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When doomed to Poverty's sequestered dell,
HOPE, THE MOTHER'S INSPIRATION. Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes, And weaves a song of melancholy joy : “Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy; No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine ; No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine; Bright as bis manly sire the son shall be In form and soul; but ah! more blest than he! Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love at last, Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past, With many a smile my solitude repay, And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. “ And say, when summoned from the world and thee, I lay my head beneath the willow tree, Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear, And soothe my parted spirit lingering near ? Oh, wilt thou come at evening hour to shed The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed; With aching temples on thy hand reclined, Muse on the last farewell I leave behind, Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low, And think on all my love, and all my woe ?”
HOPE SOOTHES EVEN THE POOR MANIAC. Hark! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail; She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore, . Watched the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore. Knew the pale form, and shrieking in amaze, Clasped her cold hands, and fixed her maddening gaze; Poor widowed wretch ! 'twas there she wept in vain, Till Memory fled her agonizing brain ;But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe, Ideal peace, that Truth could ne'er bestow; Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam, And aimless Hope delights her darkest dream.
HOPE GIVES PLEDGE OF PROGRESS
NO HOPE OF HAPPINESS WITHOUT WOMAN Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower! In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, At starry midnight, charmed the silent air:
In vain the wild-bird caroled on the steep,'
LIFE WITHOUT CHRISTIAN HOPE. Oh! lives there, Heaven, beneath thy dread expanse, One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance, Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined, The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind; Who, moldering earthward ʼreft of every trust, In joyless union wedded to the dust, Could all his parting energy dismiss, And call this world sufficient bliss ? Ah, me! the laureled wreath that murder rears, Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's tears, Seems not so foul, so tainted and so dread As waves the nightshade round the skeptic head. What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain ? I smile on death, if heavenward HOPE remain !
HOPE THE SOLE SOLACE IN THE DYING HOUR. Unfading HOPE! when life's last embers burn, When soul to soul, and dust to dust return ! Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour! Oh! then, thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power !
What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly
HOPE OF FUTURE HAPPINESS INSPIRING.
HOPE ETERNAL. Eternal HOPE! when yonder spheres sublime Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth began—but not to fade,When all the sister planets have decayed; When rapt in fire the realms of ether glow, And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below; Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile !
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER, the great American novelist, was born in Burlington, New Jersey, September 15th, 1789, aud died at Cooperstown, New York, September 14th, 1851. While yet a child, he went with his family to reside on the borders of Otsego Lake, where his father had acquired a title to some large tracts of land. Here he lived, till his thirteenth year, amid the scehes and circumstances incidental to trontier life. At that early age he was taken out of the midst of home influences, and sent to Yale College. After continuing his connection with the college for three years, he left it of his own accord, and entered the navy : serving for six years, successively, as common sailor, midshipinan, and lieutenant. It was during this part of his lite, that he acquired that wonderful familiarity with nautical affairs, which is so prominent a characteristic in some of his works. In 1811 he was married, and soon after went to reside in Mamaroneck, in Westchester county, New York, having previously resigned his post in the navy. Here he commenced that splendid career of authorship, which has given him a reputation wide as the world, and enduring as time, and which was continued, both at home and abroad, at comparatively short intervals, till the rapid decline that, by a few months, preceded his death, arrested, and forever, the progress of his pen. His salient points, as a writer, are well shown in the following short sketch hy Griswo'd.
Rurus W. GRISWOLD was born in Rutland County, Vermont, in the year 1815, and died in August, 1857. Though otherwise a large contributor to the literary stock of the country, he is chiefly known by his works on American Literature. These consist of specimens from American authors, with notes biographical and critical, and, as a general thing, display a fair, appreciative spirit in estimating literary merit. Mr. Griswold has done much to bring American authors into deserved notice.
1. Cooper has the faculty of giving to his pictures an astonishing reality. They are not mere transcripts of nature, though as such they would possess extraordinary merit, but actual creations, embodying the very spirit of intelligent and genial experience and observation. His Indians, notwithstanding all that has been written to the contrary, are no more inferior in fidelity than they are in poetical interest to those of his most successful imitators or rivals.
2. His hunters and trappers have the same vividness and freshness, and, in the whole realm of fiction, there is nothing more actual, harmonio's, and sustained. They evince not only