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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 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, my son, ❘ that 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 awhile in the direct road of piety,, towards the mansions of rest.
"In a short time, we remit our fervor, vour to find some mitigation of our duty, 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; 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, and whether we may not, at least,¦ turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. | We approach them with scruple, and hesita tion; we en ter them, 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, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. |
"By degrees, we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business," immerge ourselves in lux'ury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy; 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 forken 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, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort to be made:} that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavors ever unassisted; that the wanderer may at length return, after all his errors; 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; commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence; and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey, and thy life.” |
The bell strikes one. We take no note of time |
But from its loss、:
Is wise in man.
to give it then a tongue |
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
Láb-ber-rinth. De-spår'. As if an angel; not
* Bit'nès. az-zif-fan-angel.
on what? | A fathomless abyss', |
A dread eternity! how surely mine! |
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?]
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august;
How passing wonder he who made him such!]
A worm! a God! I tremble at myself, |
At home, a stranger, | Thought wanders up, and down, surpris'd', aghast And wond'ring at her own. How reason reels! | O what a miracle to man is man, |
Triumphantly distress'd what joy! what dread,!:
What can preserve my life? or what destroy,? |
THE LAND THAT 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 it more fair',¦ Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given Her clearest of sun and her purest of air?
• Mår vél-lås-lé.
Min'ê-tår. Up and down; not up-pan-down.
Italia may boast of her evergreen bowers, |
Her sky without clouds and her rose-scented breeze
Romantic and wild are proud Scotia's mountains,
And music may wake to enliven their pleas'ures,
the land that we live 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?
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my great.ness! |
His greatness is a ripening,
And then he falls, as I do. I
nips his root, |
I have ventur'd, |
Like little wanton boys that swim on blad'ders, |
*Thus it stands in Shakspeare.
But far beyond my depth:
my high-blown pride |
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide, me. I
WOLSEY'S FAREWELL ADDRESS TO CROMWELL.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me, |
And sleep in dull, cold marble, | where no mention
Mark but my fall, and that that ru'in'd me. I
To silence envious tongues.
Thus it stands in Shakspeare.