Classic Poem

And must we part? yes, part for ever;
I'll waken thee again — no, never;
Silence shall chain thee cold and drear,
And thou shalt calmly slumber here.
Unhallowed was the eve that gazed
Upon the lamp which brightly blazed,
The lamp which never can expire,
The undying, wild, poetic fire.
And Oh! unhallowed was the tongue
Which boldly and uncouthly sung;
I bless'd the hour when o'er my soul,
Thy magic numbers gently stole,
And o'er it threw those heavenly strains,
Which since have bound my heart in chains;
Those wild, those witching numbers still
Will o'er my widow'd bosom steal.

I blest that hour, but Oh! my heart,
Thou and thy Lyre must part; yes, part;
And this shall be my last farewell,
This my sad bosom's latest knell.
And here, my harp, we part for ever;
I'll waken thee again, Oh! never;
Silence shall chain thee cold and drear,
And thou shalt calmly slumber here.

SPECIMENS OF PROSE COMPOSITION.

COLUMBUS. WHAT must have been the feelings of Christopher Columbus, when, for the first time, he knelt and clasped his hands, in gratitude, upon the shores of his newly-discovered world? Year after year has rolled away; war, famine, and fire have alternately swept the face of that country; the hand of tyranny hath oppressed it; the footstep of the slave hath wearily trodden it; the blood of the slaughtered hath dyed it; the tears of the wretched have bedewed it; still, even at this remote period, every feeling bosom will delight to dwell upon this brilliant era in the life of the persevering adventurer. At that moment, his name was stamped upon the records of history for ever; at that moment, doubt, fear, and anxiety fled, for his foot had pressed upon the threshold of the promised land. The bosom of Columbus hath long since ceased to beat — its hopes, its fears, its projects, sleep, with him, the long and dreamless slumber of the grave; but while there remains one generous pulsation in the human breast, his name and his memory will be held sacred. When the cold dews of uncertainty stood upon his brow; when he beheld nothing but the wide heavens above, the boundless waters beneath and around him; himself and his companions in that little bark, the only beings upon the endless world of sky and ocean; when he looked back and thought upon his native land; when he looked forward, and in vain traversed the liquid desert, for some spot upon which to fix the aching eye of anxiety; oh! say, amidst all these dangers, these uncertainties, whence came that high, unbending hope, which still soared onward to the world before him? whence that undying patience, that more than mortal courage, which forbade his cheek to blanch amid the storm, or his heart to recoil in the dark and silent hour of midnight? It was from God — it was of God — His Spirit overshadowed the adventurer! By day, an unseen cloud directed him — by night, a brilliant, but invisible column moved before him, gleaming athwart the boundless waste of waters. The winds watched over him, and the waves upheld him, for God was with him — the whirlwind passed over his little bark, and left it still riding onward, in safety, towards its unknown harbour — for the eye of Him who pierces the deep was fixed upon it. Columbus had hoped, feared, and had been disappointed; he had suffered long and patiently — he had strained every faculty, every nerve; he had pledged his very happiness upon the discovery of an unknown land; and what must have been the feelings of his soul, when, at length bending over that very land, his grateful bosom offered its tribute of praise and thanksgiving to the Being who had guarded and guided him through death and danger? He beheld the bitter smile of scorn and derision fade before the reality of that vision, which had been ridiculed and mocked at; he thought upon the thousand obstacles which he had surmounted; he thought upon those who had regarded him as a self-devoted enthusiast, a visionary madman, and his full heart throbbed in gratitude to Him whose Spirit had inspired him, whose voice had sent him forth, and whose arm had protected him.

ALPHONSO IN SEARCH OF LEARNING.

AN ALLEGORY. EARLY one morning Alphonso set out in search of Learning. He travelled over barren heaths and over rocks, and was often obliged to ford rivers, which seemed almost impassable; at last, completely exhausted, and at a loss what road to take, he sat down desponding by the side of a rapid river. Soon a passenger approached with whom Alphonso entered into conversation, and at length asked him where he was going. I am, replied the stranger, seeking Fame, and already by her trump has my name been sounded in her courts. She has promised to immortalize my name; follow me, and you shall richly reap the reward of your labour. I also, answered Alphonso, have a road to pursue, which leads to Fame, but it is through Learning that I must reach her courts, and then shall I enjoy the fruits of my toil, in proportion to the hardships with which I have acquired it. Can you tell me where she can be found? You see, replied the stranger, yonder hills which rise one upon the other, as far as the eye extends; far, far beyond them , whose every precipice you have to climb, Learning resides. Her temple is pleasant, but few there are who gain it; many, indeed, have gone beyond these foremost hills, but stumbling, they have been dashed to pieces on the rocks, but still they have had the reputation of having reached her temple, and their names are recorded in the roll of Fame. Thus saying, the stranger proceeded on his journey, and left Alphonso in doubt whether to pursue the dangerous road of which the stranger had warned him, or to follow him to more easily acquired fame. At last Wisdom came to his assistance, and he resolved not to give up his search after Learning. He proceeded therefore, and had reached the foot of the hill, when he was met by another person, who inquired whither he was going? I am in pursuit of Learning, replied Alphonso. What! do you intend climbing yonder rugged and tiresome hill? I do, answered Alphonso. Indolence is my companion, said the stranger: I found her in yonder valley. I toiled not for her, and without toil, I enjoy ease; on the other hand, Learning cannot be obtained without labour; go with me, and you shall enjoy life. Alphonso, partly fatigued with his long walk, and partly discouraged by the rugged appearance of the hill, consented. After walking on sometime in a beautiful valley, Alphonso began to discover that his new companion was flat and insipid, that he had exhausted all his little fund of knowledge in the beginning of their journey, and that he now scarcely said anything. Thus continuing dissatisfied, not with the path, but with the companion he had, they entered a beautiful meadow, in which there was an arbour, called the arbour of Indolence, and there they lay down to rest; but before Alphonso slept, a warning voice sounded in his ear, " awake, for destruction is at hand. " He heeded it not, and with his senses slept his conscience. When they arose to pursue their journey, a tempest gathered; thick clouds were in the heavens, all was black. Night's sable mantle was thrown over the horizon, and only now and then a flash of lightning, attended with a dreadful thunderbolt, showed them both the dead waters of oblivion; near them was the path which slides the unhappy deluded mortal down to its deep and noisome bed. Alphonso's conductor, who had before appeared certain of being on safe ground, trembled and turned pale when he found himself in the fatal path. Alphonso was on the brink! He receded; his flesh grew cold, his eyeballs glared, and his hair stood on end. Presently he heard a low plashing of the dead waters of oblivion; they closed with a sullen roar over the unhappy sufferer, and all was silent. This is the end of the careless votary of Indolence, thought Alphonso, as he turned from the dead waters of the lake. Let this be a lesson to me! He stood in deep perplexity some time, not daring to turn back, and he knew it would be certain death to proceed; but suddenly the clouds dispersed, the air was calm, and all was silent; he blessed the returning light, and with new vigour, passed on his way in search of Learning. He was overjoyed, when he found himself out of the fatal vale of Indolence. Again he viewed those hills which so discouraged him when they met his eye before, but now they appeared to him with a far different aspect, as he traced over them the path to Learning's happy temple. He began his journey anew, and as he proceeded, the ascent was easier. When he reached the top of the hill, a few faint rays of the bright sun of Learning warmed his heart, and though faint, it was sufficient to kindle the slumbering fire of hope in his bosom. After he had reached the valley below, he saw a person crossing on the opposite side, with a light step, and an open ingenuous countenance. Alphonso stopped him, and inquired, why he did not ascend the hill before him? Because, said the stranger, " I seek Truth, and she dwells in the simple vale of Innocence; at her court there is no pomp, but there is peace; she discloses her name to all; some revile her, others say she is of no use to the world, that they are always as victorious without her assistance as with it. Her followers scarce ever suffer from the imputations of the vile, when they hold fast upon her garments. I can possess Truth and Innocence without Learning " Here the travellers parted — Alphonso to ascend the hill, the stranger to the vale of Innocence. Without a companion in his solitary journey; with no one to assist him on his way; no one to raise him if he stumbled, Alphonso pursued his toilsome course. At length, casting his eyes to the top of the hill, he perceived standing on its summit a figure stretching out one hand to assist him, the other rested on an anchor, and a bright beam played around her brow. Alphonso hastened to ascend the hill, and when he approached, he clasped the outstretched hand of Hope, for that was the name of the fair form, and imprinted it with kisses. Hope smiled affectionately upon him, and with these encouraging words addressed him: " Alphonso! I come to conduct you to the temple of Learning; you have overcome alone the greatest obstacles, you shall now have a conductor. " As they came to frightful precipices, where unfortunate mortals had been dashed headlong, for daring to approach too near its edge, Hope would catch his hand and conduct him to safer ground. At last, through many difficulties, hazards, and reproaches, Alphonso came in sight of the temple of Learning. The sun was just sinking, and it illumed the edges of the fleecy floating clouds with a golden hue. Its last beam played upon the glittering spire of the temple; Alphonso could scarce believe his eyes, They reached the threshold. After so many toils, so many dangers, he had now acquired the object of his hopes. They stood a moment, when the door was opened by a grave-looking old man, who heartily welcomed them to the temple. As they entered, all was light: it burst upon his sight like some enchanted scene, where none but aetherial beings dwell. Irresistibly he cast his eyes up to the nave of the spacious hall, and beheld Learning seated upon a throne of gold. A bright sun emitted its cheering rays above his head. In one hand she held a globe, in the other a pen. Books were piled up in great order here, and in another place they were strewn in wild profusion. Ten of her favourite disciples were ranged on either hand, the swift-winged Genius with his beloved companion Fancy were seated at her right hand, and often did Genius cast an approving smile at the mistress of his heart and actions; she who had tamed the wild spirit of his temper, and taught it to follow in gentler, softer, and sweeter murmurs. Hope now conducted Alphonso to the throne of Learning. She smiled as he humbly kneeled at her footstool, and taking a laurel from the hand of the delighted and willing Genius, she crowned the brow of the elated Alphonso. Fancy for a moment deserted the side of Genius and hovered over his laurel-crowned brow; then clapping her wings in delight, she again resumed her former station. Learning stretched forth her hand to him; arise, said she, you are destined by fate to fill this long vacant seat. Alphonso kissed the outstretched hand, and gratefully took his seat at the side of Learning .

SENSIBILITY . IN this delicate emotion of the human mind there is a mixture of danger and delight; it may be indulged moderately, with pleasure to its possessor, but uncontrolled, it brings in its train a succession of ideal miseries, and sensations of acute pain or exquisite delight. It often causes the heart to shrink with sensitive horror from difficulties in the path of life slightly noticed, or scarcely perceptible to the mind well governed by reason, or fortified by principle. Lively sensibility may be considered as the key-stone of the heart; it often unguardedly unlocks the treasures confided to its care, and pouring forth the full tide of feeling, the warmest impulses of the soul are wasted upon trifles or squandered on objects insignificant to the eye of reason, and frequently exposes the feeling heart to contempt and ridicule. Deep and delicate sensibility, that feeling of the soul which shrinks from observation and pours itself forth in secret calm retirement, must certainly by its dignity and sacred character cause feelings of reverence for its possessor. Jesus wept over the grave of his departed friend, his sensibility was aroused, and he shed tears of sorrow over the dark wreck of a once noble fabric in the mouldering remnants of mortality before him. His prophetic soul gazed upon wide scenes of future desolation. He felt for the miseries of mankind; he pitied their folly and wept over the final destruction of the human frame, undermined by sin and borne down by death.

THE HOLY WRITINGS . THROUGH the whole of this sacred volume may be traced the finger of a God! It is overshadowed by his arm, and his spirit walks forth in the sublimity of his commandments. What are the mad revilings of the scoffer? They are like burning coals which fall back upon the head of him who hurled them, leaving the object of his rage uninjured. What are the most philosophic works of mankind when placed in comparison with it? They sink into nothing. What are the brilliant shafts of human wit when directed against it? They are as the gilded wing of the butterfly, fluttering feebly against the nervous, the resistless pinion of an eagle. What are all the immense magazines of learning beside it, but a boundless heap of chaff? Yes; the vast edifices of human knowledge reared by the restless hand of ingenuity, and bedecked with all the gaudy trappings of eloquence, crumble into dust and fall prostrate in its presence, as did the heathen idol before the ark of the living God! Do we ask eloquence? Where can it be found more pure than from the mouth of him whose voice of mercy is a murmur, and whose anger speaks in wrathful thunders? Do we ask sublimity? The eagle in its flight toward heaven is less sublime than the hallowed words of its Maker. Do we ask simplicity? What is more touchingly so, than the language of the sacred volume? Do we ask sweetness or tenderness? The breath of summer is less sweet than the Almighty's offered mercies. The fabled bird which sheds her blood for the nourishment of her innocent offspring, is cruel in comparison with him, who bled, who died, for those who cursed and tortured him. Do we ask grandeur, wildness or strength? Look there! there upon the law of him whose very self is grandeur, whose glance is lightning, and whose arm is strength. The hand of the impious and the envious may hurl the dust of derision upon this sacred volume: still, it will shine on, brighter and brighter, while time shall be!

CHARITY . THE sacred volume exhorts us to Charity. How carefully then should we cherish this kindly feeling, this spark from the fountain of life, that it may beam forth undimmed, and with its pure and friendly light, cast a ray over our many imperfections, in that day when all will stand in need of mercy and forbearance! It is not the bare distribution of alms to the needy and suffering beggar, it is not the pompous offerings of opulence to the shrinking child of poverty, which constitutes true charity; — no; it is to be understood in a far wider sense; it is forbearing to join with the multitude, when trampling upon a fallen fellow creature. It is the voice of charity which pleads for the wretched and the penitent, which raises the prostrate, and whispers forgiveness for the past, and hope for the future. It is her hand which pours the balm of consolation into the lacerated bosom of the returning wanderer; who dares not look back upon the past, and whose heart shrinks as it meets the cold and averted glances of those, who in the hour of its pride had bowed before it. We are all liable to err. Let us make the situation of the suffering penitent our own. Where are the friends we had fondly fancied ours? fled, as from the breath of pestilence, and we are desolate; left with the arrow of adversity rankling in our bosoms, like the stricken deer by the selfish herd, to perish in solitude and wretchedness. There is no heart so hardened and depraved, that it will not, when the soft voice of charity whispers peace and forgiveness, yield like wax beneath the hand which stamps it. Then is the moment to impress upon it the sacred precepts of virtue, and to place the bright rewards of penitence before it: " Let us then do as we would that others should do unto us; " have mercy upon the fallen, and stretch forth the hand of charity to the suffering and the penitent.

REMARKS ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE STAGE . WHY is it that the ear of modesty must be shocked by the indelicacy and immorality which obstinately clings to the stage, that vehicle of good or evil, that splendid engine whose movements may shed a halo of brilliancy around it, or leave behind the blackened traces of its desolating progress? Can the eye of innocence gaze even upon the mimic characters of vice, or the ear of delicacy become familiarized to the rude and boisterous, or the more dangerously subtle insinuations of depravity, without quitting the fascinating scene less fastidious in its feelings, less sensible to the bold intrusions of barefaced wickedness? No: — though the change be slow and almost imperceptible, still it will not be the less certain, the fatal poison will creep to the very vitals of virtue, and stamp deep stains upon the spotless tablet of innocence. Must then all that is bright and pure be shut out from those scenes of fascination, and delight? Must that very purity which should be cherished and guarded as a sacred deposit, be converted into a chain wherewith to shackle the amusements of its possessor? Would not the frequent indulgence of this amusement, be holding forth a strong temptation to those who are but partially fortified in the principles of rectitude to overleap the crumbling ill-formed barrier, and plunge at once into the boundless ocean of vice and immorality? Oh why will not authors, those helmsmen in the mighty vessel of improvement, dash the countless stains from the charts which they are holding to our eyes, and transform their blackened pages to pure, spotless records of truth and virtue? Then we should no longer mark the blush of offended modesty mantling the cheek of sensibility, or the frown of disapprobation clouding the pure brow of refinement and morality. The stage would then become the guardian and the friend, instead of the fell destroyer of all that is pure and virtuous in the human breast.

CONTEMPLATION OF THE HEAVENS . To count the glittering millions of the sky, to marshal them in bright array before us, to mark the brilliant traces of a Creator's presence, the foot-prints of the Deity, is a hallowed and sublime employment of the soul; for being insensibly led onward from gazing upon the portals of heaven, the wonderful threshold of God's wide pavilion, it dares to lift itself in pure and unearthly communion, with the Holy Spirit that inhabits there, and to bow in adoration and praise before the great I AM. To a feeling mind, the heavens unroll a vast volume, filled with subjects of wonder, love, and praise. Wonder, at the inconceivable majesty and goodness of the great Creator of so vast, so splendid a system; love, for his condescension in deigning to bend his attention to so insignificant a creature as man, even in the meridian of his earthly glory; and praise, for his unchangeable benevolence, infinite wisdom, and perfection. What hand but that of a God could have formed the wide solar system above us? what voice but that of Him who created them, could bid the starry millions move on for thousands of ages in one unbroken and unceasing march? The lights of heaven are bright and beautiful, still they are but feeble beams from the everlasting fountain of splendour, or wandering sparks of Heaven's dazzling glory. Well indeed might Zoroaster, in the enthusiasm of his heart, worship the fires of Heaven as parts of that ineffable and never-dying spirit which animates and lives in all, through all eternity. In the dark ages of superstition and bigotry, was it strange that he should turn in disgust from the sacrifices of blood, from horrid images the disgraceful productions of weak bewildered minds, to a fount of pure, unchanging, living light, to the brilliant fires above him, holding their unbroken paths through Heaven, pointing to God's throne, and whispering to the heart of something still more bright, more beautiful and holy?

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY . When society first began to form itself, rank and authority became necessary to subdue the wild and impetuous passions which raged unbridled in the savage bosom of man; oppression and vassalage first appeared in the form of feudal government, each family looked up to its head, as each kingdom does now, to his sovereign, — his will was absolute, and his power unbounded in his castle and dominions. In this way the rights of man were partially secured, the vassal was bound to serve and succour his lord in the hour of danger, as it was that lord's duty to support and protect his serf; — but in those rude and barbarous ages, where was weak and helpless woman to find a shelter from the wild and lawless multitude? and what tribunal was there to which she could appeal if injured? when man was contending with man for superiority, or right, where could she fly for redress? could the feeble voice of woman be heard amid the uproar? no! — but it arose, though in murmurs, to the ear of her Maker, and that very evil which menaced her destruction, proved her blessing. In the dark ages of the world, woman held not that rank in society which a more enlightened age has allotted her; she was deemed merely the slave of man's tyrannical will, the tool of his pleasure — too weak to defend herself, and too insignificant to claim the protection of the lords of the creation. — As the sun of Religion arose upon the world, the dark clouds of contention arose with its light, — arms were the arguments which were unanimously chosen to decide every controversy; the sword was the test of merit, — and the hand which wielded it with the greatest dexterity was chosen to direct the community. The youthful soldier, ardent and enthusiastic, was ever in search of some object on which to display his valour: the fair sex at length caught and fixed his attention, — tournaments and feats of arms were instituted to display his devotion to the cause of beauty and virtue in distress, and love and religion were blended — love became wildly romantic, religion was enthusiastically venerated — the name of woman was held as sacred as that of religion, and both, as dear to the heart of every knight-errant as that of the idol, Honour! they were blended with each other — the passions held the reins, and religion, though contemplated with enthusiasm, was too often made to bow before the shrine of love and romance.