And Heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard

Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue-

That gives not half so great blow to th' ear,
As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire?

17. Know ye the land where the cyprus and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime; Where the rage of the vulture—the love of the turtle— Now melt into sorrow-now madden to crime?— Know ye the land of the cedar and vine?

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine,
Where the light wings of zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in their bloom;
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;
Where the tints of the earth and the hues of the sky,
In colour though varied, in beauty may vie,
And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye;
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?-
'Tis the clime of the East-'tis the land of the Sun-
Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done?
Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.
18. 'Tis done: dread winter spreads his latest glooms,
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!

How dumb the tuneful! horror wide extends
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man!

See here thy pictur'd life; pass some few years,
Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength,

Thy sober autumn fading into age,

And pale concluding winter comes at last,

And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled
Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes

Of happiness? those longings after fame?

Those restless cares? those busy bustling days?
Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts,
Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life?
All now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives,
Immortal never-failing friend of man,
His guide to happiness on high.

19. But, first, whom shall we send

In search of the new world? whom shall we find
Sufficient? who shall tempt with wand'ring feet
The dark unbottom'd infinite abyss,
And through the palpable obscure find out
His uncouth way, and spread his airy flight,
Upborne with indefatigable wings,

Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive

The happy isle? what strength, what art, can then
Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe
Through the strict senteries and stations thick
Of Angels watching round? Here he had need
All circumspection, and we now no less
Choice in our suffrage; for on whom we send,
The weight of all, and our last hope, relies.

PARENTHETIC SENTENCES.1

1. THOUGH good sense is not in the number, nor always, it must be owned, in the company of the sciences; yet it is (as the most sensible of poets has justly observed) fairly worth

the seven.

2. Notwithstanding all the care of Cicero, history informs us that Marcus proved a mere blockhead; and that Nature (who, it seems, was even with the son for her prodigality to the father) rendered him incapable of improving by all the

1 Rules for reading PARENTHESES and PARENTHETIC CLAUSES will be found in pages 62 and 63 of the Introduction.

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rules of eloquence, the precepts of philosophy, his own endeavours, and the most refined conversation in Athens.

3. Here is sad news, Trim, (cried Susannah, wiping her eyes as Trim stepped into the kitchen,) Master Bobby is dead. He was alive last Whitsuntide.

Whitsuntide! alas! (cried Trim, extending his right arm, and falling instantly into the same attitude in which he read the sermon.) What is Whitsuntide, Jonathan (for that was the coachman's name), or Shrovetide, or any tide past, to this? Are we not here now (continued the corporal, striking the end of his stick perpendicularly upon the floor, so as to give an idea of health and stability), and are we not (dropping his hat upon the ground) gone in a moment!

4. That strong hyperbolical manner which we have long been accustomed to call the Oriental manner of poetry (because some of the earliest poetical productions came to us from the East), is, in truth, no more Oriental than Occidental; it is characteristic of an age rather than of a country; and belongs, in some measure, to all nations at that period which first gives rise to music and to song.

5. As to my own abilities in speaking (for I shall admit this charge, although experience hath convinced me that what is called the power of eloquence depends for the most part upon the hearers, and that the characters of public speakers are determined by the degree of favour which you vouchsafe to each); if long practice, I say, hath given me any proficiency in speaking, you have ever found it devoted to my country.

6. When Socrates' fetters were knocked off (as was usual to be done on the day that the condemned person was to be executed), being seated in the midst of his disciples, and laying one of his legs over the other in a very unconcerned posture, he began to rub it where it had been galled by the iron; and whether it was to show the indifference with which he entertained the thoughts of his approaching death, or (after his usual manner) to take every occasion of philosophizing

upon some useful subject, he observed the pleasure of that
sensation which now arose in those very parts of his leg that
just before had been so much pained by the fetters. Upon
this he reflected on the nature of pleasure and pain in
general, and how constantly they succeeded one another.
7. Let us (since life can little more supply
Than just to look about us and to die)
Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man;
A mighty maze! but not without a plan.

8. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave to misery all he had a tear;

He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished)—a friend.
9. I would not enter on my list of friends
(Though graced with polish'd manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility) the man

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.

10. Know then, that after Lucifer from heav'n
(So call him, brighter once amidst the host
Of angels than that star the stars among)
Fell with his flaming legions through the deep
Into his place, and the great Son return'd
Victorious with his saints, th' omnipotent
Eternal Father from his throne beheld

Their multitude, and to his son thus spake.

11. Round he surveys (and well might where he stood

So high above the circling canopy

Of night's extended shade) from eastern point

Of Libra, to the fleecy star that bears

Andromeda far off Atlantic seas

Beyond the horizon; then, from pole to pole.
12. They anon

With hundreds and with thousands trooping came
Attended: all access was throng'd; the gates
And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall
(Though like a cover'd field, where champions bold

Wont ride in arm'd, and at the Soldan's chair
Defied the best of Panim chivalry

To mortal combat, or career with lance)
Thick swarm'd, both on the ground and in the air
Brush'd with the hiss of rustling wings.

CLIMAX, OR A GRADUAL INCREASE OF SENSE OR PASSION.1

1. Consult your whole nature. Consider yourselves, not only as sensitive, but as rational beings; not only as rational, but social; not only as social, but immortal.

2. It is pleasant to be virtuous and good, because that is to excel many others: it is pleasant to grow better, because that is to excel ourselves: it is pleasant to mortify and subdue our lusts, because that is victory: it is pleasant to command our appetites and passions, and to keep them in due order, within the bounds of reason and religion, because that is empire.

3. Tully has a very beautiful gradation of thoughts to show how amiable virtue is. We love a virtuous man, says he, who lives in the remotest parts of the earth, though we are altogether out of the reach of his virtue, and can receive from it no manner of benefit; nay, one who died several years ago, raises a secret fondness and benevolence for him in our minds, when we read his story; nay, what is still more, one who has been the enemy of our country, provided his wars were regulated by justice and humanity.

4. After we have practised good actions a while, they become easy; and when they are easy, we begin to take pleasure in them; and when they please us, we do them frequently; and by frequency of acts a thing grows into a habit; and a confirmed habit is a second kind of nature; and so far as any thing is natural, so far it is necessary, and

For an explanation of the CLIMAX, the learner should refer to the Introduction, page 64.