66

Then Philip waved his sceptre. Silence fell
O'er all the plain. 'Twas but a moment's pause;
Obey my son, Pharsalian! bring the steed!"
The monarch spoke. A signal to the grooms,
And on the plain they led Bucephalus.

"Mount, vassal, mount! Why pales thy cheek with fear?

Mount!-ha! art slain? Another: mount again!"
'Twas all in vain. No hand could curb a neck,
Clothed with such might and grandeur, to the rein.
No thong or spur could make his fury yield.
Now bounds he from the earth; and now he rears-
Now madly plunges-strives to rush away,
Like that strong bird-his fellow king of air!

Then Alexander threw
His light cloak from his shoulders, and drew nigh.
The brave steed was no courtier; prince and groom
Bore the same mien to him. He started back;
But with firm grasp the youth retained, and turned
His fierce eyes from his shadow to the sun.
Then, with that hand, in after times which hurled
The bolts of war among embattled hosts,

Conquered all Greece, and over Persia swayed
Imperial command-which on Fame's temple
Graved, ALEXANDER, VICTOR OF THE WORLD!—
With that bold hand he smoothed the flowing mane,
Patted the glossy skin with soft caress,
Soothingly speaking in low voice the while,
Lightly he vaulted to his first great strife.
How like a Centaur* looked the steed and youth!
Firmly the hero sat; his glowing cheek

* The first men who tamed horses and rode them, were supposed to be part of the horse, and were called Centaurs. Prescott, in his admirable History of the Conquest of Mexico, says that the Mexicans, who had never seen a horse before, made the same mistake in regard to the cavalry of the Spanish invaders.

Flushed with the rare excitement: his high brow
Pale with a stern resolve: his lip as smiling,
And his glance as calm, as if, in dalliance,
Instead of danger, with a girl he played.
Untutored to obey, how raves the steed!
Champing the bit, and tossing the white foam,
And struggling to be free, that he might dart,
Swift as an arrow from a shivering bow.
The rein is loosened. "Now, Bucephalus !"
Away! away!-he flies, away-away!

The multitude stood hushed, in breathless awe,
And gazed into the distance.

Lo! a speck

A darksome speck, on the horizon! "Tis-
'Tis he! Now it enlarges; now are seen
The horse and rider; now, with ordered pace,
The horse approaches, and the rider leaps
Down to the earth, and bends his rapid pace
Unto the King's pavilion. The wild steed,
Unled, uncalled, is following his subduer.
Philip wept tears of joy: "My son, go seek
A larger empire; for so vast a soul,
Too small is Macedonia!"

5*

LESSON XXX.

THE CHILDREN'S CHOICE.

The following piece from the pure pen of MRS. GILMAN, of Charleston, S. C., should be spoken, if convenient, by one advanced pupil and four small ones, the teacher taking care that they stand so as not to hide each other from the audience. The piece approaches the Dialogue in form, and first appeared in the PEARL for 1833.

JOHN.

I mean to be a soldier,

With uniform quite new,

I wish they'd let me have a drum,
And be a Captain too;

I would go amid the battle,

With my broad sword in my hand,

And hear the cannon rattle,

And the music all so grand.

MOTHER.

My son! my son! what if that sword

Should strike a noble heart,

And bid some loving father

From his little ones depart?

What comfort would your waving plumes

And brilliant dress bestow,

When you thought upon

his widow's tears,

And her orphans' cry of woe?

WILLIAM.

I mean to be a President,

And rule each rising State,
And hold my levees once a week,
For all the gay and great;

I'll be a king, except a crown,
For that they won't allow,

And I'll find out what the Tariff is,

That puzzles me so now.

MOTHER.

My son! my son! the cares of state
Are thorns upon the breast,

That ever pierce the good man's heart,
And rob him of his rest;

The great and gay to him appear
As trifling as the dust,

For he knows how little they are worth,
How faithless is their trust.

LOUISA.

I mean to be a cottage girl,

And sit behind a rill,

And morn and eve my pitcher there
With purest water fill;

And I'll train a lovely woodbine,
Around my cottage door,

And welcome to my winter hearth
The wandering and the poor.

MOTHER.

Louisa, dear, a humble mind
"Tis beautiful to see;

And you shall never hear a word
To check that mind from me;
But ah! remember, pride may dwell
Beneath the woodbine's shade,
And discontent, a sullen guest,
The cottage hearth invade.

CAROLINE.

I will be gay and courtly,

And dance away the hours,

Music and sport and joy shall dwell
Beneath my fairy bowers;

No heart shall ache with sadness
Within my laughing hall,
But the note of love and gladness
Re-echo to my call.

MOTHER.

Oh! children! sad it makes

my

soul

To hear your playful strain;

I can not bear to chill your youth
With images of pain.

Yet humbly take what God bestows,
And, like his own fair flowers,
in sunshine with a smile,
And gently bend in showers.

Look up

LESSON XXXI.

RESPONSIBILITY OF THE SONS OF THE PILGRIMS.

After describing the superior advantages enjoyed by New England in the character of her founders, part of which description constitutes the 21st Lesson of this book, the elegant writer makes the following application of his subject to those who are enjoying the blessings which he has enumerated.

It is in no boastful or vain-glorious spirit that I refer to this heroic period of our country's history. It is in no invidious mood that I contrast the leading features of our civil polity and our social condition, with those of the trans-atlantic nations of Christendom. Rather must I confess, that the contemplation of these historic events brings more humiliation than pride. It demands of us, whether we have retained our vantageground of a thousand years. It forces upon the conscience the solemn question, whether we have been faithful to duty. Stewards of a more precious treasure than was ever before committed to mortal hands, are