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I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alone —
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod -

A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and pride of man,

At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet?
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

Early or late, the falling rain
Arrived in time to swell his grain;
Stream could not so perversely wind
But corn of Guy's was there to grind;
The siroc found it on its way

To speed his sails, to dry his hay;
And the world's sun seemed to rise
To drudge all day for Guy the wise.
In his rich nurseries timely skill
Strong crab with nobler blood did fill;
The zephyr in his garden rolled
From plum-trees vegetable gold;
And all the hours of the year
With their own harvests honored were.
There was no frost but welcome came,
Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame.
Belonged to wind and world the toil
And venture, and to Guy the oil.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

Guy.

MORTAL mixed of middle clay,
Attempered to the night and day,
Interchangeable with things,
Needs no amulets or rings.
Guy possessed the talisman
That all things from him began;
And as, of old, Polycrates
Chained the sunshine and the breeze,
So did Guy betimes discover
Fortune was his guard and lover-
In strange junctures felt, with awe,
His own symmetry with law;
So that no mixture could withstand
The virtue of his lucky hand.
He gold or jewel could not lose,
Nor not receive his ample dues.
In the street, if he turned round,
His eye the eye 'twas seeking found.
It seemed his genius discreet
Worked on the maker's own receipt,
And made each tide and element
Stewards of stipend and of rent;
So that the common waters fell
As costly wine into his well.

He had so sped his wise affairs
That he caught nature in his snares;

The Sunken City.

HARK! the faint bells of the sunken city
Peal once more their wonted evening chime!
From the deep abysses floats a ditty,

Wild and wondrous, of the olden time.

Temples, towers, and domes of many stories There lie buried in an ocean grave— Undescried, save when their golden glories Gleam, at sunset, through the lighted wave.

And the mariner who had seen them glisten,
In whose ears those magic bells do sound,
Night by night bides there to watch and listen,
Though death lurks behind each dark rock
round.

So the bells of memory's wonder-city

Peal for me their old melodious chime; So my heart pours forth a changeful ditty, Sad and pleasant, from the bygone time.

Domes, and towers, and castles, fancy-builded, There lie lost to daylight's garish beamsThere lie hidden, till unveiled and gilded, Glory-gilded, by my nightly dreams!

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The oraculous doctor's mystic bills-
Certain hard words made into pills;
And what at last shalt gain by these?
Only a costlier disease.

That which makes us have no need
Of physic, that's physic indeed.
Hark, hither, reader! wilt thou see
Nature her old physician be?
Wilt see a man all his own wealth,
His own music, his own health-
A man whose sober soul can tell
How to wear her garments well-
Her garments that upon her sit
As garments should do, close and fit-
A well-clothed soul that's not oppressed
Nor choked with what she should be dressed -
A soul sheathed in a crystal shrine,
Through which all her bright features shine;
As when a piece of wanton lawn,
A thin aërial veil, is drawn

O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide,
More sweetly shows the blushing bride-
A soul whose intellectual beams
No mists do mask, no lazy streams-
A happy soul, that all the way

To heaven hath a summer's day?

Wouldst see a man whose well-warmed blood Bathes him in a genuine flood?—

A man whose tunéd humors be

A seat of rarest harmony?

Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, beguile

Age? Wouldst see December's smile?
Wouldst see nests of new roses grow

In a bed of reverend snow?

Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering
Winter's self into a spring?-

In sum, wouldst see a man that can
Live to be old, and still a man?
Whose latest and most leaden hours

Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers;
And when life's sweet fable ends,

Soul and body part like friends—

No quarrels, murmurs, no delay

A kiss, a sigh, and so away?
This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see?
Hark, hither! and thyself be he.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

Smoking Spiritualized.

PART I.

THIS Indian weed, now withered quite, Though green at noon, cut down at night, Shows thy decay –

All flesh is hay:

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The pipe, so lily-like and weak,
Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;
Thou art e'en such-

Gone with a touch:
Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when the smoke ascends on high,
Then thou behold'st the vanity
Of worldly stuff —

Gone with a puff:

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when the pipe grows foul within, Think on thy soul defiled with sin; For then the fire

It does require:

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And seest the ashes cast away,
Then to thyself thou mayest say
That to the dust

Return thou must:

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

PART II.

Was this small plant for thee cut down? So was the plant of great renown,

Which mercy sends

For nobler ends :

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

Doth juice medicinal proceed

From such a naughty foreign weed ↑ Then what's the power

Of Jesse's flower?

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.

The promise, like the pipe, inlays,
And by the mouth of faith conveys
What virtue flows

From Sharon's rose:
Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

In vain the unlighted pipe you blow – Your pains in outward means are so, Till heavenly fire

Your heart inspire:

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The smoke like burning incense towers; So should a praying heart of yours With ardent cries

Surmount the skies:

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

ANONYMOUS.

The Vanity of Human Wishes.

IN IMITATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL.

LET observation, with extensive view,
Survey mankind from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life:
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate,
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate,
Where wavering man, betrayed by venturous pride
To chase the dreary paths without a guide,
As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good;
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice;
How nations sink, by darling schemes oppressed,
When vengeance listens to the fool's request.
Fate wings with every wish the afflictive dart,
Each gift of nature and cach grace of art;
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
With fatal sweetness elocution flows,
Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful breath,
And restless fire precipitates on death.

But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold Fall in the general massacre of gold; Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfined And crowds with crimes the records of mankind;

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For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.

Let history tell where rival kings command, And dubious title shakes the madded land, When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, How much more safe the vassal than the lord; Low skulks the hind below the rage of power, And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower; Untouched his cottage, and his slumbers sound, Though confiscation's vultures hover round.

The needy traveller, serene and gay, Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. Does envy seize thee? crush the upbraiding joy, Increase his riches, and his peace destroy: Now fears in dire vicissitude invade, The rustling brake alarms, and quivering shade, Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, One shows the plunder and one hides the thief.

Yet still one general cry the skies assails, And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales; Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, The insidious rival and the gaping heir.

Once more, Democritus, arise on earth,
With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth;
See motley life in modern trappings dressed,
And feed with varied fools the eternal jest :
Thou who couldst laugh, where want enchained
caprice,

Toil crushed conceit, and man was of a piece;
Where wealth unloved without a mourner died,
And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride;
Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate,
Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state;
Where change of favorites made no change of
laws,

And senates heard before they judged a cause;
How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish tribe,
Dart the quick taunt and edge the piercing gibe
Attentive truth and nature to descry,
And pierce each scene with philosophic eye,
To thee were solemn toys, or empty show,
The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe:
All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain,
Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain.

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