Up! up! and go, or else you know,
You'll never rise soon in the morning !"

A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And blessed the time with a merry chime,
The wintry hours beguiling;

But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,
As it called at daybreak boldly;

When the dawn looked gray o'er the misty way,

And the early air looked coldly:

"Tick! tick!" it said, "quick out of bed;

For five I've given warning;

You'll never have health, you'll never have wealth,
Unless you 're up soon in the morning !"

3. Still hourly the sound goes round and round,
With a tone that ceases never;

While tears are shed for bright days fled, (pl.) And the old friends lost for ever!

Its heart beats on,-though hearts are gone,
That beat like ours, though stronger;

Its hands still move, though hands we love,
Are clasped on earth no longer!

"Tick! tick!" it said, "to the church-yard bed,
The grave hath given warning:

Up! up! and rise, and look at the skies,
And prepare for a heavenly morning!"

EXERCISE XLII.

1. Promethean, pertaining to Prometheus; who, according to the old mythology of the Greeks, was exposed to the wrath of Jupiter, on account of his having taught mortals the arts, and especially the use of fire: stealing it, for that purpose, from heaven, and concealing it in a pipe, or hollow staff.

NATURE'S GENTLEMAN.

I.

ELIZA COOK.

Whom do we dub as gèntleman? The knàve, the foòl, the brùte,
If they but own full tithe of gold, and wear a courtly suit!
The parchment scroll of titled line,—the ribbon at the knee,
Can still suffice to ratify and grant such high degree!

II.

But Nature, with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born,
And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to scorn;
She molds with care a spirit rare, half human, half divine,
And cries, exulting: "Who can make a gentleman like mine?

III.

She may not spend her common skill about the outward part,
But showers beauty, grace, and light, upon the brain and

heart.

She may not choose ancestral fame, his pathway to illume;

The sun that sheds the brightest day, may rise from mist and gloom.

IV.

Should Fortune pour her welcome store, and useful gold abound, He shares it with a bounteous hand, and scatters blessings round: The treasure sent, is rightly spent, and serves the end designed, When held by Nature's gentleman,-the good,-the just,-the kind.

V.

He turns not from the cheerless home, where Sorrow's ospring dwell,

He'll greet the peasant in his hut, the culprit in his cell,

He stays to hear the widow's plaint of deep and mourning love, He seeks to aid her lot below, and prompt her faith above.

VI.

The orphan child,-the friendless one,-the luckless or the poor, Will never meet his spurning frown, or leave his bolted door.

His kindred circles all mankind, his country all the globe,
An honest name his jeweled star, truth his ermine robe.

VII.

He wisely yields his passions up to reason's firm control:
His pleasures are of crimeless kind, and never taint the soul.
He may be thrown among the gay and reckless sons of life,
But will not love the revel scene, or heed the brawling strife.

VIII.

He wounds no breast with jeer or jest, yet bears no honeyed tongue;

He's social with the gray-haired one, and merry with the young. He gravely shares the council speech, or joins the rustic game, And shines as Nature's gentleman, in every place the same.

IX.

No haughty gesture marks his gait, no pompous tone his word,
No studied attitude is seen, no palling nonsense heard;
He'll suit his bearing to the hour,-laugh, listen, learn, or teach,
With joyous freedom in his mirth, and candor in his speech.

X.

He worships God with inward zeal, and serves him in each deed;

He would not blame another's faith, nor have one martyr bleed; Justice and mercy form his code; he puts his trust in Heaven; His prayer is, "If the heart mean well, may all else be for given !"

XI.

Though few of such may gem the earth, yet such rare gems there

are,

Each shining in his hallowed sphere, as virtue's polar star.
Though human hearts, too oft are found, all gross, corrupt and

dark,

Yet, yet, some bosoms breathe and burn, lit by Promethean' spark.

XII.

There are some spirits, nobly just, unwarped by pelf or pride, Great in the calm, but greater still, when dashed by adverse tide; They hold the rank no king can give, no station can disgrace; Nature puts forth her gentleman, and monarchs must give place.

QUESTIONS.—1. Why the falling inflection on gentleman, first line, first stanza? 2. Why the falling on the knave, fool, and brute, same line? See Rule II. page 27. 3. On what principle is the word her emphatic, in the second and twelfth stanzas? See Note VII. p. 22.

EXERCISE XLIII.

THE HERITAGE.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

1. The rich man's son inherits lands,

And piles of brick, and stone, and gold,

And he inherits soft, white hands,

And tender flesh that fears the cold,
Nor dares to wear a garment old;
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

2. The rich man's son inherits cares;

The bank may break, the factory burn,
A breath may burst his bubble shares,
And soft, white hands could hardly earn
A living that would serve his turn;
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

3. The rich man's son inherits wants,

His stomach craves for dainty fare;
With sated heart he hears the pants
Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare,
And wearies in his easy chair;

A heritage, it seems to me,

One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

4. What doth the poor man's son inherit?
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart,
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit;
King of two hands, he does his part
In every useful toil and art;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.

5. What doth the poor man's son inherit?
Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things,
A rank adjudged with toil-won merit,
Content that from employment springs,
A heart that in his labor sings;

6.

A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit ?
A patience learned by being poor,
Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it,
A fellow-feeling that is sure

To make the outcast bless his door;
A heritage, it seems to me,

A king might wish to hold in fee.

7. O rich man a son! there is a toil,
That with all other level stands;
Large charity doth never soil,

But only whiten, soft, white hands,-
This is the best crop from thy lands;
A heritage, it seems to me,

Worth being rich to hold in fee.

8. O

poor man's son! scorn not thy state;
There is worse weariness than thine,