Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?
Have I not suffered things to be forgiven?
Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven,
Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied away?
And only not to desperation driven,
Because not altogether of such clay
As rots into the souls of those whom I survey.
7. But I have lived, and have not lived in vain :
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,
And my frame perish even in conquering pain;
But there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire;
Something unearthly, which they deem not of,
Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre,
Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.
LESSON CLXX.
Absalom.*-WILLIS.
1. THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.
The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves,
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,
Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,
And leaned, in graceful attitudes, to rest.
How strikingly the course of nature tells,
By its light heed of human suffering,
That it was fashioned for a happier world!
2. King David's limbs were weary.
He had fled
From far Jerusalem; and now he stood,
With his faint people, for a little rest
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn
The mourner's covering, and he had not felt
That he could see his people until now.
*See 2 Samuel, chap. xviii.
They gathered round him on the fresh green bank,
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray.
3. Oh! when the heart is full-when bitter thoughts
Come crowding thickly up for utterance,
And the poor common words of courtesy
Are such a very mockery-how much
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those
Whose love had been his shield; and his deep tones
Grew tremulous. But, oh! for Absalom-
For his estranged, misguided Absalom-
The proud, bright being, who had burst away,
In all his princely beauty, to defy
The heart that cherished him-for him he poured,
In agony that would not be controlled,
Strong supplication, and forgave him there,
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.
4. The pall was settled. He who slept beneath.
Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds
Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed
The matchless symmetry of Absalom.
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls
Were floating round the tassels as they swayed
To the admitted air, as glossy now,
As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.
His helm was at his feet; his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him; and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.
5. The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David entered, and he gave command,
In a low tone, to his few followers,
And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died: then, throwing off
The sackloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of wo:—
6. "Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair!
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom!
7. "Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee.
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,
Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet my father' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!
8. "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;— But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom!
9. "And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart,
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!
10 "And now, farewell! "Tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee:
And thy dark sin!-Oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this wo its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My erring Absalom!"
11. He covered up his face and bowed himself
A moment on his child; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.
The Miami Mounds.*-S. L. FAIRFIELD.
1. WRECKS of lost nations! monuments of deeds,
Immortal once-but all forgotten now!
Mysterious ruins of a race unknown,
As proud of ancestry, and pomp, and fame-
Prouder, perchance, than those who ponder here
O'er what their wild conjectures cannot solve!
Who raised these mouldering battlements? who trod
In jealous glory on these ruined walls ?—
Who reigned, who triumphed, or who perished here?
What scenes of revelry, and mirth, and crime,
And love, and hate, and bliss, and bale, have passed?
Ah? none can tell.
Oblivion's dusky folds
Shroud all the past, and none may lift the pall;
Or, if they could, what would await the eye
Of antique research, hut the fleshless forms
Of olden time: dark giant bones that tell—
Nothing! dim mysteries of the earth and air!
Since human passions met in conflict here,
The woods of centuries have grown-and oft
And long, the timid deer hath bounded o'er
The sepulchre of warriors, and wild birds.
Sung notes of love o'er slaughter's crimson field,
And the gaunt wolf, and catamount, and fox,
Have made their couches in the embattled towers
Of dauntless chiefs, nor dreamt of danger there!
* In various parts of the Western States, numerous remains of fortifications, and mounds of earth, have been discovered, which have excited the astonishment and curiosity of all who have seen them. Some of these fortifications are small, while others enclose 40 or 50 acres of land. The mounds are built in the form of a sugar-loaf, and were undoubtedly used for burying places, as they are found to contain human bones. They must have been built at a very remote period, as trees several hundred years old are often seen growing upon them, and the present race of Indians have no tradition respecting their origin. They indicate great labor, and were evidently the work of a people who had made some advances in civilization, and who possessed considerable knowledge in the business of fortifications.
Princes and kings-the wise, the great, the good,
May slumber here, and blend their honored dust
With Freedom's soil; and navies may have rode
On the same wave that bears our starry sails.
3. Here heroes may have led to win a name
On Glory's sunbright scroll, and prophets watched
Their holy shrines, whose fires no longer glow.
Sweet rose and woodbine bowers around these walls
May once have bloomed, less fragrant and less fair
Than the fond hearts that blended, and the lips
That pressed in passion's rapture; and these airs,
That float unconscious by, may have been born
Of gales, that bore Love's soft enchanting words,
-But all is silent now as Death's own halls!
4. Empires have perish'd where these forests tower In desolate array—and nations sunk,
With all their glories, to the darkling gulf
Of cold forgetfulness! But what avails
The uncertain guess, the dark and wildering search
For those whose spirits have but passed away
To the dark land of shadows and of dreams,
An hour before our own? Why in amaze
Behold these shattered walls, when other times
Shall hang in wondering marvel o'er our own
Proud cities, and enquire-" Who builded these ?"
LESSON CLXXII.
On Time.-H. K. WHITE.
1. WHо needs a teacher to admonish him
That flesh is grass?--That earthly things are mist?
What are our joys but dreams? And what our hopes
But goodly shadows in the summer cloud?
There's not a wind that blows, but bears with it
Some rainbow promise.-Not a moment flies
But puts its sickle in the fields of life,
And mows its thousands, with their joys and cares.
2. "Tis but as yesterday, since on yon stars,
Which now I view, the Chaldee shepherd* gaz'd
In his mid-watch, observant, and dispos'd
The twinkling hosts, as fancy gave them shape.
Alluding to the first Astronomical observations, made by the dean shepherds
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