Upon the stirless shore no breeze
Shook the green drapery of the trees,
Or, rebel to tranquillity,

Awoke a ripple on the sea.

Nor, in a more tumultuous sound,

Were the world's audible breathings drowned;
The low strange hum of herbage growing,
The voice of hidden waters flowing,
Made songs of nature, which the ear
Could scarcely be pronounced to hear;
But noise had furled its subtle wings,
And moved not through material things,
All which lay calm as they had been
Parts of the painter's mimick scene.

LESSON XCV.

Address of the Sylph of Autumn to the Bard.--ALLSTON,

AND now, in accents deep and low,
Like voice of fondly-cherish'd woe,
The Sylph of Autumn sad:
Though I may not of raptures sing,
That graced the gentle song of Spring,
Like Summer playful pleasures bring,
Thy youthful heart to glad :

Yet still may I in hope aspire
Thy heart to touch with chaster fire,
And purifying love:

For I with vision high and holy,
And spell of quick'ning melancholy,
Thy soul from sublunary folly
First rais'd to worlds above.

What though be mine the treasures fair
Of purple grape, and yellow pear,
And fruits of various hue,
And harvests rich of golden grain,
That dance in waves along the plain
To merry song of reaping swain,
Beneath the welkin blue;

With these I may not urge my suit,
Of Summer's patient toil the fruit,
For mortal purpose given:
Nor may it fit my sober mood
To sing of sweetly murmuring flood,
Or dies of many-coloured wood,

That mock the bow of heaven.

But, know, 'twas mine the secret power
That wak'd thee at the midnight hour,
In bleak November's reign:

'Twas I the spell around thee cast,
When thou didst hear the hollow blast
In murmurs tell of pleasures past,
That ne'er would come again :

And led thee, when the storm was o'er,
To hear the sullen ocean roar,

By dreadful calm opprest ;

Which still, though not a breeze was there, Its mountain-billows heav'd in air,

As if a living thing it were,

That strove in vain for rest.

'Twas I, when thou, subdued by woe,
Didst watch the leaves descending slow,
To each a moral gave;

And as they mov'd in mournful train,
With rustling sound, along the plain,
Taught them to sing a seraph's strain
Of peace within the grave,

And then, uprais'd thy streaming eye,
I met thee in the western sky,
In pomp of evening cloud;

That, while with varying form it roll'd,
Some wizard's castle seem'd of gold,
And now a crimson'd knight of old,
Or king in purple proud.

And last, as sunk the setting sun,
And Evening with her shadows dun
The gorgeous pageant past,
"Twas then of life a mimick show,

Of human grandeur here below,
Which thus beneath the fatal blow
Of Death must fall at last

Oh, then with what aspiring gaze,
Didst thou thy tranced vision raise
To yonder orbs on high,

And think how wondrous, how sublime
"Twere upwards to their spheres to climb,
And live, beyond the reach of Time,
Child of Eternity!

LESSON XCVI.

Eloquence.-WEBSTER.

WHEN publick bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, farther than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labour and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion.

Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it-they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanick fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments, and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour.

Then words have lost their power, rhetorick is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius, itself, then feels rebuked, and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logick, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the daunt

less spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, ́ informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object-this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something greater and higher than all eloquence, it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action..

LESSON XCVII.

Vindication of Spain. Pronounced during the Debate on the Seminole War, in Congress, 1819.-HOPKINSON.

PERMIT me, sir, to express my regret and decided disapprobation of the terms of reproach and contempt in which this nation has been spoken of on this floor; "poor, degraded Spain," has resounded from various parts of the house. Is it becoming, sir, the dignity of a representative of the American people to utter, from his high station, invectives against a nation, with whom we cultivate and maintain the most friendly relations? Is it discreet, sir, in an individual, however enlightened, to venture upon a denunciation of a whole people?

In this poor, degraded Spain, it must be remembered, there is a vast mass of learning, and genius, and virtue, too; and a gentleman, who passes it all under his condemnation and contempt, hardly considers what a task he has undertaken. No people has suffered more than ourselves, by these exterminating, sweeping judgments. Let us not be guilty of the same injustice to others. When I see one of these scribbling travellers, or insignificant atoms, gravely take upon himself to put down the character of my own country, I turn from him with disgust and derision.

ments.

1

Let us be equally just to others. This at least is not the place for the indulgence of national prejudices or resentA regard for ourselves, forbids it. May I add, sir, that, in reference to the weakness of Spain, we should characterize her, perhaps more justly, certainly more liberally, by saying exhausted, rather than degraded Spain. Yes, sir, exhausted in a contest for existence with a tremendous power, under which every other nation of Europe, save one, sunk and fell. She bore herself through with inflexible perseverance; and, if she came out of the conflict enfeebled and exhausted, it is no cause of reproach or contempt.

peace.

We talk of a war with Spain, as a matter of amusement. I do not desire to partake of it. It will not be found a very comfortable war, not from her power to do so much harm, but from the impossibility of gaining any thing by it, or of wearing out her patience, or subduing her fortitude. The history of every Spanish war, is a history of immoveable obstinacy, that seems to be confirmed and hardened by misfortune and trial. In her frequent contests with England, the latter, after all her victories, has been the first to desire. Let gentlemen not deceive themselves, about the pleasantry of a Spanish war. May they not, sir, have some respect for the past character of this nation? The time has been, when a Spanish knight, was the type of every thing that was chivalrous in valour, generous in honour, and pure in patriotism. A century has hardly gone by, since the Spanish infantry was the terrour of Europe, and the pride of soldiers. But those days of her glory are past. Where, now, is that invincible courage; that noble devotion to honour; that exalted love of country? Let me tell you, in a voice of warning; they are buried in the mines of Mexico, and the mountains of Peru. Beware, my countrymen; look not with so eager an eye to these fatal possessions, which will also be the grave of your strength and virtue, should you be so unfortunate as to obtain them,

LESSON XCVIII.

Lafayette's Visit to the United States, in 1824.

[From the United States Literary Gazette, for Sept. 1824.]

Ar length this friend of our fathers has reached our shores; where he came in his youth to suffer and to combat with a few, whom hope had almost left, he has come in his age to receive a nation's welcome. We are a young people, and have little experience in pomp and courtliness; we are comparatively poor, and very practical and economical;—we are republicans and would rather be our own kings than reduce the majesty of the nation within the bounds of a regal diadem, -and there is no monarch to bid us welcome his guest, and be exceedingly joyous and thankful at the place and time appointed.

Yet, for all this, we do not believe the old world ever saw