O ye wild winds! a mightier Power than
In chains upon the shore of Europe lies;
The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures,
Watch his mute throws with terror in their eyes;
5 And armed warriors all around him stand,
And, as he struggles, tighten every band,
And lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand,
To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise.
Yet oh! when that wronged Spirit of our race,
Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains,
And leap in freedom from his prison-place,
Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains,
Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air,
To waste the loveliness that time could spare,
15 To fill the earth with woe, and blot her fair
Unconscious breast with blood from human veins.
may he like the Spring-time come abroad,
Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might,
When in the genial breeze, the breath of God,
Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light;
Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet,
The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet,
And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet,
Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night.
LESSON LXXX.-DAYBREAK.-RICHARD H. DANA, SEN.
"The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window
opened towards the sun rising: the name of the chamber was
Peace;
where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and
sang."-The Pilgrim's Progress.
Now, brighter than the host that all night long,
In fiery armor, up the heavens high
Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning's song,
Thou comest to tell me day again is nigh.
5 Star of the dawning, cheerful is thine eye;
And yet in the broad day it must grow dim.
Thou seem'st to look on me, as asking why
My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim;
Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him.
"Canst thou grow sad," thou say'st, "as earth grows
bright?
And sigh, when little birds begin discourse
In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light
Pours on their nests, as sprung from day's fresh source!
With creatures innocent thou must perforce
A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure.
5 And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse,
Of ills and pains of life must be the cure,
And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure."
I feel its calm. But there's a sombrous hue Along that eastern cloud of deep, dull red; 10 Nor glitters yet the cold and heavy dew;
And all the woods and hilltops stand outspread
With dusky lights, which warmth nor comfort shed.
Still, save the bird that scarcely lifts its song,-
The vast world seems the tomb of all the dead,—
15 The silent city emptied of its throng,
And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong.
But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth,
Will quicken soon; and hard, hot toil and strife,
With headlong purpose, shake this sleeping earth
20 With discord strange, and all that man calls life.
With thousand scattered beauties nature 's rife,
And airs, and woods, and streams breathe harmonies;
Man weds not these, but taketh art to wife;
Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties:
25 He feverish, blinded, lives, and, feverish, sated, dies.
And 't is because man useth so amiss
Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad;
Else why should she in such fresh hour as this
Not lift the veil, in revelation glad,
30 From her fair face? It is that man is mad!
Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine
When Nature grieves: nor deem this heart is bad.
Thou look'st towards earth; but yet the heavens are thine,
While I to earth am bound: When will the heavens be
35 If man would but his finer nature learn,
And not in life fantastic lose the sense
Of simpler things; could Nature's features stern
Teach him be thoughtful; then, with soul intense,
I should not yearn for God to take me hence,
But bear my lot, albeit in spirit bowed,
Remembering humbly why it is, and whence:
But when I see cold man, of reason proud,
My solitude is sad,-I'm lonely in the crowd.
5 But not for this alone, the silent tear
Steals to mine eyes, while looking on the morn,
Nor for this solemn hour: fresh life is near;
But all my joys! they died when newly born.
Thousands will wake to joy; while I, forlorn,
10 And, like the stricken deer, with sickly eye,
Shall see them pass. Breathe calm,-my spirit's torn;
Ye holy thoughts, lift up my soul on high!
Ye hopes of things unseen, the far-off world bring nigh!
And when I grieve, oh! rather let it be
15 That I, whom Nature taught to sit with her
On her proud mountains, by her rolling sea;
Who, when the winds are up, with mighty stir
Of woods and waters, feel the quickening spur
To my strong spirit; who, as mine own child,
20 Do love the flower, and in the ragged bur
A beauty see; that I this mother mild
Should leave, and go with care, and passions fierce and
How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft
Shot 'thwart the earth! In crown of living fire
25 Up comes the Day! As if they conscious quaffed
The sunny flood, hill, forest, city, spire
Laugh in the wakening light. Go, vain Desire!
The dusky lights have gone go thou thy way!
And pining Discontent, like them, expire!
30 Be called my chamber, PEACE, when ends the day;
And let me with the dawn, like PILGRIM, sing and pray!
LESSON LXXXI.-THE LIGHT OF HOME.-MRS. S. J. HALE.
My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair,
And thy spirit will sigh to roam,
And thou must go ;-but never when there,
Forget the light of home.
Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright,
It dazzles to lead astray:
Like the meteor's flash 't will deepen the night,
When thou treadest the lonely way.
But the hearth of home has a constant flame,
And pure as vestal fire;
'T will burn, 't will burn, forever the same,
For nature feeds the pyre.
The sea of ambition is tempest tost,
And thy hopes may vanish like foam;
But when sails are shivered and rudder lost,
Then look to the light of home.
And there, like a star through the midnight cloud,
Thou shalt see the beacon bright,
For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quenched its holy light.
The sun of fame 't will gild the name,
But the heart ne'er felt its ray;
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim,
Are but beams of a wintry day.
And how cold and dim those beams must be,
Should life's wretched wanderer come!
But my boy, when the world is dark to thee,
Then turn to the light of home.
LESSON LXXXII.-A PSALM OF LIFE.-H. W. LONGFELLOW.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest !
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting;
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead '
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footsteps on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
LESSON LXXXIII.-TO THE CONDOR.-E. F. ELLET.
Wondrous, majestic bird! whose mighty wing
Dwells not with puny warblers of the spring;-
Nor on earth's silent breast,
Powerful to soar in strength and pride on high,
And sweep the azure bosom of the sky,-
Chooses its place of rest.
Proud nursling of the tempest, where repose
Thy pinions at the daylight's fading close?
In what far clime of night
Dost thou in silence, breathless and alone,-
While round thee swells of life no kindred tone,-
Suspend thy tireless flight?
The mountain's frozen peak is lone and bare;
No foot of man hath ever rested there ;-
Yet 't is thy sport to soar
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