And now', farewell'. Time unrevoked has run' And', while the wings of fancy still are free', SECTION XVIII. Man was made to Mourn.-Burns. A DIRGE. (The reader is desired to pay particular attention to the Rhetorical marks, and to the words pronounced at the bottom of the pages.) WHEN Chill November's surly blast' Made fields and forests bare', One evening, as I wandered forth' Along the banks of Ayr', I spied a man whose aged step' Young stranger', whither wand'rest thou"? Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain', Or', haply', prest with cares and woes', To wander forth with me', to mourn' The sun that overhangs yon moors', O mân"! while in thy early years', *A-gen. Be-gun. Alternate follies take the sway', Licentious passions burn'; Which tenfold force gives nature's law', Look not alone on youthful prime', But see him on the edge of life', With cares and sorrows wôrn'; A few seem favourites of fate', But', oh'! what crowds in every land', Many and sharp the num'rous ills' More pointed still we make ourselves', Makes countless thousands mourn". See yonder pôôr', o'erlaboured wight', If I'm designede yon lordling's SLAVE', Why was an independent wish' E'ere planted in my mind'? If not, why am I subject to' His cruelty', or scorn'? Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn'? Al-ter'nåte-not, awl-ter'nate. Få'vår-its. Dé-sinde'-not, de-zinde'. 'In-de-pên'dênt. eåre. Yet', let not this too much', my son', The poor', oppressed', honest man', O death! the poor man's dearest friênd', Welcome the hour my aged limbs' The great', the wealthy', fear thy blow', SECTION XIX. To the Skies.-BRYANT. Ar', gloriously thou standest there', Far', far below thee', tall gray trees' In the fierce light and cold'. The eagle soars his utmost height'; Yet far thou stretchest o'er his flight'. Thou hast thy frowns': with thee', on high', His stores of hail and sleet': Thence the consuming lightnings break'; Yet art thou prodigal of smiles' Smiles sweeter than thy frowns are stern': Earth sends', from all her thousand isles', The glory that comes down from thee', •Me-when not emphatical. Fêr'må'ment. Ho-ri'zon. *Dist. The sun', the gorgeous sun', is thine' The pomp that brings and shuts the day'; Thence look the thoughtful stars', and there' The sunny Italy may boast' The beauteous teints that flush her skies'; May thy blue pillars rise':— I only know how fair they stand' And they are fair': a charm is theirs', That earth the proud', green earth'-has not', With all the bues', and forms', and airs', We gaze upon thy calm', pure sphere', Oh' when', amid the throng of men', And look into thy azurea breast', SECTION XX. The Musick of the Ocean.-WALSH's National GAZETTE "And the people of this place say, that, at certain seasons, beautiful sounds are heard from the ocean."-Mavor's Voyages. LONELY and wild its rose, That strain of solemn musick from the sea, Again a low, sweet tone, Fainting in murmurs on the listening day, Once more the gush of sound, å'zhůre. In'nd-sense-not, in'no sunse. Poetick license, O, boundless deep! we know Thou hast strange wonders in thy gloom concealed, Or to mankind allied, Toiling with wo, and passion's fiery sting, Alas, for human thought! How does it flee existence, worn and old, "Tis vain the reckless waves Join with loud revel the dim ages flown, SECTION XXI. The Ocean, at the Resurrection Morn.-POLLOCK. GREAT Ocean!! too', that morning', thou the call To the last trumpet's voice', in silence listenedst'. That rolledst the wild', profound', eternal base Loud uttering satire', day and night', on each |