Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Blest is thy dwelling-place Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! James Hogg. MY LESSON 33. THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED. Y beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy winged Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind, The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind, The stranger hath thy bridle-rein, thy master hath his gold, Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell! thou 'rt sold, my steed, thou 'rt sold. 2. Farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile must roam, To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home; Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bread Thy silky mane I braided once, must be another's care. The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee Shall I gallop through the desert paths where we were wont to be. Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the sandy plain Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again: 3. Yes! thou must go! the wild free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky, Thy master's house, from all of these my exiled one must fly. Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet, And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck thy master's hand to meet. Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright, Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light; And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed, Then must I, starting, wake to feel thou 'rt sold, my Arab steed. 4. Ah, rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide, Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy pant ing side; And the rich blood that's in thee swells in thy indignant pain, Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each starting vein. Will they ill use thee? If I thought-But no, it cannot be Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed, so gentle, yet so free. And yet if haply, when thou 'rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn, Can the same hand which casts thee off command thee to return? 5. Return? Alas, my Arab steed, what shall thy master do, When thou, who wert his all of joy, hast vanished from his view? When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears Thy bright form for a moment like the false mirage appears? Slow and unmounted will I roam with weary foot alone, Where with fleet step and joyous bound thou oft hast borne me on: And, sitting down by that green well, will pause and sadly think, 'Twas here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink. 6. When last I saw him drink! Away! the fevered dream is o'er; I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no more; They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong; They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long: Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold? 'Tis false, 't is false! my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold. Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains Away! Who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his Mrs. Caroline E. S. Norton. pains! LESSON 35. THE BLIND PREACHER. SI traveled through the county of Orange, my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous, old, wooden house in the forest, not far from the roadside. Having frequently seen such objects before, in traveling through these States, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of religious worship. 2. Devotion alone should have stopped me to join in the duties of the congregation; but I must confess that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness was not the least of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man; his head, which was covered with a white linen cap, his shriveled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of a palsy; and a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind. 3. The first emotions that touched my breast were those of mingled pity and veneration. But how soon were all my feelings changed? The lips of Plato were never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees than were the lips of this holy man! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament; and his subject was, of course, the passion of our Saviour. I had heard the subject handled a thousand times; I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that, in the wild woods of America, I was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic a new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before witnessed. 4. As he descended from the pulpit, to distribute the mystic symbols, there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity in his air and manners, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver. He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour; his trial before Pilate; his ascent up Calvary; his crucifixion. I knew the whole history; but never until then had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored. It was all new; and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so deliberate that his voice trembled on every syllable; and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. 5. His peculiar phrases had that force of description that the original scene appeared to be at that moment acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the Jews; the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet; my soul kindled with a flame of indignation; and my hands were involuntarily and convulsively clinched. 6. But when he came to touch on the patience, the forgiving meekness of our Saviour; when he drew, to the life, his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," the voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter, until, his utterance being entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The effect was inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans, sobs, and shrieks of the congregation. 7. It was some time before the tumult had subsided, so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not conceive how he would be able to let his audience down from the height to which he had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of the subject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of his fall. But, no: the descent was as beautiful and sublime as the elevation had been rapid and enthusi astic. 8. The first sentence with which he broke the awful |