught but moral excellence, truth, and love,
To satisfy and fill the immortal soul!
Attempt, vain inconceivably! attempt
To satisfy the Ocean with a drop,
To marry Immortality to Death,

And with the unsubstantial Shade of Time

To fill the embrace of all Eternity!

POLLOK.

In 1827 appeared a religious poem, in blank verse, entitled the "Course of Time," by Robert Pollok. The author was a young licentiate of the Scottish Secession Church. Many, who never looked at a modern poem, were tempted to peruse a work which imbodied their favorite theological tenets, set off with the graces of poetical fancy and description; while to the ordinary readers of imaginative literature, the poem had force and ori

ginality enough to challenge an attentive perusal. The "Course of Time" is written in a style that sometimes imitates the lofty march of Milton, and at other times resembles that of Blair or Young. The object of the poot is to describe the spiritual life and destiny of man. There are many splan did passages and images that are scattered throughout the work, and nas sionally passages of great beauty and tenderness.

Cyclopedia of English Literature.

37. The Human Frame.

We cannot consider, but with gratitude, how happy it is that our vital motions are involuntary. We should have enough to do, if we had to keep our hearts beating and our stomachs at work. Did these things depend, we will not

say upon our effort, but upon our bidding, our care, or our attention, they would leave us leisure for nothing else.

We must have been continually upon the watch, and cortinually in fear; nor would this constitution have allowed of sleep.

The skin and covering of animals is that upon which their appearance chiefly depends, and is that part which, perhaps, in all animals, is most decorated and most free from impurities. But were beauty or agreeableness of aspect entirely out of the question, there is another purpose, answered by this integument, and by the collocation of the parts of the body beneath it, which is of still greater importance; that purpose is concealment.

Were it possible to view, through the skin, the mechanism of our bodies, the sight would frighten us out of our wits. "Durst we make a single movement," asks a lively French writer, "" or stir a step from the place we were in, if we saw our blood circulating, the tendons pulling, the lungs blowing, the humors filtrating, and all the incomprehensible assemblage of fibres, tubes, pumps, valves, currents, pivots, which sustain an existence at once so frail and so presumptuous?"

It has been said that a man cannot lift his hand to his head without finding enough to convince him of the existence of a God. And it is well said; for he has only to reflect familiar as this action is, and simple as it seems to be how many things are requisite for the performing of it; how many things which we understand, — to say nothing of many more, probably, which we do not, — namely, first, a long, hard, strong cylinder, in order to give the arm its firmness and tension, but which, being rigid, and in its substance inflexible, can only turn upon joints; secondly, therefore, joints for this purpose, one, at the shoulder to raise the arm, another at the elbow to bend it; these joints, continually fed with a soft mucilage, to make the parts slip easily upon one another; and holden together by strong braces, to keep them in their position; then, thirdly, strings and wires, that is, muscles, and tendons, artificially in serted, for the purpose of drawing the bones in the direc tions in which the joints allow them to move.

Hitherto, we seem to understand the mechanism pretty well; and, understanding this, we possess enough for our conclusion; nevertheless, we have hitherto only a machine standing still, — a dead organization, - an apparatus. To put the system in a state of activity, to set it at work, a further provision is necessary; namely, a communication with the brain, by means of nerves. We know the existence of this communication, because we can see the communicating threads, and can trace them to the brain its necessity we also know; because, if the thread be cut, if the communicaion be intercepted, the muscle becomes paralytic; but, beyond this we know little, the organization, being too minute and subtile for our inspection.

To what has been enumerated, as officiating in the single act of a man's raising his hand to his head, must be added, ikewise, all that is necessary, and all that contributes to the growth, nourishment, and sustentation of the limb; the repair of its waste, the preservation of its health; such as the circulation of the blood through every part of it; its lvm

phatics, exhalants, absorbents; its excretions and integuments All these share in the result join in the effect; and how all these, or any of them, come together, without a designing disposing Intelligence, it is impossible to conceive.

PALEY.

38. Description of Auburn. — The Village Preacher Alehouse Reflections.

SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain:

Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,

And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed;
Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please;
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene!
How often have I paused on every charm!

The sheltered cot; the cultivated farm;
The never-failing brook; the busy mill;

The decent church that topped the neighboring hill;
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made!

How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play ;
And all the village train, from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round!
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired,

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired.