6. Every psalm improved infinitely upon his acquaintance with it, and no one gave him uneasiness but the last: for then he grieved that his work was done. Happier hours than those which have been spent in these meditations on the songs of Sion, he never expects to see in this world. Very pleasantly did they pass; they moved smoothly and swiftly along for when thus engaged, he counted no time. They are gone, but they have left a relish and a fragrance upon the mind; and the remembrance of them is sweet.

LESSON XCII.

Two Voices from the Grave.-KARAMSIN.

First Voice.

1. How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear! With the howls of the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier, And the white bones all clattering together!

2. How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep! Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, And flowrets perfume it with ether.

First Voice.

3. There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead,
And the yellow skull, serves the foul toad for a bed,
And snakes in its nettle weeds hiss.

Second Voice.

4. How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tonib!
No tempests are there ;-but the nightingales come,
And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.

First Voice.

5. The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave; "Tis the vulture's abode ;-'tis the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the dead with their fangs.

Second Voice.

6. There the cony, at evening, disports with his love,
Or rests on the sod; while the turtles above,
Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.

First Voice.

7. There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath,
And loathsome decay, fill the dwelling of death;
The trees are all barren and bare.

Second Voice.

8. O! soft are the breezes that play round the tomb,
And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume,
With lilies and jessamine fair.

First Voice.

9. The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears,
Would fain hurry by; and with trembling and fears,
He is launched on the wreck-covered river.

Second Voice.

10. Here the traveller, worn with life's pilgrimage dreary,
Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary,
And sweetly reposes forever.

LESSON XCIII.

The Battle of Linden.*-CAMpbell.

1. ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter, was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

2. But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

3. By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd,
To join the dreadful revelry.

4. Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n,
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv❜n,

Hohenlinden, a town in Austria, famous for the defeat of the Austrians, December 3d, 1800, by the French under Moreau.

And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.

5. And redder yet those fires shall glow,
On Linden's hills of blood-stain’d snow,
And darker yet shall be the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

6. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.

7. The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich,* all thy banners wave !
And charge with all thy chivalry!

8. Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet,
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

LESSON XCIV.

The Indian Chief.

The following poem is founded on a traditionary story which is common or the borders of the great falls of Niagara, although differing in some unimportant particulars.

1. THE rain fell in torrents, the thunder roll'd deep,
And silenc'd the cataract's roar;

But neither the night, nor the tempest could keep
The warrior chieftain on shore.

2. The war shout has sounded, the stream must be cross'd; Why lingers the leader afar!

'Twere better his life than his glory be lost;
He never came late to the war.

3. He seiz'd a canoe as he sprang from the rock,
But fast as the shore fled his reach,

The mountain wave seem'd all his efforts to mock,
And dash'd the canoe on the beach.

* Pronounced Mu'-nick, a city 20 miles W. of Hohenlinden.

4. "Great Spirit," he cried, "shall the battle be given,
And all but their leader be there?

May this struggle land me with them or in heaven!"
And he push'd with the strength of despair."

5. He has quitted the shore, he has gained the deep,
His guide is the lightning alone;

But he felt not with fast, irresistible sweep,
The rapids were bearing him down.

6. But the cataract's roar with the thunder now vied;
"O what is the meaning of this!"

He spoke, and just turn'd to the cataract's side,
As the lightning flash'd down the abyss.

7. All the might of his arm to one effort was given,
At self preservation's command;

But the treacherous oar with the effort was riven,
And the fragment remain'd in his hand.

8. "Be it so," cry'd the warrior, taking his seat,
And folding his bow to his breast;

"Let the cataract shroud my pale corse with its sheet,
And its roar lull my spirit to rest.”

9. "The prospect of death with the brave I have borne,
I shrink not to bear it alone;

I have often fac'd death when the hope was forlorn,
But I shrink not to face him with none."

10. The thunder was hush'd, and the battle field stain'd,
When the sun met the war-wearied eye,

But no trace of the boat, or the chieftain remain'd-
Though his bow was still seen in the sky.

LESSON XCV.

The Burial of Sir John Moore.*—WOLFE.

1. Nor a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our Hero was buried.

A gallant British General, killed in battle at Corunna, in Spain, Jan. 16th, (809, by the French.

2. We buried him darkly; at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning ;
By the struggling moon-beams' misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

3. No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
But he lay-like a warrior taking his rest—
With his martial cloak around him !

4. Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow-

5. We thought—as we hallowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow-

How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow!

6. "Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ;

But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.”

7. But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock tolled the hour for retiring,
And we heard the distant and random gun,
That the foe was suddenly firing—

8. Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory !
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But we left him-alone with his glory!

LESSON XCVI.

Boadicea.*-Cowper.

1. WHEN the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods,

⚫ Boadicea, was queen of the Iceni in Britain. She was defeated and conquered by the Romans, A. D. 59.