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ment of the good people of Nieuw-Nederlandts ;* on the contrary, so high an opinion had they of the independent mind and vigorous intellect of their new governor, that
they universally called him Hardkopping Piet,tor Peter the 5 Headstrong,-a great compliment to his understanding!
If from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiani, weatherbeaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion
hearted, generous-spirited old governor, either I have writ10 ten to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing
LESSON LXIV.-ODE ON ART.-CHARLES SPRAGUE.
When, from the sacred garden driven,
Man fled before his Maker's wrath,
And crossed the wanderer's sunless path.
Where her light foot flew o'er the ground;
“The Curse a Blessing shall be found.”
Where noontide sunbeam never blazed ;
And Nature gladdened, as she gazed.
At Art's command, to him are given;
And point their spires of faith to heaven.
To guard the shores its beauty graced ;
See towers of strength and domes of taste.
Fire bears his banner on the wave,
And leaps triumphant o'er the grave.
Admiring Beauty's lap to fill;
And mocks his own Creator's skill.
With thoughts that swell his glowing soul,
He bids the ore illume the page,
Commerces with an unborn age.
And treads the chambers of the sky;
That quivers round the Throne on high.
He moves in greatness and in grace;
Links realm to realm, and race to race.
LESSON LXV.-ROBERT BURNS.-F. G. HALLECK.
The memory of Burns,-a name
That calls, when brimmed her festal cup,
In silent sadness up.
Forgot,--she's canonized his mind;
of human kind.
Where the Bard-peasant first drew breath
A straw-wrought couch beneath.
His monument,—that tells to heaven
To that Bard-peasant given !
Boy-Minstrel, in thy dreaming hour;
A Poet's pride and power. .
The power that gave a child of song
The rich, the brave, the strong;
Thy spirit's fluttering pinions then,
Despair :—thy name is written on
The roll of common men.
And longer scrolls, and louder lyres, 5 And lays lit up with Poesy's
Purer and holier fires :
Few nobler ones than Burns are there;
And few have won a greener wreath 10
Than that which binds his hair.
In which the answering heart would speak,
Or the smile light the cheek;
The common pulse of man keeps time,
In cold or sunny clime.
And who hath heard his song, nor knelt 20
Before its spell, with willing knee,
The Poet's mastery ?
O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers, 25 O’er Passion's moments, bright and warm,
O'er Reason's dark, cold hours;
In halls where rings the banquet's mirth,
Where mourners weep, where lovers woo, 30
From throne to cottage hearth ;
eyes unshed, What wild vows falter on the tongue, When“ Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,"
Or “ Auld Lang Syne” is sung! 35 Pure hopes, that lift the soul above,
Come with his Cottar's hymn of praise,
With “ Logan's” banks and braes.
And when he breathes his master-lay 40
Of Alloway's witch-haunted wall,
All passions in our frames of clay
Come thronging at his call.
And our own world, its gloom and glee,
And death's sublimity.
Though rough and dark the path he trod,
The image of his God.
LESSON LXVI.—THE FUTURE LIFE.-W. C. BRYANT.
Lines addressed to a deceased friend.
The disembodied spirits of the dead,
And perishes among the dust we tread ? 5 For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain,
If there I meet thy gentle presence not;
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.
Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? 10 That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given?
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,
Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven?
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 15 And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?
And meekly with my harsher nature bore,
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, 20 Shall it expire with life, and be no more
Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 25 For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell,
Shrink and consume the heart, as heat the scroll
And wrath hath left its scar,—that fire of hell
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 5 The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same ?
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this,
The wisdom which is love,-till I become 10 Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ?
LESSON LXVII.—THE SPIRIT OF POETRY.-H. W. LONGFELLOW.
. Hence gifted bards