2. Europe is given a prey to sterner fates,

And writhes in shackles; strong the arms that chain
To earth her struggling multitude of states;
She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain
Against them, but shake off the vampire train
That batten on her blood, and break their net.
Yes, she shall look on brighter days, and gain
The meed of worthier deeds; the moment set
To rescue and raise up, draws near, but is not yet.

3. But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall,
But with thy children; thy maternal care,
Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all;
These are thy fetters; seas and stormy air
Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where
Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well,
Thou laughest at enemies: who shall then declare
The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell
How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell.
BRYANT.

LESSON LXXVII.

The Torrid and Frigid Zoncs.

1. How oblique and faintly looks the sun on yonder climates, far removed from him! How tedious are the winters there! How deep the horrours of the night, and how uncomfortable even the light of day! The freezing winds employ their fiercest breath, yet are not spent with blowing. The sea, which elsewhere is scarce confined within its limits, lies here immured in walls of crystal.

2. The snow covers the hills, and almost fills the lowest valleys. How wide and deep it lies, incumbent over the plains, hiding the sluggish rivers, the shrubs, and trees, the dens of beasts, and mansions of distressed and feeble men! See! where they lie confined, hardly secure against the raging cold, or the attacks of the wild beasts, now masters of the wasted field, and forced by hunger out of the naked woods.

3. Yet, not disheartened, (such is the force of human breasts,) but thus provided for, by art and prudence, the kind, compensating gifts of Heaven, men and their herds may wait for a release. For at length the sun, approaching, melts the snow,

sets longing men at liberty, and affords them means and time to make provision against the next return of cold.

4. It breaks the icy fetters of the main; where vast seamonsters pierce through floating islands, with arms which can withstand the crystal rock; while others, who, of themselves, seem great as islands, are by their bulk alone armed against all but man; whose superiority over creatures of such stupendous size and force, should make him mindful of his privilege of reason, and force him humbly to adore the great Composer of these wondrous frames, and Author of his own superiour wisdom.

5. But, leaving these dull climates, so little favoured by the sun, for those happier regions on which he looks more kindly, making perpetual summer, how great an alteration do we find! His purer light confounds weak-sighted mortals, pierced by his scorching beams. Scarce can they tread the glowing ground, The air they breathe cannot enough abate the fire which burns within their panting breasts. Their bodies melt. Overcome and fainting, they seek the shade, and wait the cool refresh= ments of the night. Yet oft the bounteous Creator bestows other refreshments, He casts a veil of clouds before them, and raises gentle gales; favoured by which the men and beasts pursue their labours; and plants, refreshed by dews and showers, can gladly bear the warmest sunbeams.—SHAFTESBURY,

LESSON LXXVIII,

Religion,

1. We pity a man who has no religion in his heart, no high and irresistible yearnings after a better, holier existence; who is contented with the sensuality and grossness of earth; whose spirit never revolts at the darkness of his prison house, nor exalts at the thought of its final emancipation. We pity him, for he affords no evidence of his high origin, no manifestation of that intellectual prerogative which renders him a delegated lord of the visible creation.

2. He can rank no higher than animal nature; the spiritual could never stoop so lowly. To seek for beastly excitements; to minister with a bountiful hand to strange and depraved appe tites, are the attributes of the animal alone. To limit our hopes and aspirations to this life and world, is like remaining for ever

in the place of our birth, without ever lifting the veil of the horizon which bent over our infancy.

3. There is religion in every thing around us, a calm and holy religion in the unbreathing things of nature, which man would do well to imitate. It is a meek and blessed influence, stealing, as it were, unawares upon the heart. It comes, it has no terrour; no gloom in its approaches. It has to rouse up the passions; it is untrammelled by the creeds, and unshadowed by the superstitions of man.

4. It is fresh from the hands of the Author; and growing from the immediate presence of the Great Spirit which pervades and quickens it. It looks out from every star. It is among the hills and valleys of earth; where the shrubless mountain-top pierces the thin atmosphere of eternal winter; or where the mighty frost fluctuates before the strong wind, with its dark waves of green foliage.

5. It is spread out like a legible language upon the broad face of the unsleeping ocean. It is the poetry of nature. It is that uplifts the spirit within it, until it is tall enough to overlook the shadows of our place of probation, which breaks, link after link, the chains that bind us to mortality; and which opens to imagination a world of spiritual beauty and holiness, SIR HUMPHRy Davy.

LESSON LXXIX.

Rural Charms,

1. SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain!
Where health and plenty cheer the labouring swain ;
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,

And parting summer's ling'ring blooms delayed;
Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease!
Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please!

2. How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,

The never-failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill;
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.

3. How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play;
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree!
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed!
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And slights of art, and feats of strength went round;
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired:

4. The dancing pair, that simply sought renown,
By holding out, to tire each other down;
The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love;
The matron's glance, that would those looks reprove,

5. Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose,

There, as I passed with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came softened from below.

6. The swain, responsive as the milk-maid sung;
The sober herd, that lowed to meet her young;
The noisy geese, that gabbled o'er the pool;
The playful children, just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice, that bayed the whisp'ring wind;
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind:
These all, in soft confusion, sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

GOLDSMITH,

LESSON LXXX.

Washington's Love to his Mother.

1. IMMEDIATELY after the organization of the present govern ment, General Washington repaired to Fredericksburg to pay his humble duty to his mother, preparatory to his departure for New York. An affecting scene ensued. The son feelingly remarked the ravages which a torturing disease had made upon the aged frame of his mother, and thus addressed her:

2. "The people, madam, have been pleased, with the most flattering unanimity, to elect me to the chief magistracy of these United States; but before I can assume the functions of my office, I have come to bid you an affectionate farewell. So soon as the publick business, which must necessarily be encountered in arranging a new government, can be disposed of, I will hasten to Virginia, and"

3. Here the matron interrupted. "My son, you will see me no more. My great age, and the disease which is fast approaching my vitals, warn me that I shall not be long of the world. I trust in God I am somewhat prepared for a better. But go, George, fulfil the high destinies which Heaven appears to assign you go, my son, and may that Heaven's, and your mother's blessing, be with you always."

4. The president was deeply affected. His head rested upon the shoulder of his parent, whose aged arm feebly, yet fondly, encircled his neck. That brow, on which fame had wreathed the purest laurel virtue ever gave to created man, relaxed from its lofty bearing. That look which could have awed a Roman senate in its Fabrician day, was bent in filial tenderness upon the time-worn features of the venerable matron.

5. The great man wept. A thousand recollections crowded upon his mind, as memory, retracing scenes long past, carried him back to the paternal mansion, and the days of his youth, and there the centre of attraction was his mother; whose care, instructions, and discipline, had prepared him to reach the top. most height of laudable ambition; yet how were his glories forgotten while he gazed upon her from whom, wasted by time and malady, he must soon part with, to meet no more.

6. The matron's predictions were true. The disease which so long had preyed upon her frame completed its triumph, and she expired at the age of eighty-five, confiding in the promises of immortality to the humble believer.

LESSON LXXXI.

Portrait of a Worldly Woman.

1. A WOMAN has spent her youth without the practice of any remarkable virtue, or the commission of any thing which is flagrantly wrong; and she is now united with a man, whose moral endowments are not more distinguished than her own, but who is industrious, rich, and prosperous. Against the con