In vain with various arts they strive
To keep their little names alive :

Bid to the skies th' ambitious tower ascend;
The cirque its vast majestic length extend;
Bid arcs of triumph swell their graceful round;
Or mausoleums load th' encumber'd ground;
Or sculpture speak in animated stone

Of vanquish'd monarchs tumbled from the throne;
The rolling tide of years,

Rushing with strong and steady current, bears
The pompous piles with all their fame away
To black Oblivion's sea;

Deep in whose dread abyss the glory lies
Of empires, ages, never more to rise!

Where's now imperial Rome,

Who erst to subject kings denounced their doom And shook the sceptre o'er a trembling world? From her proud height by force barbarian hurl'd! Now, on some broken capital reclined,

The sage of classic mind

Her awful relics views with pitying eye,
And o'er departed grandeur heaves a sigh;
Or fancies, wandering in his moonlight walk,

The prostrate fanes and mouldering domes among, He sees the mighty ghosts of heroes stalk

In melancholy majesty along;

Or pensive hover o'er the ruins round,
Their pallid brows with faded laurel bound;
While Cato's shade seems scornful to survey
A race of slaves, and sternly strides away.

Where old Euphrates winds his storied flood,
The curious traveller explores in vain

The barren shores and solitary plain,
Where erst majestic Babel's turret stood!
All vanish'd from the view her proud abodes,
Her walls, and brazen gates, and palaces of Gods!
A shapeless heap o'erspreads the dreary space,
Of mingled piles an undistinguish'd mass:
There the wild tenants of the desert dwell:
The serpent's hiss is heard, the dragon's yell!
And doleful howlings o'er the waste affright
And drive afar the wanderers of the night.

Yet, 'tis Divinity's implanted fire
Which bids the soul to glorious heights aspire :
Enlarge her wishes and extend her sight
Beyond this little life's contracted round,
And wing her eagle flight

To grandeur, fame, and bliss beyond a bound.
Ambition's ardent hopes and golden dreams
Her towering madness, and her wild extremes,
Unfold her sacred truth to Reason's eye,
That Man was made for Immortality.'

Yes, friend! let noble deeds and noble aims
To distant ages consecrate our names,
That when these tenements of crumbling clay
Are dropp'd to dust away,

Some worthy monument may still declare
To future times 'We were.'

Not such as mad ambition's votaries raise
Upon the driving sand of vulgar praise;
But with its firm foundation laid

On Virtue's adamantine rock,

That to the skies shall lift its towering head
Superior to the surge's shock.

Plann'd like a Memphian pyramid sublime,
Rising majestic on its ample base,

By just degrees, and with a daring grace
Erect, unmoved, amid the storms of time!

LA passion peut haïr l'objet de son amour; mais quand le lien s'est formé par les rapports sacrés de l'ame, il semble que le crime même ne sauroit l'anéantir, et qu'on attend le remords comme après une longue absence on attendroit le retour.

MAD. DE STAEL.

As those we love decay, we die in part;
String after string is sever'd from the heart;
Till loosen'd life, no more than breathing clay,
Without one pang is glad to fall away.

Unhappy he, who latest feels the blow!

Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low, Still lingering on from partial death to death, Till dying, all he can resign is breath.

THOMSON.

Isabella. WHAT wouldst thou have, good fellow ! Painter. JUSTICE, Madam.

Hieronimo. O ambitious beggar, wouldst thou have that

That lives not in the world?

Why, all the undelved mines cannot buy

An ounce of Justice, 'tis a jewel so inestimable.

I tell thee, God hath engross'd all justice in his hands, And there is none but what comes from him.

KYD'S SPANISH TRAGEDY.

A VIRGIN'S honor is a chrystal tower,

Which being weak is guarded with good spirits;
Until she basely yields, no ill inherits.

CYRIL TOURNEUR.

TRUE bravery is sedate and inoffensive. If it refuse to submit to insults, it offers none; begins no disputes, enters into no needless quarrels ; is above the little, troublesome ambition to be distinguished every moment. It hears in silence, and replies with modesty; fearing no enemy, and making none; and is as much ashamed of insolence, as cowardice.

OGDEN.

REPROACH or mute digust is the reward
Of candid friendship, that disdains to hide
Unpalatable truth.

SMOLLET.

THE SPIRITS' MYSTERIES.

THE power that dwelleth in sweet sounds to waken Vague yearnings, like the sailor's for the shore, And dim remembrances, whose hue seems taken From some bright former state, our own no more; Is not this all a mystery ?-Who shall say

Whence are those thoughts, and whither tends their way?

The sudden images of vanish'd things,

That o'er the spirit flash, we know not why;
Tones from some broken harp's deserted strings,
Warm sunset hues of summers long gone by,
A rippling wave-the dashing of an oar-
A flower-scent floating past our parents' door.

A word-scarce noted in its hour perchance,
Yet back returning with a plaintive tone;
A smile-a sunny or a mournful glance,

Full of sweet meanings now from this world flown;
Are not these mysteries when to life they start,
And press vain tears in gushes from the heart?

And the far wanderings of the soul in dreams,
Calling up shrouded faces from the dead,
And with them bringing soft or solemn gleams,
Familiar objects brightly to o'erspread;

And wakening buried love, or joy, or fear,
These are night's mysteries-who shall make them
clear?