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Thus is all nature perfect. Harmony
We misname dead.
LXI. — SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I. “I'm poor, and quite unknown; I have neither fame nor rank; My labor is all I own; I have no gold at the bank ; I'm one of the common crowd, despised of the passers-by, Contemned by the rich and proud," - said I to myself, said I. “I want, and I can not obtain, the luxuries of the earth ; My raiment is scant and plain, and I live in the fear of dearth; While others can laugh or sing, I have ever some cause to sigh ; I'm a weary wanderling," — said I to myself, said I. “ But is this grieving just ? Is it wise to fret and wail ? Is it right, thou speck of dust, thine envy should prevail ?" Is it fitting thou shouldst close thy sight to the sunny sky, And an utter dark suppose ? ” said I to myself, said I. “ If poor, thou hast thy health ; if humble, thou art strong ; And the lark, that knows not wealth, ever sings a happy song. The flowers rejoice in the air, and give thy needs the lie; Thou ’rt a fool to foster care,” - said I to myself, said' I. “ If the wants of thy pride be great, the needs of thy health are
small; And the world is the man's estate who can wisely enjoy it all. For him is the landscape spread, for him do the breezes ply, For him is the day-beam shed," - said I to myself, said I. “ For him are the oceans rolled, for him do the rivers run, For him doth the year unfold her bounties to the sun; For him, if his heart be pure, shall common things supply All pleasures that endure," – said I to myself, said I. “ For him each blade of grass waves pleasure as it grows, For him, as the light clouds pass, a spirit of beauty flows; For him, as the streamlets leap, or the winds on the tree-tops sigh, Comes a music sweet and deep,”. said I to myself, said I “ Nor of earth are his joys alone, how mean soever his state On him from the starry zone his ministering angels wait; With him in voiceless thought they hold communion high ; By them are his fancies fraught," said I to myself, said I.
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
“ I will mould my life afresh, I will circumscribe desire ;
LXII. · WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
All his stores of wealth untold,
Heaps on heaps of minted gold.
As it glittered in the sun,
Held in care, by sorrow won!
But, alas! before me piled,
For the slumbers of a child !”
Heard the martial trumpets blow,
Of a countless host below;
As the squadrons trod the sward ;
Hear thy miserable lord :
At my nod thy captains bend;
I would give thee for a friend !”
Looking, from its castled height,
Glittering in the morning light;
And the forest waving free,
Fondled by the circling sea,
And be happy, could I gain,
I SEE before me the Gladiator lie :
He leans upon his hand; his manly brow
And his drooped head sinks gradually low;
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now
he is gone,
- his eyes
He heard it, but he heeded not
Were with his heart, and that was far away;
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday !
he, their sire,
LXIV.- LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF CELIN.*
At the gate of old Grana'da, when all its bolts are barred,
bewailing ?” “ A tower is fallen! A star is set ! - Alas! alas for Celin!”
Three times they knock, three times they cry, and wide the doors
they throw; Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go ! In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch, Each horseman grasping in his hand a black and flaming torch. Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing, For all have heard the misery, -“Alas! alas for Celin!” Him yesterday a Moor did slay, of Bencerraje's blood : I was at the solemn jousting; around the nobles stood ;
* Pronounce Sā'lin.
THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC.
The nobles of the land were by, and ladies bright and fair
And all the people, far and near, cry, " Alas! alas for Celin!”
their wailing; Its sound is like no earthly sound, “ Alas! alas for Celin! The Moorish maid at her lattice stands, the Moor stands at his
door ; One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore. Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they
strew Upon their broidered garments, of crimson, green, and blue; Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the loud
bewailing, From door and lattice, high and low, .“ Alas! alas for Celin!” An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the people cry; Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazëd eye; 'T was she who nursed him at her breast, who nursed him long
ago; She knows not whom they all lament, but, ah! she soon shall
know ! With one loud shriek, she through doth break, when her ears
receive their wailing, — “Let me kiss my Celin ere I die! - Alas! alas for Celin!”
LXV. - THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC.
A scepter, and endures the purple robe :
If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone
LXVI. — THE LYRE AND THE SWORD. The following will be found suitable for delivery by three speakers. Let the
First Speaker be on the right, the Second on the left, and the Third in the middle. The First and Second Speakers will distinguish between those parts of their stanzas addressed to the audience, and those parts addressed to the Third Speaker.
And gird me to thy side!
The battle's crimson tide ;