LESSON LXXXIV. $44 THE PEARL-DIVER. 1. THOU hast been where the rocks of coral grow, Thou has fought with teddying waves; Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low. 2. Thou hast looked on the gleaming wealth of old, But thou its bar hast riven! 3. A wild and weary life is thine, Though treasure-grots for thee may shine, 4. A weary life! but a swift decay Thou 'rt passing fast from thy toils away, 5. In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek, 6. And bright in beauty's coronal 7. None;-as it gleams from the queen-like head. Not one, 'mid throngs, will say, "A life hath been like a rain-drop shed, 8. Woe for the wealth thus dearly bought!- Who win for earth, the gems of thought? 9. Down to the gulfs of the soul they go, 10. Wringing from +lava-veins the fire 11. But oh! the price of bitter tears, That throws at last, o'er desert years, 12. Like flower-seeds, by the wild wind spread, The soul whence those high gifts are shed, 13. And who will think, when the strain is sung, What life-drops from the minstrel wrung, 14. None, none!-his treasures live like thine, Thou that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine, MRS. HEMANS. LESSON LXXXV. Ç^S^ ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 3. Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mold'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; + Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 8. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 11. Can storied urn or animated +bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 12. Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 13. But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 14. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 15. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 16. The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 17. Their lot forbade; nor, circumscribed alone Their glowing virtues, but their crimes confined; 18. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide; 19. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray: Along the cool, sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 20. Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still, erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 21. Their names, their years, spell'd by the unletter'd musc, 22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd; 24. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead, 66 Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. Nor up the lawn, nor at the woods was he. 29. The next, with *dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the church-yard path, we saw him borne. Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay, "Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE EPITAPH. 30. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth He gain'd from Heav'n-'t was all he wish'd-a friend. 32. No further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father, and his God. GRAY. LESSON LXXXVI. AN EVENING ADVENTURE. 1. Nor long since a gentleman was traveling in one of the counties of Virginia, and about the close of the day stopped at a public house to obtain refreshment and spend the night. He had been there but a short time, before an old man alighted from his gig, with the apparent intention of becoming his fellow guest at the same house. 2. As the old man drove up, he observed that both the shafts of his gig were broken, and that they were held together by withes, formed from the bark of a hickory sapling. Our traveler observed further, that he was plainly clad, that his knee-buckles were loosened, and that something like negligence pervaded his dress. Conceiving him to be one of the honest yeomanry of our land, the courtesies of strangers passed between them, and they entered the tavern. It was about the same time, that an addition of three or four young gentlemen, was made to their number; most, if not all of them, of the legal profession. + 3. As soon as they became conveniently accommodated, the conversation was turned, by one of the latter, upon the eloquent harangue which had that day been displayed at the bar. It was replied by the other, that he had witnessed, the same day, a degree of eloquence, no doubt equal, but it was from the pulpit. Something like a sarcastic rejoinder was made as to the eloquence of the pulpit, and a warm and able altercation ensued, in which the merits of the Christian religion became the subject of discussion. From six o'clock until eleven, the young champions wielded the sword of argument, adducing with ingenuity and ability every thing that could be said pro and con. + 4. During this protracted period, the old gentleman listened with the meekness and modesty of a child, as if he was adding new |