Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share;
O, prove a husband's and a father's care!
That quarter most the skillful Greeks annoy,
Where yon wild fig-trees join the walls of Troy;
Thou from this tower defend the important post;
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host;
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,

5.

And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train.
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heaven.
Let others in the field their arms employ,
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.

The chief replied: That post shall be my care,
Not that alone, but all the works of war.

How would the sons of Troy, in arms renowned,
And Troy's proud dames whose garments sweep the
Attaint the luster of my former name,

Should Hector basely quit the field of fame?
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My soul impels me to the embattled plains;
Let me be foremost to defend the throne,
And guard my father's glories and my own.

[ground,

Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates;
(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!)
The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,
And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.
And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,
Not Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore,
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore,
As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread.

7.

I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led!
In Argive looms our battles to design,
And woes, of which so large a part was thine!

8.

To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry: "Behold the mighty Hector's wife !"
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,
Embitters all thy woes by naming me.

The thoughts of glory past, and present shame,
A thousand griefs shall waken at the name!
May I lie cold before that dreadful day,
Pressed with a load of monumental clay !
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.

Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy Stretched his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest. With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled, And Hector hasted to relieve his child; The glittering terrors from his brows unbound, And placed the beaming helmet on the ground. Then kissed the child, and, lifting high in air, Thus to the gods preferred a father's prayer:

9. O thou! whose glory fills the ethereal throne,
And all
ye deathless powers! protect my son i
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
Against his country's foes the war to wage,
And rise the Hector of the future age!
So when triumphant from successful toils,
Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim,
And say:
"This chief transcends his father's fame;"
While pleased, amidst the general shouts of Troy
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.

10.

11.

He spoke, and fondly-gazing on her charmis,
Restored the pleasing burden to her arms;
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe he laid,
Hushed to repose, and with a smile surveyed.
The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear,
She mingled with the smile a tender tear.
The softened chief with kind compassion viewed,
And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued:

Andromache! my soul's far better part!
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?
No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.
Fixed is the term to all the race of earth;
And, such the hard condition of our birth,
No force can then resist, no flight can save;
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more-but hasten to thy tasks at home,
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom;
Me glory summons to the martial scene;
The field of combat is the sphere for men;
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger, as the first in fame.

EXERCISE CVII.

THE DESERT AND THE GARDEN.

REV. HOLLIS REED.

1. Imagine yourself in the interior of India, on one of those boundless plains which characterize the country called the Deccan. Here the eye stretches in vain for a limit, unless some rising hillock breaks the prospect. Neither fence, nor helge, nor forest, interrupts the monotony of the scene. Not a tree relieves the eye, except it be near a well, or reser voir af water.

2. It was in the early part of June. Eight months had already elapsed since the fall of a single shower of rain. Not a shrub, not a blade of grass, not a relic of former vegetation was to be seen, except where the soil had been artificially irrigated. Here and there a shade-tree, or a fruit-tree, whose roots penetrate far beneath the surface, can survive the dearth of the hot season. Dreariness and desolation cover the land

on every side.

3. At an early hour, we left our resting-place, a kind of caravansary. The atmosphere was slightly refreshing, though not cool. But no sooner had the sun appeared above the horizon, than we began to wither beneath the intensity of his rays. It was scarcely nine, when the hot wind, a kind of sirocco, commenced, which, added to the scorching of the heated earth, rendered traveling almost intolerable. We sought a place for shelter.

4. Casting our eyes to the left, we explored an immense waste plain, which apparently extended to the shore of an interminable ocean. Knowing well that we were in the interior of a great country, and far from sea, lake, or river, we recognized, for the first time, in this appearance, the mirage, or extraordinary optical illusion, formed by the refraction of a vertical sun from the heated earth. So perfect is the deception, that deer, and other animals, have died from exhaustion while pursuing the retiring phantom.

5. But, from the opposite side, we saw a reality, nearer at hand, and scarcely less wonderful,—a verdant spot, fresh and blooming. Fragrance in the midst of desolation. A fertile island in the bosom of an ocean of sand. Spring amid the deadness of autumn. Wearied by travel, and almost suffocated by dust and heat, we drew near as to the “shadow of a great rock in a weary land."

6. How cheering amidst such desolation, how refreshing to the pilgrim beneath the rays of a tropical sun, to behold a green field, a cool, fair garden, whose trees bend with fruit, whose flowers diffuse perfume, whose atinosphere breathes

the salubrity of a temperate clime! Hasting to this enchanted spot, we pitched our tent beneath the thick foliage and wide-spreading branches of a tamarind tree.

7. How changed the scene! It was a garden of several acres in extent. Every plant and flower, every shrub and tree, was clad in the richest verdure. Here was a compartment filled with healthful vegetables. Near it was ripening grain, corn in "the blade, or in the ear;" then a tuft of trees, loaded with blossoms, or enriched with perfected fruit. The tamarind the mango, and the orange, the lemon and pome granate, the citron and banana, were here in their glory. Here, also, were the rose, the lily, the jasmine, and countless other flowers peculiar to the tropics, and the luxuriant vineyard, maturing its rich clusters. And, among the embowering verdure, the warbling songsters found a pleasant retreat from the tyrant rage of an Indian sun.

8. What a contrast with the surrounding country! What a fulfillment of the sublime promise of the Hebrew prophet: "The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad, and the desert rejoice and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing; the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon.'

9. But what caused this sudden springing forth of beauty? A fountain was there, deep and broad, sending forth copious streams to fructify the surrounding region. Fertility in the East depends much on an artificial supply of water. If this can be freely commanded, vegetation is rapid and abundant. The intense heat, and plentiful moisture, make even barrenness prolific. Seed-time and harvest meet. A succession of crops, thrice, or even four times, in a year, are realized. Spring, summer, and autumn blend in one continued harvesthymn of praise.

10. The garden, or field, is usually divided into compartments of fifteen or twenty square feet. In the center is a fountain or well, and near it a small reservoir. From thence,