With Freedom's soil; and navies may have rode
On the same wave that bears our starry sails.
3. Here heroes may have bled to win a name
On Glory's sunbright scroll, and prophets watched
Their holy shrines, whose fires no longer glow.
Sweet rose and woodbine bowers around these walls
May once have bloomed less fragrant and less fair
Than the fond hearts that blended, and the lips
That pressed in passions rapture; and these airs,
That float unconscious by, may have been born
Of gales, that bore Love's soft enchanting words.
But all is silent now as Death's own halls!
4. Empires have perished where these forests tower
In desolate array-and nations sunk,
With all their glories, to the darkling gulf
Of cold forgetfulness! But what avails
The uncertain guest, the dark and wildering search
For those whose spirits have but passed away
To the dark land of shadows and of dreams,
An hour before our own? Why in amaze
Behold these shattered walls, when other times
Shall hang in wondering marvel o'er our own
Proud cities, and inquire-" Who builded these ?"
LESSON CLXXII.
On Time.-H. K. WHITE.
1. WHо needs a teacher to admonish him
That flesh is grass?—That earthly things are mist?
What are our joys but dreams? And what our hopes
But goodly shadows in the summer cloud?
There's not a wind that blows, but bears with it
Some rainbow promise.-Not a moment flies
But puts its sickle in the fields of life,
And mows its thousands, with their joys and cares.
2. Tis but as yesterday, since on yon stars,
Which now I view, the Chaldee shepherd* gaz'd
In his mid-watch, observant, and dispos'd
The twinkling hosts, as fancy gave them shape.
Yet in the interim, what mighty shocks
Have buffetted mankind-whole nations razed-
Cities made desolate-the polished sunk
To barbarism, and once barbaric states
Swaying the wand of science and of arts;
Illustrious deeds and memorable names
Alluding to the first Astronomical observations, made by the Chaldean shepherds.
Blotted from record, and upon the tongue
Of grey tradition, voluble no more.
3. Where are the heroes of the ages past;
Where the brave chieftains-where the mighty ones
Who flourish'd in the infancy of days?-
All to the grave gone down!-On their fall'n fame
Exultant, mocking at the pride of man,
Sits grim Forgetfulness.-The warrior's arm
Lies nerveless on the pillow of its shame:
Hush'd is his stormy voice, and quenched the blaze
Of his red eye-ball.
Was mighty on the earth-To-day-'tis what?
The meteor of the night of distant years,
That flash'd unnotic'd, save by wrinkled eld,
Musing at midnight upon prophecies,
Who at her lonely lattice saw the gleam
Point to the mist-pois'd shroud, then quietly
Clos'd her pale lips, and lock'd the secret up
Safe in the charnel's treasures.
O how weak
Is mortal man! How trifling-how confin'd
His scope of vision !-Puff'd with confidence,
His phrase grows big with immortality ;
And he, poor insect of a summer's day,
Dreams of eternal honors to his name;
Of endless glory, and perennial bays.
He idly reasons of Eternity,
As of the train of ages, when, alas!
Ten thousand thousand of his centuries
Are, in comparison, a little point,
Too trivial for account.
O it is strange,
'Tis passing strange, to mark his fallacies;
Behold him proudly view some pompous pile,
Whose high dome swells to emulate the skies,
And smile and say, my name shall live with this,
'Till Time shall be no more; while at his feet,
Yea, at his very feet, the crumbling dust
Of the fall'n fabric of the other day,
Preaches the solemn lesson.-He should know,
That time must conquer.
That ever fill'd Renown's obstrep'rous trump,
Fades in the lapse of ages, and expires.
Who lies inhum'd in the terrific gloom
Of the gigantic pyramid? Or who
Rear'd its huge wall?-Oblivion laughs and says,
The prey is mine. They sleep and never more
Their names shall strike upon the ear of man,
Their mem'ry burst its fetters.
She lives but in the tale of other times;
Her proud pavilions are the hermits' home.
And her long collonades, her public walks,
Now faintly echo to the pilgrim's feet, -
Who comes to muse in solitude, and trace,
Through the rank moss reveal'd, her honored dust.
8. But not to Rome alone has fate confin'd
The doom of ruin; cities numberless,
Tyre, Sidon, Carthage, Babylon, and Troy,
And rich Phoenicia-they are blotted out,
Half-raz'd from memory; and their very name
And being in dispute !
LESSON CLXXIII.
Jugurtha* in Prison.-REV. C. WOLFE.
1. Well-is the rack prepared-the pincers heated?
Where is the scourge ?--How?--not employed in Rome :
We have them in Numidia. Not in Rome?
I'm sorry for it ;-I could enjoy it now;
I might have felt them yesterday; but now,
Now, I have seen my funeral procession;
The chariot-wheels of Marius have roll'd o'er me:
His horses' hoofs have trampled me in triumph;
I have attain'd that terrible consummation,
My soul could stand aloof, and from on high
Look down upon the ruins of my body
Smiling in apathy;-I feel no longer;
I challenge Rome to give another pang.
Oh! how he smiled, when he beheld me pause
Before his car, and scowl upon the mob;
The curse of Rome was burning on my lips,
Jugurtha was the son of Mastanabal and grand-son of the famous Massinissa, king of Numidia. His father having died while he was yet a child, he was taken by his uncle Micipsa and educated with his two sons, Hiempsal and Adherbal. At the death of Micipsa, the kingdom of Numidia was divided equally between Jugurtha and his two cousins. Jugurtha greatly in favor with the people, and ambitious to possess the kingdom alone, murdered Hiempsal, and sought to do the same by Adherbal, who fled to Rome for succor. The Roman senate, being highly bribed, not only declared Jugurtha innocent, but decreed him the sovereignty of half the kingdom. Soon after this, he besieged Adherbal in Cirta, the capital of the kingdom, took him, and cruelly put him to death. This drew on him the vengeance of the Romans. Being defeated seveal times by the army under the consul Marius, he applied to Bocchus, his father-in-law, king of Mauritania, for assistance; by whom he was betrayed into the hands of the Romans. He was led in chains to Rome to grace the triumph of Marius. The senate condemned him to be starved to death in a dungeon, where he died B. C
And I had gnaw'd my chain, and hurl'd it at them,
But that I knew he would have smiled again.
2. A king! and led before the gaudy Marius,
Before those shouting masters of the world,
As if I had been conquer'd: while each street,
Each peopled wall, and each insulting window,
Peal'd forth their brawling triumphs o'er my head.
Oh! for a lion from thy woods, Numidia !-
Or had I, in that moment of disgrace,
Enjoy'd the freedom but of yonder slave,
I would have made my monument in Rome.
Yet I am not that fool, that Roman fool,
To think disgrace entombs the hero's soul,-
Forever damps his fires, and dims his glories;
That no bright laurel can adorn the brow
That once has bow'd; no victory's trumpet-sound
Can drown in joy the rattling of his chains.
What avails it now,
That my proud views despised the narrow limits,
Which minds that span and measure out ambition
Had fixed to mine; and, while I seemed intent
On savage subjects and Numidian forest,
My soul had pass'd the bounds of Africa!—
Defeated!-overthrown!-yet to the last
Ambition taught me hope; and still my mind,
Through danger, flight, and carnage, grasp'd dominion;
And had not Bocchus-curses, curses on him!—
What Rome has done, she did it for ambition;
What Rome has done, I might-I would have done ;
What thou hast done, thou wretch!-Oh had she proved
Nobly deceitful: had she seized the traitor,
And joined him with the fate of the betrayed,
I had forgiven her all; for he had been
The consolation of my prison hours;
I could forget my woes in stinging him ;
And if, before this day, his little soul
Had not in bondage wept itself away,
Rome and Jugurtha should have triumphed o'er him.
4. Look here, thou caitiff,* if thou canst, and see
The fragments of Jugurtha;-view him wrapt
In the last shred he borrow'd from Numidia;
'Tis cover'd with the dust of Rome;-behold
His rooted gaze upon the chains he wears,
And on the channels they have wrought upon him;
Then look around upon his dungeon walls,
And view yon scanty mat, on which his frame
He flings, and rushes from his thoughts to sleep.
• Pronounced Ca-tif,—a base villain,-meaning Bocchus.
I'll sleep no more, until I sleep for ever:
When I slept last, I heard Adherbal scream.
I'll sleep no more! I'll think until I die:
My eyes shall pore upon my miseries,
Until my miseries shall be no more.
Yet wherefore did he scream? Why, I have heard
His living scream,-it was not half so frightful.
Whence comes the difference? When the man was living.
Why, I did gaze upon his couch of torments
With placid vengeance, and each anguish'd cry
Gave me stern satisfaction; now he's dead,
And his lips move not ;-yet his voice's image
Flash'd such a dreadful darkness o'er my soul,
I would not hear that fearful cry again
For the high glory of Numidia's throne.
6. But ah! 'twas I that caused that living scream
And therefore did its echo seem so frightful :-
If 'twere to do again, I would not kill thee;
Wilt thou not be contented?-But thou say'st,
My father was to thee a father also;
He watch'd thy infant years, and gave thee all
That youth could ask, and scarcely manhood came,
Than came a kingdom also; yet didst thou"-
Oh I am faint!-they have not brought me food-
How did I not perceive it until now
Hold,-my Numidian cruise is still about me-
No drop within-Oh, faithful friend, companion
Of many a weary march and thirsty day;
"Tis the first time that thou hast fail'd my lips.-
7. Gods! I'm in tears!-I did not think of weeping.
Oh Marius, wilt thou ever feel like this?
Ha! I behold the ruins of a city;
And on a craggy fragment sits a form
That seems in ruins also; how unmoved,
How stern he looks! Amazement! it is Marius.*
Ha! Marius, think'st thou now upon Jugurtha ?
He turns! he's caught my eye!-I see no more!
Caius Marius, a distinguished Roman general. He was seven times consul. Dissensions having arisen between him and Sylla, Marius and his party were defeated, and he was obliged to flee from Italy. After various disasters, he landed in Africa, and went in a melancholy manner and seated himself among the RUINS OF CARTHAGE. His party headed by Cinna, gaining the ascendency, he returned to Rome, and put to death all whom he considered his enemies. Marins assumed the consulship, but died about one month after in a fit of debauch, aged 70,-B. C. 86.
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