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old man set before him ' such provisions as he had col lected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eager ness, and gratitude.
When the repast was over, ! “ Tell me," said the hermit, . " by what chance thou hast been brought hither? i I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of the wilderness, / in which I never saw a man before.” | Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey, / without any concealment, or palliation. !
"Son,” said the hermit, : “ let the errors, and follies, the dangers, and escape of this day, sink deep into thy heart. | Remember, iny son, i thát human life is the journey of a day. ! We rise in the morning of youth, ! full of vigour, and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit, and hope, / with gaiety, and with diligence, and travel on a while I in the direct road of piety, , towards the mansions of rest.
“In a short time, we remit our fer.vor, / and endea. vour to find some mitigation of our duty, i and some more easy means of obtaining the same end. | We then relax our vigor, | and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance; 1 but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never to touch. | We thus enter the bowers of ease, / and repose in the shades of security.
" Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides; we are then willing to inquire whether another advance cannot be made, I and whether we may not, at least. | turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with scruple, and hesita tion; I we en ter them, I but enter timorous, and trembling; and always hope to pass through them without losing the road of virtue, which, for a while, we keep in our sight, and to which we purpose to return. | But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance, prepares us for another; / we in time lose the happiness of in nocence, I and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications.
“By degrees, / we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, i and quit the only adequate object of rational desire. | We entangle ourselves in business," | immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths" of inconstancy; I till the darkness of old age', begins to invade us, and disease, and anxiety obstruct our way. | We then look back upon our lives with horror, with sor'row, with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not foriken the ways of virtue./
Happy are they, my son, / who shall learn from hy example, not to despair ;' | but shall remember, that, though the day is past, I and their strength is wasted, I there yet remains one' effort to be made:/ that reformation is never hopeless, I nor sincere endea
ever unassist.ed; that the wanderer may at length return, after all his errors; I and that he who implores strength, and courage from above, shall find danger, and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose ; 1 commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence; I and when the morning calls again to toil, I begin anew thy journey, and thy life.”
(YOUNG.) The bell strikes one. | We take no note of time But from its loss : | to give it then a tongue | Is wise in man. | As if, an an geld spoke, i I feel the solemn sound. | If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours. I Where are they? | With the years beyond the flood... It is the signal that demands despatch': / How much is to be done! | My hopes, and fears Start
alarm'd', / and o'er life's narrow verge * Bit'nès. Lab-bér-rinth. De-spår. As if an angel; not az-zif-fan-an'gel.
Look down' - on what? | A fathomless abyss', /
At home, a stranger,
THE LAND TIIAT WE LIVE in.
(c. W. THOMSON.) The land that we live in - the land that we live' in,,
O! where is the heart does not think ir more fair, Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given,
Her clearest of sun and her purest of air ?, • Mår’vél-lås-le. Min’é-tår. • Up and down; not up-pan-down. Italia may boast of her evergreen bow'ers,
Her sky without clouds and her rose-scented breeze And Persia may vaunt of her gardens and flowers,
But there is one spot which is better than these, 'Tis the land that we live in— the land that welive'in,
O! where is the heart does not think it more fair', / Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given
Her clearest of sun and her purest of air. I Romantic and wild are proud Scotia's mountains, /
And fair are the plains of imperial France - 1 And Grana'da may tell of her groves and her fountains,
And mingle the mirth of the song and the dance, The climes of the East may exhibit their treas'ures, | Their palm-trees may bloom and their waters may
falli - 1 And music may wake to enliven their pleasures,
But there is one spot which is dearer than all., 1 'T is the land that we live in the land that we live'in, I
O! where is the heart does not think it more fair, 1 Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given
Her clearest of sun and her purest of air. ? !
(SHAKSPEARE.) Farewell, I a long farewell, I to all my great ness! | This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope'; I to-morrow, blos'soms, i And bears his blushing honors thick upon him :/ The third day, comes a frost', I a killing frost, ; | And, - when he thinks, good, easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, - nips his root', | And then he falls, I as I do. I
I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, / This* many summers, I in a sea of glory; |
Thus it stands in Shakspeare.
But far beyond my depth :/ my high-blown pride |
WOLSEY'S FAREWELL ADDRESS TO CROMWELL.
(SHAKSPEARE.) Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear | In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me, Out of thy honest truth, / to play the woman. I Let's dry our eyes'; / and thus far hear me,Crom well: 1 And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull, cold marble, / where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — 'say, I taught thee, Say, Wolsey, - that once trod the ways of glory, I And sounded all the depths, and shoals of honor, - 1 Found thee a way, I out of his wreck, i to rise in. ;! A sure, and safe one, I though thy master miss'd it. | Mark but my fall, and that that ru'in'd me. I Cromwell, I charge thee. fling away ambition; i By that sin fell the angels, i how can man then, / The image of his Maker, I hope to win by'l.? Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. I Sull in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.
Thus it stands in Shakspeare.