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A morning-visit to the poor man's shed,

Down by the beech-wood side he turn'd away :(Who would be rich while One was wanting bread ?) And now behold him in an evil day When all are emulous to bring relief,

Serving the State again—not as before, And tears are falling fast-but not for grief: Not foot to foot, the war-whoop at his door, A Walk in Spring-Grattan, like those with thee, But in the Senate : and (though round him fly By the heath-side (who had not envied me?) The jest, the sneer, the subtle sophistry, When the sweet limes, so full of bees in June, With honest dignity, with manly sense, Led us to meet beneath their boughs at noon; And every charm of natural eloquence, And thou didst say which of the Great and Wise, Like Hampden struggling in his Country's cause, (20) Could they but hear and at thy bidding rise, The first, the foremost to obey the laws, Thou wouldst call up and question.

The last to brook oppression. On he moves,

Graver things Careless of blame while his own heart approves, Come in their turn. Morning, and Evening, brings Careless of ruin (" For the general good Its holy office; and the sabbath-bell,

"T is not the first time I shall shed my blood.") That over wood and wild and mountain-dell On through that gate misnamed, (21) through which Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy

before With sounds most musical, most melancholy, Went Sidney, Russel, Raleigh, Cranmer, More, Not on his ear is lost. Then he pursues

On into twilight within walls of stone,
The pathway leading through the aged yews, Then to the place of trial; (22) and alone, (23)
Nor unattended ; and, when all are there,

Alone before his judges in array
Pours out his spirit in the House of Prayer, Stands for his life: there, on that awful day,
That House with many a funeral-garland hung (18) Counsel of friends-all human help denied-
Of virgin-white-memorials of the young,

All but from her who sits the pen to guide,
The last yet fresh when marriage-chimes were ringing, Like that sweet Saint who sate by Russel's side
And hope and joy in other hearts were springing; Under the Judgment-seat, (24)—But guilty men
That House, where Age led in by Filial Love, Triumph not always. To his hearth again,
Their looks composed, their thoughts on things above, Again with honor to his hearth restored,
The world forgot, or all its wrongs forgiven - Lo, in the accustom'd chair and at the board,
Who would not say they trod the path to Heaven? |Thrice greeting those who most withdraw their
Nor at the fragrant hour-at early dawn-

claim, Under the elm-tree on his level lawn,

(The lowliest servant calling by his name) Or in his porch is he less duly found,

He reads thanksgiving in the eyes of all,
When they that cry for Justice gather round, All met as at a holy festival !
And in that cry her sacred voice is drown'd; -On the day destined for his funeral !
His then to hear and weigh and arbitrate,

Lo, there the Friend, who entering where he lay, Like Alfred judging at his palace-gate.

Breathed in his drowsy ear, “Away, away! Heal'd at his touch, the wounds of discord close; Take thou my cloak-Nay, start not, but obeyAnd they return as friends, that came as foes. Take it and leave me." And the blushing Maid,

Thus, while the world but claims its proper part, Who through the streets as through a desert stray'd; on in the head but never in the heart,

And, when her dear, dear Father pass'd along, His life steals on; within his quiet dwelling Would not be held-but, bursting through the throng. That home-felt joy all other joys excelling.

Halberd and battle-axe-kiss'd him o'er and o'er; Sick of the crowd, when enters he-nor then Then turn'd and went- then sought him as before, Forgets the cold indifference of men ?

Believing she should see his face no more! -Soog through the gadding vine (19) the sun looks in, And oh, how changed at once-no heroine here, And gentle hands the breakfast-rite begin.

But a weak woman worn with grief and fear, Then the bright kettle sings its matin-song,

Her darling Mother! 'T was but now she smiled, Then fragrant clouds of Mocha and Souchong And now she weeps upon her weeping child ! Blend as they rise; and (while without are seen, --But who sits by, her only wish below Sare of their meal, the small birds on the green; At length fulfillid--and now prepared to go? And in from far a school-boy's letter flies,

His hands on hers—as through the mists of night, Flushing the sister's cheek with glad surprise) She gazes on him with imperfect sight; That sheet unfolds (who reads, that reads it not ?) Her glory now, as ever her delight! (25) Bom with the day and with the day forgot; To her, methinks, a second Youth is given; Its ample page various as human life,

The light upon her face a light from Heaven! The pomp, the woe, the bustle and the strife! An hour like this is worth a thousand pass'd

But nothing lasts. In Autumn at his plow In pomp or ease- T is present to the last! Met and solicited, behold him now

Years glide away untold—'T is still the same! Leaving that humbler sphere his fathers knew, As fresh, as fair as on the day it came! The sphere that Wisdom loves and Virtue too, And now once more where most he loved to be, She who subsists not on the vain applause

In his own fieldsbreathing tranquillityMisjudging man now gives and now withdraws. We hail him-not less happy, Fox, than thee!

T was morn--the sky-lark o'er the furrow sung Thee at St. Anne's so soon of care beguiled,
As from his lips the slow consent was wrung; Playful, sincere, and artless as a child!
As from the glebe his fathers tillid of old,

Thee, who wouldst watch a bird's-nest on the spray, The plow they guided in an age of gold,

\Through the green leaves exploring, day by day.

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How oft from grove to grove, from seat to seat, And She inspires, whose beauty shines in all;
With thee conversing in thy loved retreat,

So soon to weave a daughter's coronal,
I saw the sun go down4Ah, then 't was thine And at the nuptial rite smile through her tears
Ne'er to forget some volume half divine,

So soon to hover round her full of fears, Shakspeare's or Dryden's—through the chequerid And with assurance sweet her soul revive shade

In child-birth-when a mother's love is most alive. Borne in thy hand behind thee as we stray'd ;

No, 't is not here that Solitude is known. And where we sate (and many a halt we made)

Through the wide world he only is alone To read there with a fervor all thy own,

Who lives not for another. Come what will, And in thy grand and melancholy tone,

The generous man has his companion still; Some splendid passage not to thee unknown,

The cricket on his hearth; the buzzing fly Fit theme for long discourse-Thy bell has toll'd!

That skims his roof, or, be his roof the sky, -But in thy place among us we behold

Still with its note of gladness passes by : One who resembles thee.

And, in an iron cage condemn'd to dwell, 'Tis the sixth hour.

| The cage that stands within the dungeon-cell, The village-clock strikes from the distant tower.

He feeds his spider-happier at the worst
The plowman leaves the field ; the traveller hears,

Than he at large who in himself is curst.
And to the inn spurs forward. Nature wears
Her sweetest smile; the day-star in the west

O thou all-eloquent, whose mighty mind (27)
Yet hovering, and the thistle's down at rest. Streams from the depth of ages on mankind,

Streams like the day-who, angel-like, hast shed And such, his labor done, the calm He knows,

| Thy full effulgence on the hoary head, Whose footsteps we have follow'd. Round him glows Sneaking in

um glows Speaking in Caio's venerable voice, An atmosphere that brightens to the last :

“ Look up, and faint noir-faint not, but rejoice!" The light, that shines, reflected from the Past,

From thy Elysium guide him. Age has now --And from the Future too! Active in Thought

Stamp'd with its signet that ingenuous brow; Among old books, old friends; and not unsought

And, 'mid his old hereditary trees, By the wise stranger-in his morning-hours,

Trees he has climb'd so oft, he sits and sees When gentle airs stir the fresh-blowing flowers,

His children's children playing round his knees : He muses, turning up the idle weed;

Then happiest, youngest, when the quoit is flung, Or prunes or grafts, or in the yellow mead

When side by side the archer's bows are strung; Watches his bees at hiving-time; and now,

His to prescribe the place, adjudge the prize, The ladder resting on the orchard-bough,

Envying no more the young their energies Culls the delicious fruit that hangs in air,

Than they an old man when his words are wise ; The purple plum, green fig, or golden pear,

His a delight how pure without alloy ; 'Mid sparkling eyes, and hands uplifted there.

Strong in their strength, rejoicing in their joy! At night, when all, assembling round the fire, Now in their turn assisting, they repay Closer and closer draw till they retire,

The anxious cares of many and many a day; A tale is told of India or Japan,

And now by those he loves Of merchants from Golcond or Astracan,

His very wants and weaknesses afford What time wild Nature revellid unrestrain'd,

A feeling of enjoyment. In his walks, And Sinbad voyaged and the Caliphs reign'd:

Leaning on them, how oft he stops and talks, Of some Norwegian, while the icy gale

While they look up! Their questions, their replies, Rings in her shrouds and beats her iron-sail,

Fresh as the welling waters, round him rise, Among the snowy Alps of Polar seas

Gladdening his spirit: and, his theme the past, Immovable-for ever there to freeze!

How eloquent he is! His thoughts flow fast, Or some great caravan, from well to well

And, while his heart (oh can the heart grow old ? Winding as darkness on the desert fell,

False are the tales that in the World are told !) In their long march, such as the Prophet bids,

Swells in his voice, he knows not where to end ; To Mecca from the land of Pyramids,

Like one discoursing of an absent friend. And in an instant lost a hollow wave of burning sand their everlasting grave!

But there are moments which he calls his own. Now the scene shifts to Veniceto a square

Then, never less alone than when alone, Glittering with light, all nations masking there,

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, With light reflected on the tremulous tide,

Loved and still loves_not dead-but gone before, Where gondolas in gay confusion glide,

He gathers found him; and revives at will Answering the jest, the song on every side;

Scenes in his life-that breathe enchantment still To Naples next-and at the crowded gate,

That come not now at dreary intervalsWhere Grief and Fear and wild Amazement wait,

But where a light as from the Blessed falls, Lo, on his back a Son brings in his Sirc, (26)

A light such guests bring ever-pure and holyVesuvius blazing like a World on fire !

Lapping the soul in sweetest melancholy. Then, at a sign that never was forgot,

--Ah then less willing (nor the choice condemn) A strain breaks forth (who hears and loves it not?)

To live with others than to think on them! From lute or organ! "T is at parting given,

And now behold him up the hill ascending, That in their slumbers they may dream of Heaven; Memory and Hope like evening-stars attending; Young voices mingling, as it floats along,

Sustaind, excited, till his course is run, In Tuscan air or Handel's sacred song!

By deeds of virtue done or to be done.

When on his couch he sinks at length to rest, to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent, Those by his counsel saved, his power redress’d, that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the Those by the World shunn'd ever as unblest, instant. He takes the account of the rich man, and At whom the rich man's dog growls from the gate, proves him a beggar, a naked beggar. He holds a But whom he sought out, sitting desolate,

glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes Come and stand round-the widow with her child, them see therein their deformity; and they acAs when she first forgot her tears and smiled! knowledge it. They, who watch by him, see not; but he sees, O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none Sees and exults-Were ever dreams like these? could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none have They, who watch by him, hear not; but he hears, dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world have And Earth recedes, and Heaven itself appears! flattered, thou only hast cast out and despised : thou

"Tis past! That hand we grasp'd, alas, in vain! hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all Nor shall we look upon his face again!

the pride, cruelty and ambition of man, and covered But to his closing eyes, for all were there,

it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet. Nothing was wanting ; and, through many a year,

RALEIGH We shall remember with a fond delight

Note 3, page 11, col. 2. The words so precious which we heard to-night;

Through the dim curtains of Futurity. His perting, though awhile our sorrow flows,

Fancy can hardly forbear to conjecture with what Like setting suns or music at the close!

temper Milton surveyed the silent progress of his Then was the drama ended. Not till then, work, and marked his reputation stealing its way in a So full of chance and change the lives of men, kind of subterraneous current through fear and silence. Could we pronounce him happy. Then secure I cannot but conceive him calm and confident, little From pain, from grief, and all that we endure, disappointed, not at all dejected, relying on his own He slept in peace-say rather soar'd to Heaven, merit with steady consciousness, and waiting, without Cpbome from Earth by Him to whom 't is given impatience, the vicissitudes of opinion, and the imIn his right hand to hold the golden key

partiality of a future generation.—JOHNSON. That opes the portals of Eternity. -When by a good man's grave I muse alone,

After line 57, col. 2, in the MS. Methinks an angel sits upon the stone;

O'er place and time we triumph ; on we go,

Ranging in thought the realms above, below; Like those of old, on that thrice-hallow'd night,

Yet, ah, how little of ourselves we know ! Who sate and watch'd in raiment heavenly-bright;

And why the heart beats on, or how the brain And, with a voice inspiring joy, not fear,

Says to the foot, 'Now move, now rest again,' Says, pointing upward, that he is not here,

From age to age we search, and search in vain.
That he is risen!

Note 4, page 12, col. 1.
But the day is spent;

like the stone And stars are kindling in the firmament,

That sheds awhile a lustre all its own. To us how silent—though like ours perchance See “ Observations on a diamond that shines in the Bosy and full of life and circumstance;

dark.”—BOYLE's Works, i, 789. Where some the paths of Wealth and Power pursue, Of Pleasure some, of Happiness a few;

Note 5, page 12, col. 1. And, as the sun goes round-a sun not ours

Schooled and trained up to Wisdom from his birth. While from her lap another Nature showers

Cicero, in his Essay De Senectute, has drawn his Gifts of her own, some from the crowd retire, images from the better walks of life ; and Shakspeare, Think on themselves, within, without inquire; in his Seven Ages, has done so too. But Shakspeare At distance dwell on all that passes there,

treats his subject satirically; Cicero as a Philosopher. All that their world reveals of good and fair; In the venerable portrait of Cato we discover no And, as they wander, picturing things, like me,

traces of the lean and slippered pantaloon." Not as they are, but as they ought to be,

Every object has a bright and a dark side; and I Trace out the Journey through their little Day, have endeavored to look at things as Cicero has done. And fondly drearn an idle hour away.

By some however I may be thought to have followed too much my own dream of happiness; and in such a dream indeed I have often passed a solitary hour.

It was castle-building once; now it is no longer so. NOTES.

But whoever would try to realize it, would not

perhaps repent of his endeavor.
Note 1, page 11, col. 2.

Note 6, page 12, col. 1.
Our pathway leads but to a precipice.

The hour arrives, the moment wished and feared.
See Bossuet, Sermon sur la Resurrection.

A Persian Poet has left us a beautiful thought on

this subject, which the reader, if he has not met with Note 2, page 11, col. 2.

it, will be glad to know, and, if he has, to remember. We fly; no resting for the foot we find..

Thee on thy mother's knees, a new-born child,

Io tears we saw, when all around thee smiled. "I have considered,” says Solomon, "all the works So live, that, sinking in thy last long sleep. that are under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and Smiles may be thine, when all around thee weep. Feration of spirit.” But who believes it, till Death tells For my version I am in a great measure indebted it us! It is Death alone that can suddenly make man to Sir William Jones.

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Note 7, page 12, col. 2.

visit Sicily and Greece, when hearing of the troubles "These are my Jewels!"

in England, he thought it proper to hasten home. The anecdote here alluded to, is related by Valerius

Note 13, page 13, col. 1.
Maximus, lib. iv, c. 4.

And Milton's self.
Note 8, page 12, col. 2.

I began thus far to assent... to an inward prompt"Suffer these little ones to come to me!"

ing which now grew daily upon me, that by labor and In our early Youth, while yet we live only among intent study (which I take to be my portion in this those we love, we love without restraint, and our life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, I hearts overflow in every look, word, and action. But might perhaps leave something, so written, to after when we enter the world and are repulsed by stran- times, as they should not willingly let it die.—MILTON. gers, forgotten by friends, we grow more and more timid in our approaches even to those we love best.

Note 14, page 13, col. 1. How delightful to us then are the little caresses of

't was at matin-time. children! All sincerity, all affection, they fly into our Love and devotion are said to be nearly allied. arms; and then, and then only, we feel our first Boccaccio fell in love at Naples in the church of St. confidence, our first pleasure.

Lorenzo; as Petrarch had done at Avignon in the

church of St. Clair.
Note 9, page 12, col. 2.
he reveres

Note 15, page 13, col. 2.
The brow engraven with the Thoughts of Years.

Lovely before, oh, say how lovely now! This is a law of Nature. Age was anciently synony. Is it not true, that the young not only appear to be, mous with power; and we may always observe that

w but really are, most beautiful in the presence of those the old are held in more or less honor as men are in

they love? It calls forth all their beauty. more or less virtuous. “Shame," says Homer, “ bids the youth beware how he accosts the man of many

Note 16, page 13, col. 2. years.” “Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, And feeling hearts--touch them but rightly-pour and honor the face of an old man.”—Leviticus.

A thousand melodies unheard before ! Among us, says a philosophical historian, and Xenophon has left us a delightful instance of conwherever birth and possessions give rank and au- ljugal affection. thority, the young and the profligate are seen continu- The king of Armenia not fulfilling his engagement, ally above the old and the worthy: there Age can never Cyrus entered the country, and, having taken him find its due respect. But among many of the ancient and all his family prisoners, ordered them instantly nations it was otherwise ; and they reaped the benefit before him. Armenian, said he, you are free; for you of it. “Rien ne maintient plus les maurs qu'une are now sensible of your error. And what will you extrême subordination des jeunes gens envers les give me, if I restore your wife to you ?-All that I am vieillards. Les uns et les autres seront contenus, ceux-able. What, if I restore your children ?-All that I là par le respect qu'ils auront pour les vieillards, et am able. And you, Tigranes, said he, turning to the ceux-ci par le respect qu'ils auront pour eux-mêmes." | son. What would you do t

son, What would you do, to save your wife from

MONTESQUIEU. servitude ? Now Tigranes was but lately married, Note 10, page 12, col. 2.

and had a great love for his wife. Cyrus, he replied, Like Her most gentle, most unfortunate.

to save her from servitude, I would willingly lay Before I went into Germany, I came to Brodegate

down my life. in Leicestershire, to take my leave of that noble Lady,

Let each have his own again, said Cyrus; and when Jane Grey, to whom I was exceeding much bebolding, he was departed, one spoke of his clemency : and Her parents, the Duke and Duchess, with all the an

another of his valor; and another of his beauty, and Household, Gentlemen and Gentlewomen, were

the graces of his person. Upon which, Tigranes hunting in the park. I found her in her chamber,

asked his wife, if she thought him handsome. Really, reading Phædo Platonis in Greek, and that with as

with od said she, I did not look at him.-At whom then did much delight as some Gentlemen would read a merry you look -Al him who said he would lay down his tale in Boccace. After salutation and duty done, with life for me.-Cyropædia, 1. lll. some other talk, I asked her, why she would lose such

Note 17, page 14, col. 2. pastime in the park? Smiling, she answered me, “11. He goes, and Night comes as it never came! wist, all their sport in the park is but a shadow to that the

These circumstances, as well as some others that pleasure that I find in Plato." —ROGER ASCHAM.

follow, are happily, as far as they regard England, of Note 11, page 12, col. 2.

an ancient date. To us the miseries inflicted by a Then is the Age of Admiration.

foreign invader are now known only by description. Dante in his old age was pointed out to Petrarch Many generations have passed away since our counwhen a boy; and Dryden to Pope.

trywomen saw the smoke of an enemy's camp. Who does not wish that Dante and Dryden could but the same passions are always at work every. have known the value of the homage that was paid where, and their effects are always nearly the same; them, and foreseen the greatness of their young though the circumstances that attend them are inadmirers ?

finitely various. Note 12, page 13, col. 1.

Note 18, page 15, col. 1. Scenes such as Milton gought, but sought in vain.

That House with many a funeral-garland hung. He had arrived at Naples; and was preparing to A custom in some of our country-churches.

Note 19, page 15, col. 1.

Mr. Attorney-General. Yes, a Servant.
Soon through the gadding vine, etc.

Lord Chief Justice. Any of your Servants shall An English breakfast; which may well excite in assist you in writing anything you please for you. others what in Rousseau continued through life, un Lord Russel. My Wife is here, my Lord, to do gout vif pour les déjeûnés. C'est le tems de la jour. it.-State Trials, ii. née où nous sommes les plus tranquilles, nous causons le plus à notre aise.

Note 25, page 15, col. 2. The luxuries here mentioned, familiar to us as

Her glory now, as ever her delight. they now are, were almost unknown before the

Epaminondas, after his victory at Leuctra, rejoiced Revolution.

most of all at the pleasure which it would give his Note 20, page 15, col. 2.

father and mother; and who would not have envied Like Hampden struggling in his country's cause. them their feelings? Zeuris is said to have drawn his Helen from an Cornelia was called at Rome the Mother-in-law assemblage of the most beautiful women; and many of Scipio. “When," said she to her sons, "shall I a writer of fiction, in forming a life to his mind, has be called the mother of the Gracchi ?" recourse to the brightest moments in the lives of others

Note 26, page 16, col. 1. I may be suspected of having done so here, and

Lo, on his back a Son brings in his Sire. of having designed, as it were, from living models; bot by making an allusion now and then to those

An act of filial piety represented on the coins of who have really lived. I thought I should give Catana, a Greek city, some remains of which are something of interest to the picture, as well as better

still to be seen at the foot of mount Ætna. The illustrate my meaning.

story is told of two brothers, who in this manner

saved both their parents. The place from which Note 21, page 15, col. 2.

they escaped was long called the field of the pious; On through that gate misnamed.

and public games were annually held there to com-
Traitor's gate, the water-gate in the Tower of memorate the event.
London.
Note 22, page 15, col. 2.

Note 27, page 16, col. 2.
Then to the place of trial.

Oh thou, all-eloquent, whose mighty mind. This very slight sketch of Civil Dissension is Cicero. It is remarkable that, among the comforts taken from our own annals ; but, for an obvious of Old Age, he has not mentioned those arising from reason, not from those of our own Age.

the society of women and children. Perhaps the The persons here immediately alluded to lived husband of Terentia and “the father of Marcus felt more than a hundred years ago, in a reign which something on the subject, of which he was willing Blackstone has justly represented as wicked, san-to spare himself the recollection." dinary, and turbulent; but such times have always afforded the most signal instances of heroic courage and ardent affection.

Great reverses, like theirs, lay open the human beart. They occur indeed but seldom; yet all men BEFORE I conclude, I would say something in are liable to them; all, when they occur to others, favor of the old-fashioned triplet, which I have here Emake them more or less their own ; and, were we ventured to use so often. Dryden seems to have to describe our condition to an inhabitant of some delighted in it, and in many of his most admired other planet, could we omit what forms so striking poems has used it much oftener than I have done, a circumstance in human life?

as for instance in the Hind and Panther,' and in

Theodore and Honoria, where he introduces it three, Note 23, page 15, col. 2.

four, and even five times in succession. and alone.

If I have erred anywhere in the structure of my In the reign of William the Third, the law was verse from a desire to follow yet earlier and higher altered. A prisoner, prosecuted for high treason, examples, I rely on the forgiveness of those in whose may now make his full defence by counsel. ear the music of our old versification is still sounding.

Note 24, page 15, col. 2.
Like that sweet Saint who sate by Russel's side

1 Pope used to mention this poem as the most correct speciUnder the Judgment-seat

men of Dryden's versification. It was indeed written when he

had completely formed his manner, and may be supposed to Lord Russel. May I have somebody to write, to exhibit.

exhibit, negligence excepted, bis deliberate and ultimate scheme sussist my memory?

of metre.-Johnson.

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