15. The innocent face of nature gives him an open and fair mind; pain and death seem passing away, for all about him is cheerful and in its spring. His virtues are not taught him as lessons, but are shed upon him and enter into him like the light and warmth of the sun; and amidst the variety of the earth he sees a fitness which frees him from the formalities of rule, and lets him abroad to find a pleasure in all things, and order becomes a simple feeling of the soul.

16. Religion, to such a one, has thoughts and visions and sensations tinged, as it were, with a brighter light than falls on other men. The love and reverence of the Creätor make their abode in his imagination, and he gathers about them earth and air and ideal worlds. His heart is made glad with the perfectnèss in the works of God, when he considers that even of the multitude of things that are growing up and decaying, and of those which have come and gone, on which the eye of man has never rested, each was as fair and complete as if made to live for ever for our instruction and delight.

17. Freedom, and order, and beauty, and grandeur are in accordance in his mind, and give largenèss and height to his thoughts; he moves among the bright clouds; he wanders ǎway into the measurelèss depths of the stars, and is touched by the fire with which God has lighted them. All that is made partakes of the eternal, and religion becomes a perpetual delight.

DANA.

RICHARD HENRY DANA was born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, on the 15th of November, 1787. He graduated at Harvard in 1807. He opened a law-office in Newport, R. I., in 1811, and became a member of the legislature; but his constitutional sensitiveness and feeble health compelled him to abandon his profession soon after. For two years, from 1818, he aided in editing the N. A. Review; and in 1821 began the publication of "The Idle Man," a periodical in which he communicated to the public his Tales and Essays. After the discontinuance of that paper, he wrote able articles for several of the best periodicals of the country. The first volume of his poems, containing "The Buccaneer," was printed in 1827. An edition of his writings, in two volumes, was published in New York in 1850. Mr. DANA at present passes his time between his town residence at Boston and his country retirement at Cape Ann, where he can indulge in his love of nature. He is regarded always, by as many as have the honor of his acquaintance, with admiration and the most reverent affection. All of his writings belong to the permanent literature of the country, and yearly find more and more readers. They are distinguished for profound philosophy, simple sentiment, and pure and vigorous diction.

V.

35. THE LAST MAN.

LL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,

ALL

The sun himself must die,

Before this mortal shall assume

Its immortality!

I saw a vision in my sleep

That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adown the gulf of Time!

I saw the last of human mold,
That shall creätion's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime!

2. The sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!

Some had expired in fight--the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some!

Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shōres where all was dumb!

3. Yět, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm passed by—

Saying, We are twins in death, proud sun,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
"Tis mercy bids thee go;

For thou ten thousand thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shalt no longer flow.

4. What though beneath thee man put fōrth His pomp, his pride, his skill;

And arts that made fire, flood, and earth,
The vassals of his will;—

Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim, discrowned king of day:
For all those trophied arts

And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Healed not a passion or a pang
Entailed on human hearts.

5. Go, let oblivion's1 curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall
Life's tragedy again.

2

Its piteous pageants' bring not back,
Nor waken flesh upon the rack
Of pain anew to writhe;

Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred,
Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.

6. Even I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumlèss agonies,
Behold not me expire.

My lips that speak thy dirge of death—
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not bōast.

The eclipse of nature spreads my pall—
The majesty of darknèss shall
Receive my parting ghost!

7. This spirit shall return to Him
Who gave its heavenly spark;
Yět think not, sun, it shall be dim,
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity,

1 Oblivion, cessation of remembrance; forgetfulness.

2 Pageant (păj' ant), a fleeting

show; a spectacle for the entertainment of a distinguished personage, or the public; an exhibition,

Who robbed the grave of victory,
And took the sting from death!

8. Go, sun, while mercy holds me up
On nature's awful waste,

To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste

Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his immortality,
Or shake his trust in God!

CAMPBELL.

SECTION IX.

I.

36. THE DOWER.

Characters: SIR GILES OVERREACH, a cruel extortioner, and LORD LOVELL.

Ο

VERREACH. To my wish: we are private.

I come not to make offer with my daughter

A certain portion, that were poor and trivial:
In one word, I pronounce all that is mine,
In lands or leases, ready coin or goods,
With her, my lord, comes to you; nor shall
One motive to induce you to believe

I live too long, since every year I'll add

you

have

Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too.
Lovell. You are a right kind father.

Over.

To think me such.

You shall have reason

How do you like this seat?

It is well wooded, and well watered, the acres
Fertile and rich; would it not serve for change,
To entertain your friends in a summer progress?
What thinks my noble lord?

Lov.

'Tis a wholesome air,

And well-built pile; and she that's mistrèss of it,
Worthy the large revenue.

Over.

She the mistress!

lord

It may be so for a time: but let my

Say only that he likes it, and would have it,
I say, ere long 'tis his.

Lov.

Impossible.

Over. You do conclude too fast, not knowing me,
Nor the engines that I work by. "Tis not alone
The Lady Allworth's lands, for those once Wellborn's,
(As by her dōtage on him I know they will be,)
Shall soon be mine; but point out any man's
In all the shire, and say they lie convenient,
And useful for your lordship, and once mōre
I say aloud, they are yours.

Lov.
I dare not own
What's by unjust and cruel means extorted:
My fame and credit are mōre dear to me,
Than so to expose them to be censured by
The public voice.

Over.

You run, my lord, no hazard. Your reputation shall stand as fair,

In all good men's opinions, as now;

Nor can my actions, though condemned for ill,
Cast any foul aspersion upon yours.
For, though I do contemn report myself,
As a mere sound, I still will be so tender
Of what concerns you, in all points of honor,
That the immaculate whiteness of your fame,
Nor your unquestioned integrity,

Shall e'er be sullied with one taint or spot
That may take from your innocence and candor.
All my ambition is to have my daughter
Right honorable, which my lord can make her:
And might I live to dance upon my knee
A young
Lord Lovell, born by her unto you,
I write nil ultra to my proudèst hopes.
As for possessions, and annual rents,
Equivalent to maintain you in the post

203