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Thow deep! why dost thou lash the shore
Ye furious winds! why do ye roar ?
Why do the dead awake?
Ye hills ! why do ye

shake?
Why do the rocks divide ?
Why burst with opening wide ?
Why do the thunders shake the pole ?
Why do the volum'ó ightnings roll ?
Why art thou hid, thou sun, on high?
Thou moon and stars, that fill the sky.
Why is your pleasing light

Invoiv'd in gloom and night ? (1)
(2) See yonder ! where the LORD of life,
the great MESSIAH s us’d with scorn!
See how the trickling blood descends !
They crown his sacred head with thorn!
See with contempt they drag along
My King, my Saviour, and my God!
O sight ! inhunian sight of wee!
His flesh is furrow'd with the rod !
And now! Oh! horror-bearing scene!
With nails they pierce his feet and hands,
And innocence upon the cross,
The executioner extends !
Mark how his tender body writhes,
To leaven he lifts his falling eyes ;
Th'Incarnate bows his blameless head,
And for his very murd'rers, dies.

For this, the dead awake,
For this, the mountains shake ;
For this, the cheerful light
Far veil'd in gloom of night ;
For this, the rocks divide,
For this, the wind and tide
Resound against the shore ;
For this, the thunders roar ;

For this, the lightnings Aanic ;
For this, convulsions tear the universal frame. (3

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CHAPTER CXT.

WINTER.

A season for remembering the poore is reading the Nilawing, let your tone of voice be smooth, easy, and unreitrained; blended with a pensie dignity of look and expression.

NOW winter is come, with his cold chilling breath,

And the verdure has dropp'd from the trees
All nature seems touch'd by the finger of death,

And the streanis are beginning to freeze.
(1) Read the several questions with as much variety as possible, yet still preserre the salon
grandeur which breathes through the whole.
(2) Now look up with awe and dread.

) Read the last line with great deliberation add mera

When wanton young lads, o'er the river can slide,

And Flora attends us no more ;
When in plenty you sit by a good fire-side,

Sure you ought to remember the poor.
When the cold feather'd snow does in plenty descend,

And whitens the prospect around ;
When the keen cutting winds from the north shall attend,

Hard chilling and freezing the ground;
When the hills and the dales are all candied with white,

When the rivers congeal to the shore,
When the bright cwinkling stars shall proclaim a cold night,

Then remember the staie of the poor.
When the poor harmless hare may be trac'd to the wood,

By her footsteps indented in snow ;
When the lips and the fingers are starting with blood ;

When the marksmen a cock shooting gu;
When the poor robin red breast approaches the cot;

When the icicles hang at the door;
When the bowl smokes with something reviving and hot,

That's b! fire ti reme'r ber tbe po r',
When a thaw smali ensue, and the waters increase,

And the rivers all insolent grow;
When the fishes from prison obtain a release ;

When in danger the travellers go :
When the meadows are hid with the proud swelling flood;

When the bridges are useful no more ;
When in health you enjoy every thing that is good,

Can you grumble to third on the poor ?
Soon the day will be here, when a Saviovr was born,

All the world should agree as one voice ;
All nations unite to salute the blest morn;

Ali ends of the earth should rejoice.
Grim death is depriv'd of his all-killing sting,

And the grave is triumphant no more ;
Saints, angels, and men, hallelujahs shall sing,

And the rick sball remember ibe poor.

CHAPTER CXXVII.
TENDEKNESS OF MIND-On taking of bird's nests.

I HAVE found out a gift for my fair ;
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed;
But let me that plunder forbear !

She will say 'tis a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er can be true, she averr'd,

Who can rob a poor bird of its young ; And I lov'd her the more when I heard

Sucb tenderness fall from her tongue. I have heard her with sweetness unfold,

How that pity was due to a dove; That it ever attended the bold;

And she call'd it the sister of love.

CHAPTER CXXVIII.

Should the scholar be addicted to the abominable practice of dragging out his words in a beavy , Arawling manner, let him frequently peruse the following extract from “GRONGAR HILL." It is happily calculated to cure him of that defect, even though he were incin.cloth contrary, should be read in that easy, flippant method, so essential t the spirit of it, and so dulapted to the sbort tripping ineasure of the verse. Few ears are so inharmonious but mus perceive the necesity of adopting a light flippancy of utterance in the perusal. Begin it in a slow, deliberate manner,

GRONGAR HILL.
A LITTLE rule, a little sway,
A sun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud, the mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers how they run
Through woods and neads, in shade and sun ;
Sometimes swift, soinetimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave they go,
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep!
Thus is nature's vesture wrought
To instruct our wand'ring ihought,
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

See on the mountain's southern side
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide,
How close and small ihe hedges lie!
What streaks of medows cross the eye !
A step, methinks, may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem.

(1) So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass.
As yon summits, soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which, to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the same coarse way;
The present's still a cloudy day.
O
may

I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see!
Content me with a humble shade,
My passions tam d, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul !
'Tis thus the husy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

Be full, ye court! be great who will;
Search for peace with all your skill;
Open wide the loftv door;

Seek her on the marble floor; 2) Rond the moral repections, which we porn contains, stewly, impressively, and with eftet

In vain ye scarch, she is not there;
In vain ye search the domes of care ;
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain heads,
Along with Pleasure close allied
Iver by each other's side ;
And often by the murmuring rill,
Hears the thrush while all is still,

CHAPTER CXXIX.

LYDIA'S BIRTH-DAY.
THE first of April's dawning ray,
Is little Lydia's natal day;
Pretty warblers of the wood,
Quit awhile your callow brood,
Gaily prune each gaudy wing,
Each a merry carol bring,
To commemorate the morn,
When

my

little maid was born. Come. Aurora! bring thy hours, All array'd in May morn flowers ; Let each little fairy lip, Of the pearly dew drop sip, Nature pours out all her wealth, Drink to her's and Lydia's health; She I'm sure will not refuse, Gratefully those gifts to use. Oh ! Innocence ! protect her youth, Lead her down the paths of truth, Culling sweet from every flower, Truth has twin'd round virtue's bower, There to dwell with sweet content, Virtue's constant resident. Sweets too redolent will cloy; Prudence mildly tempers joy ; Thorns may grow tho'sweets are near, Pity oft will have her tear; Tears will start, howe'er confin'd, From a feeling generous mind. Let her not recline her head Long on pleasure's rosy bed ; Pleasure does itself destroy, Be improvement then her toy, Doing right her greatest joy. Mindful of her parent's nod, And her duty to her God; Tell her, " to the good and wise, " Every plare is paradise; "Every month an April morn, “When my little maid was born."

}

CHAPTER CXXX.

VICE AND VIRTUE. THE gaudy tulip, richly bright, Fatigues the pausing eye; And ere it tades, the noisome leaves, Ossend the ense and die: But the young rosi, less gay than sweet, The eye delights to bear; Broke by the storm, and bent to earth, Its fragrance still is there. So flushes Vice the tainted cheek, And tires the glowing eyes ; Yet leaves it, wither'd by despair, And pale repentant sighs. While Virtue, shrinking from the storm.s Of fortune pride and hate, Still boasts tlie inward peace that shines Beneath the clouds of fate.

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66

HAPPY

EXTRACT FROM A POEN, ENTITLED, AGRICULTURE, OR,

AMERICAN FARVE
THEN murmur not at Heaven's fix'á

decree,
But as you're happy, so contented be;
Your country 'll rise the emporium of wealth,
Your country'. sons, the sons of peace and health.
Hail, blest Columbia! whose delightful soil
Repays with richesi good the labourer's toil!
What dainties thy delicious gardens yield!
What rich supplies adorning every field'
Nappy thy sons, around thy splendid board,
Who taste the luxuries which thy fields afford !

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