LESSON LXXVI.

THE VOYAGE OF LIFE.

The following Allegory, when explained to the pupil, as, it is hardly necessary to say, every piece should be before it is spoken, affords a good exercise. The orders must be given distinctly, and the piece must not be hurried. The author is unknown to the Editor.

Launch thy bark, mariner !

Christian, God speed thee.
Let loose the rudder bands!
Good angels lead thee.
Set thy sails warily!
Tempests will come;
Steer thy course steadily-
Christian, steer home!

Look to the weather bow!
Breakers are round thee;
Let fall the plummet now!
Shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the foresail, then!
Hold the helm fast!
So! let the vessel wear-
There swept the blast.

What of the night, watchman?
What of the night?
"Cloudy-all quiet-

No land yet-all's right."
Be watchful, be vigilant ;

Danger may be

At an hour when all seems

Securest to thee.

How gains the leak so fast?

Clear out the hold!

Hoist up thy merchandise,
Heave out thy gold!

There let the ingots go!
Now the ship rights:
Hurra! The harbor's near-
Lo! the red lights!

Slacken not sail yet

At inlet or island!
Straight for the beacon steer;
Straight for the highland!
Crowd all thy canvass on,
Cut through the foam :
Christian, cast anchor now—
Heaven is thy home!

LESSON LXXVII.

EXCELSIOR.

The word Excelsior is a Latin comparative, meaning more exalted or more sublime. As used in the following piece by Professor LONGFELLOW, it implies that the youth had a lofty aim, which no difficulty, no danger could repress. Happy the youth, who in ascending the heights of knowledge and virtue, resolves to imitate the mountain youth, and whatever eminence he may attain, is only the more induced to cry Excelsior! EXCELSIOR! The sentiment is exactly that of Paul, when he says, (Philippians III. 13,) "Forgetting those things that are behind, and reaching forth unto those things that are before, I press toward the mark," &c.

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device—
Excelsior!

His brow was sad, his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath;

And like a silver clarion rung

The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the light

Of household fires gleam warm and bright:
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,

And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior.

"Try not the Pass!" the old man said: "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior!

"Oh, stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!— Beware the awful avalanche !"

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This was the peasant's last good night,'
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice.
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

There, in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless but beautiful, he lay,

And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star!
Excelsior!

LESSON LXXVIII.

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP.

The following Legend, or Doubtful Narrative, was written by MOORE, the Irish poet. The Dismal Swamp lies on the borders of Virginia and North Carolina, is now crossed by a canal, and is said not to be so gloomy a place as its name implies.

They made her a grave too cold and damp

For a soul so warm and true;

She has gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where all night long by a fire-fly lamp,

She paddles her white canoe.

And the white canoe I soon shall see,
And the paddle I soon shall hear,
And long and loving our lives shall be,
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footstep of Death is near.

Off to the Dismal Swamp he speeds,
His path was rugged and sore;
Through tangled juniper, beds of weeds,
And many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.

And when on the earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,

He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew.

And near him the she wolf stirred the brake,
The copper snake breathed in his ear;

Till he, starting, cried, from his dream awake, "O when shall I see the dusky lake,

And the white canoe of my dear?"

He saw the lake, and a meteor bright
Quick o'er its surface played.
Welcome! he cried, my dear one's light;
And the dim shore echoed for many a night
The name of the death-cold maid.

Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from the shore;
Far he followed the meteor spark,

The wind was high and the night was dark,
And the boat returned no more.

But oft in the Indian hunter's camp
This lover and maid so true,
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp,
To cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp,
And paddle their white canoe.

LESSON LXXIX.

KÖRNER'S ADDRESS TO HIS HORSE.

CHARLES THEODORE KÖRNER, the author of the poem of which the following is a translation, was a young poet of great promise, who took up arms when Germany was invaded by the French under Napoleon, and who was killed in a skirmish in 1813. His name is pronounced Kerner.

My horse, my horse-to arms! to arms!
Upon us looks the world :-

Our foes with threats and loud alarms,
Their deadly hate have hurled.
My horse, my horse-the night is gone,
There is thy oaken wreath ;-
Arouse, arouse! and bear me on,
Where sabres deal forth death.