you may find his bones bleaching on the green fields of his country; or he may be found tossing upon the surface of the ocean, and mingling his groans with those tempests, less savage than his persecutors, that drift him to a returnless distance from his family and his home.

4. And yet, with these facts ringing in the ears, and staring in the face of the prosecutor, you are called upon to say, on your oaths, that these facts do not exist. You are called upon, in defiance of shame, of truth, of honor, to deny the sufferings under which you groan, and to flatter the persecution that tramples you under foot.

LESSON XXI.

THE GRAVE OF THE YEAR. G. A. GAMAGE.

[The pupil may scan this piece, and tell in what measures it is written. See p. 214.]

1. Be composed, every toil and each turbulent motion,

That encircles the heart in life's treacherous snares, And the hour, that invites to the calm of devotion, Undisturbed by regrets, unencumbered by cares. How cheerless, the late blooming face of creation! Weary Time seems to pause in his rapid career, And, fatigued with the work of his own desolation, Looks behind, with a smile, on the grave of the year!

2. Hark! the wind whistles rudely, the shadows are closing, Which inwrap his broad path in the mantle of night, While pleasure's gay sohs are in quiet reposing,

Undisturbed by the wrecks that have numbered his flight. In yon temple, where Fashion's bright tapers are lighted, Her votaries, in crowds, decked with garlands, appear, And, as yet, their warm hopes, by no specter affrighted, Assemble to dance round the grave of the year!

8. O! I hate the false cup, that the idlers have tasted,

When I think on the ills of life's comfortless day; How the flowers of my childhood their odor have wasted, And the friends of my youth have been stolen away;1 think not, how fruitless the warmest endeavor,

To recall the kind moments, neglected when near, When the hours, that Oblivion has canceled forever, Are interred by her hand in the grave of the year! 4. Since the last solemn reign of this day of reflection, What throngs have relinquished life's perishing breath! How many have shed the sad tear of dejection,

And closed the dim eye in the darkness of death! How many have sudden their pilgrimage ended Beneath the lone pall that envelops the bier, Or to Death's lonely valley, have gently descended, And made their cold beds with the grave of the year!

5. 'Tis the year, that so late, its new beauty disclosing, Rose bright on the happy, the careless, and gay, Who now, on their pillows of dust are reposing,

While the sod presses damp on their bosoms of clay! Then think not of bliss, when its smile is expiring, Disappointment still drowns it in misery's tear; Reflect, and be wise, for the day is retiring,

And TO-MORROW will dawn on the grave of the year!

6. Yet, awhile, and no seasons around us shall flourish,
But Silence, for each, her dark mansion prepare,
Where Beauty, no longer, her roses shall nourish,
Or the lily o'erspread the wan cheek of Despair;
But the eye shall with luster unfading be brightened,
When it wakens to bliss in
yon orient sphere,
By the sunbeams of splendor immortal, enlightened,

Which no more shall

down on go

the

grave

of the year!

1

LESSON XXII.

SOLILOQUY OF THE GAMBLER'S WIFE.-COATES.

[See Transition, p. 196, and Personations, p. 200.]

1. "Dark is the night! How dark! No light! No fire! Cold on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire! Shivering, I watch by the cradle side

For him, who pledged his love! Last

year a

bride!

2. "Hark! 'Tis his footstep! No!-'T is past!-'T is gone! Tick ! — Tick ! — How wearily the time crawls on!

Why should he leave me thus?—He once was kind!
And I believed 't would last!- How mad!- How blind!

3. "Rest thee, my babe! - Rest on! -- 'Tis hunger's cry!
Sleep! for there is no food!— The font is dry!

Famine and cold their wearying work have done:

My heart must break! And thou! — The clock strikes one.

4. "Hush! 't is the dice-box! Yes! he's there! he's there! For this! for this he leaves me to despair!

Leaves love! leaves truth! his wife! his child! for what? The wanton's smile - the villain.

and the sot!

5. "Yet I'll not curse him! No! 't is all in vain! 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again! And I could starve, and bless him, but for you,

My child!

his child! Oh, fiend! The clock strikes two.

6. "Hark! How the sign-board creaks! The blast howls by! Moan! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky! Ha! 't is his knock! he comes!- he comes once more!

"T is but the lattice flaps! My hope is o'er!

7. "Can he desert us thus! He knows I stay,
Night after night, in loneliness, to pray
For his return, and yet he sees no tear!
No! no! It cannot be! He will be here!

1. At summer's eve, when heaven's aerial bow
Spans, with bright arch, the glittering hills below,
Why, to yon mountain, turns the musing eye,
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky
Why do those hills, of shadowy tint, appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near!
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain with its azure hue.

2. Thus, with delight, we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus, from afar, each dim discovered scene
More pleasing seems, than all the past has been;
And every form that fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

3. What potent spirit guides the raptured eyo,
To pierce the shades of dim futurity?
Can wisdom lend, with all her boasted power,

The pledge of joy's anticipated hour?
Ah, no she darkly sees the fate of man,
Her dim horizon bounded to a span;
Or if she holds an image to the view,

"Tis nature, pictured too severely true.

4. With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light,
That pours remotest rapture on the sight;
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way,
That calls each slumbering passion into play.

5. Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time,
Thy joyous youth began, but not to fade;
When all the sister planets have decayed,

When, wrapt in fire, the realms of ether glow,
And heaven's last thunder shakes the world below,-
Thou undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile,
And light thy torch at nature's funeral pile.

LESSON XXIV.

INFLUENCE OF ATHENIAN LITERATURE.-MACAULAY

[The reader may point out the commencing and concluding series in this piece, and tell how they should be read. See Rule 11, p. 126.]

1. I would hope that there may yet appear a writer who may despise the present narrow limits, and assert the rights of history over every part of her natural domain. Should such a writer engage in that enterprise, he will record, indeed, all that is interesting and important in military and political transactions; but he will not think any thing too trivial for the gravity of history, which is not too trivial to promote or diminish the happiness of man.

2. He will portray in vivid colors the domestic society, the manners, the amusements, the conversation of the Greeks; he will not disdain to discuss the state of agriculture, of the mechanical arts, and of the conveniences of life; the progress of painting, of sculpture, and of architecture, will form an important part of his plan; but above all, his attention will