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Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire |

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That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed,
In the beginning | how the Heavens and Earth'
Rose out of chaos; *** what in me is dark |
Illumine, what is low | raise and support;
That to the height of this great argument |
I may assert eternal Providence,

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And justify the ways of God to men. Milton.

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Ordinary persons, particularly children, are fonder of reading poetry than prose. They commit it to memory more readily, retain it better, and it is easier for them to speak it. They are taken with the metre and rhyme ; and they make these stand out in bold relief, in place of sense, sentiment and feeling. Of course, they never read nor speak it well; because they never use the varied. modifications, which sense, sentiment, and feeling require.

This charm of numbers seems to be a natural taste. It showed itself in the earliest times, and among the rudest nations. It is said that some of the ancients had their laws written in verse, and required their children to commit them to memory, and to sing them. They had their hymns, peans and heroics. The negroes on the plantations of the Southern States show the same delight in the melody of sweet sounds.-It is often employed as the best means to lodge in the mind, important lessons of wisdom. These are generally mere scraps of rhyme; and as poetry, have no merit but in their adaptation : e. g.

Early to bed, and early to rise

Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. The infant prayer, "Now I lay me down to sleep," was composed in compliance with this natural tendency. The divine Watts improved it to instil early lessons of piety. The ear is so pleased with the music of metre and rhyme, and the memory is so aided by them, that it is not uncommon often to see children, and persons uneducated, when they desire to remember several particulars, to resolve them into numbers.

I heard of a poor woman, not long since, sitting on the deck of a steamboat, with her scanty baggage about her, and repeating to herself "Great box, little box, band box and bundle"-words instinctively thrown into poetic measure

It is well enough to indulge this natural tendency in children, as a means of instruction and gratification; but not for early lessons in reading: certainly not, unless they have a parent or teacher at hand, who will not suf fer them to read a line improperly. The true way is to first become good readers of prose; and speakers too. To read poetry of a high order, so as to do it full justice, one must possess a highly discriminating mind, delicate sensibility, and a graceful elocution: to read that of an inferior order, he must have still greater powers, that he may do justice to himself: for it is one of the severest trials of talent and taste to read verse which is prosaic, monotonous and tame, so as to give out the true meaning, and, at the same time, the smoothness, and all the variety of tone needed to gratify the ear.

Hence it is plain that children, in learning to speak,

should begin with simple prose, and be able to manage that of a high order, before they attempt poetry. But this is what they always select for themselves; and it is what is usually selected for them; and that too of the highest dramatic style: and this, together with the most impassioned parts of distinguished orations, forms the character of the books, in most general use, for teaching boys to speak. No wonder we have so many artificial speakers! so much mouthing, fustian and bombast! or in solemn places, so much sanctimonious singsong and formality.

LESSON XV.

1. THE SPRING.-Barry Cornwall.

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The wind blows in the sweet ròse trèe :
The cow lows on the fragrant lèa;

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The stream flows all bright and frèe:
"Tis not for mé-'tis not for theè;

'Tis not for anyone I trów :
The gentle wind blóweth,
The happy cow lóweth,

The merry stream flóweth |
For all below.

O the spring, the bountiful' spring!

She shíneth, and smíleth | on every thing.

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Whence come the sheep?
From the rich man's moòr.

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Where cometh sleep?
To the béd that's poòr:
Peasants must wéep,
And kings endure:
That is a fáte that none

can cùre.

Yet spring doth all she căn | I trów :
She brings the bright hours,
She weaves the sweet flowers;

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She děcketh her bówers | for all below.
O the spring, the bountiful spring!
She shíneth and smileth | on every thing.

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2. THE CUCKOO.-Logan. Born, 1748, died, 1788.
Hàil, beauteous stranger of the wood,
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Atténdant on the spring!
Now heaven repairs thy rural séat,
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And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon as the daisy decks the gréen,
Thy certain voice we hear:

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Hast thou a stár | to guide thy páth,
Or márk | the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,

When heaven | is filled with music swéet '
Of birds among the bòwers.

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The school boy, wandering in the wood, To pull the flowers so gay,

Oft starts, thy curious voice to heár,

And imitates thy lay.

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Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,

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Thou flyèst thy vocal vàle,

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An annual guést, in other lànds,
Another spring to hàil.

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Sweet bird thy bower is ever gréen, Thy sky is èver clear;

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Thou hast nó ! sórrow ' in thy sóng,
No winter in thy year.

Oh I could I fly, I'd fly with thee:
We'd máke, with social wing,
Our annual vísit' o'er the glóbe,
Companions of the spring.

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3. HYMN TO GOD.-Lord Brougham.
There is a Gòd all nature cries :
A thousand tongues procláim |
His arm 1 almighty, mind' all wise,
And bid each voice in chorus ríse |
To magnify his name.

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Thy náme, great Nature's sire divíne,
Assiduous we adòre:

Rejecting gódheads | at whose shrine,
Benighted nátions, blood and wine,
In vain libations pour.

Yon countless worlds, in boundless spáce
Myriads of miles each hóur,

Their mighty orbs | as curious tráce,
As the blue circlet on the fáce I
Of that enamelled flower.