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Thus, long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,

While organs yet were mute;
Timotheus, to his breathing Aute,

And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame ;*
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarged the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;
He raised a mortal to the skies ;

She drew an angel down.


Messiah is the Hebrew, as Christ is the Greek, for anointed: the name being used in reference to the ancient custom, among the Jews, of setting apart both persons and things by the act of anointing. Hence a king was called the Lord's anointed. But Messiah is the designation which was given, by pre-eminence, among the Hebrews, to the Savior of the world, who was to come, and center in himself the three fold office of prophet, priest, and king.



Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers ;
Prepare the way! A God, a God appears !

* This refers to the report which makes Cecilia the inventress of tho organ.

+ See Exercise CXLVIII.

A God! a God! the vocal hills reply;
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity.
Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies !
Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys, rise !
With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay;
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way.
The Savior comes ! by ancient bards foretold !
Hear him, ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold!
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eyeball pour the day:
'Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And bid new music charm the unfolding ear:
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting, like the bounding roe.

II. Nó sigh, no murmui, the wide world shall hear; From every face he wipes off every tear. In adamantine chains shall death be bound, And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air; Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs, By day o'ersees them, and by night protects ; The tender lambs he raises in his arms, Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms : Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage, The promised father of the future age.


No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er.
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;
But 'seless lances into scythes shall bend,
And thc broad falchion in a plowshare end.

Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son
Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same hand that sowed shall reap the field.
The swain in barren deserts with surprise
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise;
And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds, to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear.

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On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods.
Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn;
To leafless shrubs the flowering palm succeed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed.
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead;
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet;
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake;
Pleased, the green luster of the scales survey,
And with their forked tongues shall innocently play

v. Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise ! Exalt thy towery head, and lift thine eyes ! See a long race thy spacious courts adorn; See future sons and daughters yet unborn, In crowding ranks on every side arise, Demanding life, impatient for the skies ! The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away; But fixed his word, his saving power remains; Thy realm forever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns !


WASP.NGTON IRVING was born April 3d, 1783, and died November 28th, 1859. With no preparatory education, except that which comes of an ordidary school course, he entered, at the early age of sixteen, upon the study of law. Ill health, however, added to the natural love of travel, soon sent bien abroad, where he visited, with a sort of romantic interest, many parts of Southern Europe. In 1806 he returned to New York, and resumed the study of law. Literature, however, was his preference; and so, instead of practising law, after he was admitted to the bar, he joined with some others in the publication of a series of humorous papers under the name Salmagundi, which engaged, with singular interest, the attention of the whole town. In 1808 he published his famous serio-comic “History of New York, by Diedrich Knickerbocker,” a work which, for rich humor and rare interest, has, perhaps, no superior in the whole range of literature. In 1815 he embarked again for Europe, and there resumed his career of authorship: publishing, at intervals, during a lapse of seventeen years, that series of works which served so essentially to raise American literature in the estimation of European judges. There, too, during that long stay, be received the degree of LL. D. from the University of Oxford. In 1832 he returned to America; not, however, to enjoy luxurious ease, but to continue his wonted career. His last, largest, and best work, perhaps, is his “Life of Washington." In the following wellconsidered, though brief sketch, his character, as a man, appears no less vividly than as a writer.


NEW AM. CYCLOPEDIA. 1. Humor is everywhere the distinguished trait of Irving—a humor descending to the broadest farce, or penetrating to the hidden fountain of tears. It plays around the historical manuscripts of the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida,* and mingles exquisitely with the pathos of his serious pictures. Just, manly, natural, and free from all mawkish sentimentality, it has delighted old and young, the strong man and the invalid, the happy and the weary-hearted. The young appreciate it as thoroughly as their seniors; for it has its foundation in the feelings, and appeals to the instincts of the heart.

2. Another conspicuous merit of Irving is the symmetry and just proportion of his works. They are often constructed with apparent ease and carelessness, but really with very great labor and art. The style is almost uniformly pure and graceful. Its

* Irving's “Conquest of Grenada” was published under the guise of An imaginary contemporary author,-Fray Antonio Agapida.

melody is extreme; the music of its periods and pauses is sunietimes even monotonous from its excess of sweetness. A tenderness almost feminine, occasionally mingles with the humor. The last trait of this author which we shall notice, is the vivid personality which shines through all his writings.

3. It would be difficult to find in any literature a more marked instance of this peculiarity. Irving seems less to have composed tales and histories than to have written himself. His personality is always apparent—the manly, independent, hopeful; charitable human being. His humanity betrays itself under every disguise. Every motion of his heart seems kindly, generous, and good. A respect for truth, and a deep sympathy with purity and innocence, shine in his pages. With a mind unsoiled by meanness, suspicion, or hatred, he surveys the drama of human life, and extracts from it a lesson of charity and love.

4. Children and flowers are favorites with him. All is bright and warm in his heart. With the confiding familiarity of an intimate friend, he takes the reader by the arm, and points out the beauties of the landscape before him; gilding every object with the sunshine of his humor, and smiling with the happiest good-nature. Few authors have been able to endear themselves 80 greatly to all classes of readers. The poetry which informs many brilliant passages, is the delight of the imaginative reader; and tho spirit of adventure, ever and anon flashing out, attracts the lover of romance and travel.



WASHINGTON IRVING. 1. In those happy days, a well-regulated family always rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed at sundown. Dinger was invariably a private meal, and the fat old burghers showed incontestable symptoms of disapprobation and uneasiness at being surprised by a visit from a neighbor on such occasions

* See preceding Exercise.

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