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That lifts his streaming mane; the heifer lows;
Loud sings the lark amid the rainbow hues;
The lion lifts him muttering; Man comes forth-
He kneels upon the earth-he kisses it;

And to the GOD who stretched the radiant bow,
He lifts his trembling transports.

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"Room for the leper! Room!" And as he came The cry passed on-" Room for the leper! Room!"




* And aside they stood,
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood-all
Who met him on his way-and let him pass.
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper with the ashes on his brow,

Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying "Unclean!-Unclean!"




* Day was breaking When at the altar of the temple stood

The holy priest of God. The incense-lamp
Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant
Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof,
Like an articulate wail, and there, alone,
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt.

The echoes of the melancholy strain

Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up,

Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head

Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off

His costly raiment for the leper's garb,

And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still

Waiting to hear his doom:

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"Depart! depart, O child

Of Israel, from the temple of thy God,
For He has smote thee with his chastening rod,
And to the desert wild

From all thou lov'st away thy feet must flee,
That from thy plague His people may be free.

Depart! and come not near

The busy mart, the crowded city, more;
Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er,
And stay thou not to hear

Voices that call thee in the way; and fly
From all who in the wilderness pass by.

Wet not thy burning lip

In streams that to a human dwelling glide;
Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide,
Nor kneel thee down to dip

The water where the pilgrim bends to drink,
By desert well, or river's grassy brink.

And pass not thou between

The weary traveller and the cooling breeze,
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees
Where human tracks are seen;

Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain,
Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain.

And now depart! and when

Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim,
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him,
Who, from the tribes of men,

Selected thee to feel his chastening rod-
Depart! O leper! and forget not God!"

And he went forth-alone! not one of all
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name
Was woven in the fibres of the heart

Breaking within him now, to come and speak
Comfort unto him. Yea-he went his way,
Sick and heart-broken, and alone—to die!—
For God had cursed the leper!

It was noon,

And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his fevered lips,
Praying that he might be so blest-to die!
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer on his lip,
Crying "Unclean! Unclean!" and in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass.
Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name.
Helon!"-the voice was like the master-tone
Of a rich instrument-most strangely sweet;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.
Helon! arise!" and he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before him.

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Love and awe

Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye,
As he beheld the stranger. He was not
In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore;
No followers at his back, nor in his hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear-yet in his mein
Command sat throned serene, and if he smiled,
A kingly condescension graced his lips,
The lion would have crouched to in his lair.
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn;
His stature modelled with a perfect grace;
His countenance, the impress of a God,
Touched with the open innocence of a child;
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon; his hair unshorn
Fell to his shoulders; and his curling beard
The fulness of perfected manhood bore.
He looked on Helon earnestly awhile,

As if his heart was moved, and stooping down
He took a little water in his hand

And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!"
And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood

Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins,
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant's stole.

His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet, and worshipped him.


IN the great Lancastrian school of the nations, liberty is the lesson, which we are appointed to teach. Masters we claim not, we wish not, to be; but the Monitors we are of this noble doctrine. It is taught in our settlement, taught in our revolution, taught in our government; and the nations of the world are resolved to learn.

It may be written in sand and effaced, but it will be written again and again, till hands, now fettered in slavery, shall boldly and fairly trace it, and lips, that now stammer at the noble word, shall sound it out in the ears of their despots, with an emphasis to waken the dead. Some will comprehend it and practise it at the first; others must wrestle long with the old slavish doctrine; and others may abuse it to excess, and cause it to be blasphemed awhile in the world. But it will still be taught, and still be repeated, and must be learned by all; by old and degenerate communities, to revive their youth; by springing colonies, to hasten their progress.

With the example before them of a free representative government-of a people governed by themselves, it is no more probable that the nations will long bear any other, than that they should voluntarily dispense with the art of printing, or the mariner's compass.

It is therefore plainly no age for Turks to be stirring. It is as much as men can do, to put up with Christian, with civilized, yes, with legitimate masters. The Grand Seignior is a half-century too late in the world. It requires all people's patience to be oppressed and ground to the dust, by the parental sway of most faithful, most catholic, most christian princes.

Fatigued as they are with the Holy Alliance, it were preposterous to suppose they can long submit to a horde of

Tartarian infidels. The idea that the most honourable, the most responsible, the most powerful office in the state, can, like a vile heir-loom, follow the chance of descent, is quite enough to task the forbearance of this bold and busy time. What then shall become of viziers and sultans, when ministers are bewildered in their cabinets, and kings are shaken on their thrones? Instead of arming their misbelieving hosts against a people, who have taken hold of liberty, and who will be free, let them rejoice that great and little Bucharia are still vacant, and take up their march for the desert.


THE education of the poor, sifts the talents of a country, and discovers the choicest gifts of nature in the depths of solitude and in the darkness of poverty; for Providence often sets the grandest spirits in the lowest places, and gives to many a man a soul far better than his birth, compelling him to dig with a spade, who had better wielded a sceptre. Education searches everywhere for talents; sifting among the gravel for the gold, holding up every pebble to the light, and seeing whether it be the refuse of Nature, or whether the hand of art can give it brilliancy and price.

There are no bounds to the value of this sort of education. I come here to speak upon this occasion; when fourteen or fifteen youths, who have long participated of your bounty, come to return you their thanks. How do we know that there may not be, among all these, one who shall enlarge the boundaries of knowledge-who shall increase the power of his country by his enterprise in commerce-watch over its safety in the most critical times, by his vigilance as a magistrate and consult its true happiness by his integrity and his ability as a senator?

On all other things there is a sign, or a mark;-we know them immediately, or we can find them out; but man, we do not know; for one man differeth from another man, as heaven differs from earth;-and the excellence that is in him, education seeks for with vigilance and preserves with care. We might make a brilliant list of our great English characters, who have been born in cottages. May it ever increase; there can be no surer sign that we are a wise and a happy people.

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