Thy pale and pearly cheek was never made To crimson with a faint, false-hearted shame;

Thou didst not shrink, of bitter tongues afraid,

Who hunt in packs the object of their blame;

To thee the sad denial still held true,

We all within our graves shall sleep,
A hundred years to come;
No living soul for us will weep,

A hundred years to come.
But other men our land will till,

its

mercy drew.

And though my faint and tributary rhymes Add nothing to the glory of thy day,

And other words will sing as gay,
And bright the sunshine as to-day,
A hundred years to come.

WILLIAM GOLDSMITH BROWN.

that mode of expression or averment that lifts the soul above the region of mere sense which reaches beyond the merely physical or mechanical aspects of the truth affirmed and apprehends that truth in its universal character and all-pervading relations, so that our own natures are exalted or purified

by its contemplation.

For instance, I affirm that the creation was a wondrous, beneficent work which all intelligent moral beings cognizant thereof must have regarded with admiration, but that the plans and purposes of God are entirely above the comprehension of man: that is plain prose. Now let us see a poetic statement of that same truth, and mark its immensely superior vividness and force:

"Then the Lord answered Job out of a whirlwind, and said, Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding!

Who hath laid the measures thereof? If thou knowest?
Or who hath stretched the line upon it?
Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened?

Or who laid the corner-stone thereof,

When the morning stars sang together,

And all the sons of God shouted for joy?”

Or I am impelled to observe that the creations of the mind, unlike all corporeal existences, are essentially indestructible, and

ever that is a prosaic statement of an obvious fact. Let us note how Byron presents it in poetry :

"The beings of the mind are not of clay;
Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in us a brighter ray;
And more beloved existence-that which Fate
Prohibits to dull life in this our state
Of mortal bondage-by these spirits supplied,
First exiles, then replaces, what we hate,
Watering the hearts whose early flowers have died,
And with a greener growth replenishing the void.”

Or I observe that the midnight thunder during a violent summer tempest is echoed from mountain-top to mountain-top, forming a chorus of awful sublimity; but the poet seizes the thought and fuses it in the glowing alembic of his numbers thus:

Nor must we regard poetry merely as an intellectual achievement—a trophy of human genius, an utterance from the heart of Nature fitted to solace its votaries and strengthen them for the battle of life. Poetry is essentially, inevitably, the friend of virtue and merit, the

foe of oppression and wrong, the champion of justice and freedom. Wherever the good suffer from the machinations and malevolence of the evil, wherever vice riots or corruption festers or tyranny afflicts and degrades, there Poetry is heard as an accusing angel, and her breath sounds the trump of impending doom. She cannot be suborned nor perverted to the service of the powers of darkness: a Dante or a Körner lured or bribed to sing the praises of a despot or glorify the achievements of an Alva or a Cortes could only stammer out feeble, halting stanzas, which mankind would first despise, then compassionately forget. But to the patriot in his exile, the slave in his unjust bondage, the martyr at the stake, the voice of Poetry comes freighted with hope and cheer, giving assurance that, while evil is but for a moment, good is for ever and ever; that all the forces of the universe are at last on the side of justice; that the seeming triumphs of iniquity are but a mirage divinely permitted to test our virtue and our faith; and that all things work together to fulfil the counsels and establish the kingdom of the all-seeing and omnipotent God.

HORACE GREELEY.

10 the disgrace of men, it is seen that there are women both more wise to judge what evil is expected, and more constant to bear it when it is happened.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

DUTY OF A MINORITY IN A STATE OF WAR.

FROM A SPEECH DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES, FEBRUARY 25, 1814.

HOW far the minority, in a state of war,

may justly oppose the measures of government is a question of the greatest delicacy. On the one side, an honest man, if he believe the war to be unjust or unwise, will not disavow his opinion. But, on the other hand, an upright citizen will do no act, whatever he may think of the war, to put his country in the power of the enemy. It is this double aspect of the subject which indicates the course that reason approves. Among ourselves, at home, we may contend; but, whatever may be requisite to give the reputation and arms of the republic a superiority over its enemy, it is the duty of all— the minority no less than the majority-to support. Like the system of our State and general governments-within they are many, to the world but one--so it ought to be with parties: among ourselves we may divide, but in relation to other nations there ought to be only the American people. In some cases it may possibly be doubtful, even to the most conscientious, how to act. This is one of the misfortunes of differing from the rest of the community on the subject of war. Government can command the arm and hand, the bone and muscle, of the nation; but these are powerless, nerveless, without the concurring good wishes of the community. He who, in estimating the strength of a people, looks only to their numbers and physical force, leaves out of the reckoning the most material elements of powerunion and zeal. Without these the former

I

JOHN C. CALHOUN.

CONJUGAL LOVE.

READ of the emperor Conrad the Third As pleasing a story as ever I heard ; As it may not have happened to come in

your way,

Perhaps you'll allow me to tell it to-day.

"The city of Wensburg I mean to besiege," He said; and his soldiers said, "Do you, my liege?

We are all at your service; command, we obey."

So "blockade and bombard" was the rule of

the day.

I can't avoid saying I think it a pity

A king should seek fame by destroying a city;

What a very small portion of glory he shares! And how it deranges the city's affairs!

Think of peaceable citizens all at their duties, Their wives at their needlework (bless 'em!

the beauties!),

To be frightened and have the house broken to bits,

And, maybe, the little ones thrown into fits,

For the purpose of raising an emperor's fame! I hope 'tis no treason to say, "It's a shame." You will pardon, I trust, this parenthesis long,

But one cannot be silent when people do wrong.