Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy! Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features. Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect, To whom should we assign the sphinx's fame? Of either Pyramid that bears his name? In Memnon's statue which at sunrise played? Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh glass to glass; Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass, I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, Long after thy primeval race was run. Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations; The Roman empire has begun and ended; New worlds have risen-we have lost old nations, Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder, *Pron. hā'-pěn-në. If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast, And tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled :— Have children climb'd those knees, and kissed that face? What was thy name and station, age and race? Statue of flesh-immortal of the dead! Pos'thumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, And standest undecayed within our presence, Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning, When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning. Why should this worthless tegument endure, If its undying guest be lost for ever? O let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue; that when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, Th' immortal spirit in the skies may bloom. LESSON XLII. Green River.-Bryant. green, WHEN breezes are soft, and skies are fair, Yet pure its waters, its shallows are bright And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk the hill, With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown, Like the ray that streams from the diamond stone. With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum; The flowers of summer are fairest there, Yet, fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide, Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear, To wander these quiet haunts with thee, Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud gaze upon thee in silent dream; d; LESSON XLIII. The mutual relation between sleep and night.-PALEY. THE relation of sleep to night appears to have been expressly intended by our benevolent Creator. Two points are manifest; first, that the animal frame requires sleep; secondly, that night brings with it a silence, and a cessation of activity, which allow of sleep being taken without interruption, and without loss. Animal existence is made up of action and slumber: nature has provided a season for each. An animal which stood not in need of rest, would always live in day-light. An animal, which, though made for action, and delighting in action, must have its strength repaired by sleep, meets, by its constitution, the returns of day and night. In the human species, for instance, were the bustle, the labor, the motion of life upheld by the constant presence of light, sleep could not be enjoyed without being disturbed by noise, and without expense of that time which the eagerness of private interest would not contentedly resign. It is happy, therefore, for this part of the creation, I mean that it is conformable to the frame and wants of their constitution, that nature, by the very disposition of her elements, has commanded, as it were, and imposed upon them, at moderate intervals, a general intermission of their toils, their occupations, and their pursuits. But it is not for man, either solely or principally, that night is made. Inferior, but less perverted natures, taste its solace, and expect its return, with greater exactness and advantage than he does. I have often observed, and never observed but to admire, the satisfaction, no less than the regularity, with which the greatest part of the irrational world yield to this soft necessity, this grateful vicissitude; how comfortably the birds of the air, for example, address themselves to the repose of the evening; with what alertness they resume the activity of the day. Nor does it disturb our argument to confess, that certain species of animals are in motion during the night, and at rest in the day. With respect even to them, it is still true, that there is a change of condition in the animal, and an external change corresponding with it. There is still the relation, though inverted. The fact is, that the repose of other animals sets these at liberty, and invites them to their food or their sport. The flowers of summer are fairest there, Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear, To wander these quiet haunts with thee, Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud; ļ |