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shepherd shuts his fold, and the star of evening appears. Who is she that comes from the south? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who is she, and what is her name.
Who is he that comes with sober pace, stealing npon us unawares ? His garments are red with the blood of the grape, and his temples are bound with a sheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin and begins to fall, and the auburn is mixed with mournful grey. He shakes the brown nuts from the tree. He winds the horn, and calls the hunters to their sport. The gun sounds. The trembling partridge and the beautiful pheasant flutter, bleeding in the air, and fall dead at the sportsman's feet. Who is he that is crowned with the wheat sheaf? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who is he, and what is his name.
Who is he that comes from the north, clothed in furs and warm wool ? He wraps his cloak close about him. His head is bald ; his beard is made of sharp icicles. He loves the blazing fire, high piled upon the hearth. He binds skates to his feet, and skims over the frozen lakes. His breath is piercing and cold, and no little flower dares to peep above the surface of the ground, when he is by. Whatever he touches turns to ice. If he were to strike you with his cold hand, you would be quite stiff and dead, like a piece of marble. Youths and maidens, do you see him ? He is coming fast upon us, and soon he will be here. Tell me, if you know, who is he, and what is his name.
THE AFRICAN CHIEF. Chained in the market-place he stood,
A man of giant frame, Amid the gathering multitude
That shrunk to hear his name All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground :-And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.
He was a captive now,
Was written on his brow.
Showed warrior true and brave;
He could not be a slave.
“My brother is a king;
And take this bracelet ring.
And I will fill thy hands
And gold-dust from the sands." “Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;
The battle-spear again.
Shall yet be paid for thee;
In lands beyond the sea."
Then wept the warrior chief, and tore
To shred his locks away;
Before the victor lay.
And deftly hidden there
The dark and crisped hair.
Long kept for sorest need;
that I am freed.
Weeps by the cocoa tree, And my young children leave their play,
And ask in vain for me.” “I take thy gold-but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong, And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife will wait thee long." Strong was the
that shook The captive's frame to hear, And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.
At once his eye grew wild;
Whispered, and wept, and smiled;
And once, at shut of day,
The foul hyena's prey.
THE SECRET OF BEING ALWAYS
disposition encountered communicate occupy opposition journey satisfied principal difficulties impossible facility business
A certain Italian bishop, was remarkable for his bappy and contented disposition. He met with much opposition, and encountered many difficulties in his journey through life: but it was observed that he never repined at his condition, or betrayed the least degree of impatience. An intimate friend of his, who highly admired the virtue which he thought it impossible to imitate, one day asked the prelate if he could communicate the secret of being always satisfied. “ Yes,” replied the good old man, “I can teach you my secret, and with great facility. It consists in nothing more than making a right use of my eyes." His friend þegged him to explain himself. willingly," returned the bishop. “In whatever state I am, I first of all look up to heaven; and reflect that my principal business here, is to get to that blest abode. I then look down upon the earth, and call to mind that, when I am dead, I shall occupy but a small
space in it. I then look abroad in the world, and observe that multitudes there are, who in every respect, are less fortunate than myself. Thus I learn where true happiness is placed, where all our cares must end; and how very little reason I have to repine, or to complain."
ALEXANDER SELKIRK. I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fo and the brute. O solitude ! where are the charms
have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place. Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste these again ! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth ; Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. How fleet is a glance of the mind !
Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there; But alas ! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair. Now the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair. Still God is in every place:
All His acts with goodness are fraught, He gives each affliction a grace, And reconciles me to my lot.