LESSON LIV. Parting of Douglas and Marmion.—SCOTT. 1 NOT far advanced was morning day, When Marmion did his troops array, To Surrey's camp to ride; He had safe-conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand, And Douglas gave a guide. The ancient Earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whispered, in an under tone, "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." 2 The train from out the castle drew; But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : "Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble Earl, receive my hand."But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 3 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 4 Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 5 May well, proud Angus, be thy mate; Fierce he broke forth: "And dar'st thou then The Douglas in his hall? And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ?— Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need, The steed along the drawbridge flies, And when Lord Marmion reached his band, 8 And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers. "Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, " and chase!" But soon he reined his fury's pace; "A royal messenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name.— Saint Mary mend my fiery mood! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought to slay him where he stood. 9 "Tis pity of him, too," he cried; Advice to a Son going to travel. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. Take each man's censure,† but reserve thy judgment. But not expressed in fancy-rich, not gaudy; For loan oft loses both itself and friend; 1 LESSON LV. On the Resurrection.-HARDIE. TWICE had the sun gone down upon the earth, and all as yet was silent at the sepulchre. Death held his sceptre over the Son of God. Still and silent, the hours passed on-the guards stood at their post-the rays of the midnight moon gleamed on their helmets and on their spears. The + Economy. Palm of the hand. + Opinion. enemies of Christ exulted in their success, the hearts of his friends were sunk in despondency, the spirits of glory waited in anxious suspense to behold the event, and wondered at the depth of the ways of God. At length, the morning star, arising in the east, announced the approach 2 of light. The third day began to dawn upon the world, when on a sudden, the earth trembled to its centre, and the powers of heaven were shaken; an angel of God descended, the guards shrunk back from the terror of his presence and fell prostrate on the ground. "His counte nance was like lightning and his raiment white as snow." He rolled away the stone from the door of the sepulchre and sat upon it. But who is this that cometh forth from the tomb, with dyed garments from the bed of death? He that is glorious in his appearance, walking in the greatness 3 of his strength? It is thy prince, O, Zion! Christian, it is your Lord! He hath trodden the wine-press alone, he hath stained his raiment with blood; but now, as the firstborn from the womb of nature, he meets the morning of his resurrection. He rises a conqueror from the grave, he returns with blessings from the world of spirits, he brings salvation to the sons of men. Never did the returning sun usher in a day so glorious. It was the jubilee of the universe. The morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted aloud for joy. The Father of 4 mercies looked down from his throne in the heavens; with complacency he beheld his world restored, he saw his work that it was good. Then did the desert rejoice, the face of nature was gladdened before him, when the blessings of the Eternal descended as the dews of heaven, for the refreshing of the nations. From a Monody on a Friend of the Author, Drowned in the WEEP no more, woful shepherds, weep no more; Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, LESSON LVI. Virtue and Piety Man's Highest Interest.-HARRIS. 1 I FIND myself existing upon a little spot, surrounded every way by an immense, unknown expansion. Where am I? What sort of place do I inhabit? Is it exactly accommodated in every instance to my convenience? Is there no excess of cold, none of heat, to offend me? Am I never annoyed by animals, either of my own, or a different kind? Is every thing subservient to me, as though I had ordered all myself? No-nothing like it—the farthest from it possible. The world appears not, then, originally made for the private convenience of me alone?—It does 2 not. But is it not possible so to accommodate it, by my own particular industry? If to accommodate man and beast, heaven and earth-if this be beyond me, it is not possible. What consequence then follows; or can there be any other than this? If I seek an interest of my own, detached from that of others, I seek an interest which is chimerical, and which can never have existence. How, then, must I determine? Have I no interest at all? If I have not, I am stationed here to no purpose. But why no interest? Can I be contented with none but 3 one separate and detached? Is a social interest, joined with others, such an absurdity as not to be admitted? The bee, the beaver, and the tribes of herding animals, are sufficient to convince me, that the thing is somewhere at least possible. How, then, am I assured that it is not equally true of man? Admit it, and what follows? If so, then |