very thing which they profess to deprecate as pernicious to the well-being and comfort of the species. Whether they are sincere in this profession, or whether they are only trifling with the sense and feeling of mankind, still it demonstrates the hardening influence of their principles; and from principles, which make those who hold them so reckless of the peace and order and happiness of their brethren, what can be reasonably expected, but every thing which is most destructive of human comfort? It is true, the infidel may be very humane in the intercourse of life; but, after all, what dependence can be placed upon that humanity of his, which deals out bread to the hungry, and clothing to the naked, and yet would sacrifice to literary vanity, or to something worse, whatever can give support in trial, and consolation at death? He may sympathize with me in my distress, and speak to me of immortality, and, at the very moment, his constitutional kindness may be triumphing over his cold-blooded and gloomy speculations. But his speculations have shed a misery over my heart, which no language of his can dissipate, and which makes his most affectionate words sound in my ear like the words of mockery and scorn. He has destroyed me, and he cannot save me, and he cannot comfort me. At his bidding I have renounced that Saviour in whom I once trusted and was happy, and he now pities me; as if his most pitying tones could charm away the anguish of my bosom, and make me forget that it was he himself who planted it there, and planted it so deep, and nourished it so well, that nothing but the power of that heaven, whose power I have denied, is able to pluck it out! Yes, after he has destroyed my belief in the superintending providence of God,-after he has taught me that the prospect of a hereafter is but the baseless fabrick of a vision, -after he has bred and nourished in me a contempt for that sacred volume which alone throws light over this be nighted world, after having argued me out of my faith by his sophistries, or laughed me out of it by his ridicule,-after having thus wrung from my soul every drop of consolation, and dried up my very spirit within me,-yes, after having accomplished this in the season of my health and my pros perity, he would come to me while I mourn, and treat me like a drivelling idiot, whom he may sport with, because he has ruined me, and to whom, in the plenitude of his com passion, too late, and too unavailing, he may talk of truths in which he himself does not believe, and which he has long exhorted me, and has at last persuaded me, to cast away as the dreams and the delusions of human folly! From such comforters may heaven preserve me! soul come not thou into their secrets. Unto their assembly, mine honour, be not thou united !" My LESSON CXIII. Death-Scene in Gertrude of Wyoming.* CAMPBELL. BUT short that contemplation-sad and short Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew, Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew Was near?-yet there, with lust of murderous deeds, Gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in view, The ambushed foeman's eye-his volley speeds, And Albert-Albert-falls! the dear old father bleeds! And tranced in giddy horrour Gertrude swooned; Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone, Say, burst they, borrowed from her father's wound, These drops?-Oh God! the life-blood is her own; And faltering, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown"Weep not, O Love!"-she cries, " to see me bleedThee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee aloneHeaven's peace commiserate; for scarce I heed These wounds;-yet thee to leave is death, is death indeed. *The three characters mentioned in the above passage, being warned of the approach of a hostile tribe of North American Indians, are forced to abandon their peaceful retreat, in the vale of Wy'oming, and fly for safety to a neighbouring fort. On the following morning, at sunrise, while Gertrude, together with Albert, her father, and Waldegrave, her husband, are looking from the battlements on the havock and desolation which had marked the progress of the barbarous enemy, an Indian marksman fires a mortal shot from his ambush at Albert; and, as Gertrude clasps him in agony to her heart, another shot lays her bleeding by his side. She then takes farewell of her husband in a speech which our greatest modern critick has described as "more sweetly pathetick than any thing ever written in rhyme."-M'Diarmid. "Clasp me a little longer, on the brink Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress; And, when this heart hath ceased to beat-oh! think, That thou hast been to me all tenderness, A friend, to more than human friendship just. God shall assuage thy pangs-when I am laid in dust! The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move, In heaven; for ours was not like earthly love, No! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past.". Hushed were his Gertrude's lips! but still their bland Ah, heart! where once each fond affection dwelt, Of them that stood encircling his despair, He heard some friendly words;-but knew not what they were. LESSON CXIV. To a Waterfowl.-Bryant. WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,- Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned And soon that toil shall end, Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows: reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone ! the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. LESSON CXV. Hohenlinden.-CAMPBELL. ON Linden, when the sun was low, But Linden saw another sight, The darkness of her scenery. *Pronounced Eser.. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, And redder yet those fires shall glow, "Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, And charge with all thy chivalry !† Ah! few shall part where many meet! LESSON CXVI. Thanatopsis.-BRYANT. To him who, in the love of Nature, holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And gentle sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight * Pronounced Cum'bat. † Ch, as in Church. |