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ing, and benefiting mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields.

5. Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to lift the thought above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and breathe forth & purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philănthropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery that enters into the soul, and dīlātes and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, that embower this island, are most of them full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of the great spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation among them, from the tumult of arms, or the toils of state, or have wooed the muse be eath their shade.

6. It is becoming, then, for the high and generous spirits of an ancient nation to cherish these sacred groves that surround their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate them to their descendants. Brought up, as I have been, in republican habits and principles, I can feel nothing of the serv'ile reverence for titled rank, merely because it is titled. But I trust I am nēither churl nor bigot in my creed. I do see and feel how hereditary distinction, when it falls to the lot of a generous mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility.

7. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, extends the existence of the possessor. He does not feel himself a mere individual link ir creation, responsible only for his own brief term of being. Ila carries back his existence in proud recollection, and he extends it forward in honorable anticipation. He lives with his ancestry, and he lives with his posterity. To both does he consider himself involved in deep responsibilities. As he has received much from those that have gone before, so he feels bound to transmit much to those who are to come after him.

8. His domestic undertakings seem to imply a longer existence than those of ordinary men. None are so apt to build and plant for future centuries, as noble-spirited men who have received their heritages from foregoing ages. I can easily imagine, therefore, the fondness and pride with which I have noticed 'nglish gentlemen, of generous temperaments, but high aristocratic feelings, contem'plating those magnificent trees, which rise like towers and pyramids from the midst of their paternal lands. There is an affinity between all natures, animate and inanimate. The oak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, seems to me to take its rānge with the lion and the eagle, and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic and intellectual man.

9. With its mighty pillar rising straight and direct toward heaven, bearing up its leafy honors from the impurities of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sunshine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should be ; a refuge for the weak,-a shelter for the oppressed,-a defence for the defenceless ; warding off from them the peltings of the storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is this, is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who is otherwise, åbūses his eminent advantages ;-abuses the grandeur and prosperity which he has drawn from the bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down by the oppressive hand of power, who would murmur at his fate ?_“WHY CUMBERETH HE THE GROUND ?”.





\HE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned

To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them,-ere he framed
The lofty vault, to găther and roll back
The sound of anthems,-in the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication. For his simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences,
That, from the stilly twilight of the place,
And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heaven,
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound
Of the invisible breath, that swayed at once
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed
His spirit with the thought of boundless Power

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And inaccessible Majesty. Ah! why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore
Only among the crowd, and under roofs
That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least,
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood,
Offer one hymn ; thrice happy, if it find

Acceptance in his ear. 2.

Father, thy hand
Hath reared these venerable columns : thou
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose
All these fair ranks of trees. They in thy sun
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze,
And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow,
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died
Among their branches; till, at last, they stood,
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold

Communion with his Maker. 3.

Here are seen
No traces of man's pomp or pride ; no silks
Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes
Encounter ; no fantastic carvings show
The boast of our vain race to chānge the form
Of thy fair works. But thou art here; thou fill’st
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds
That run along the summits of these trees
In music; thou art in the cooler breath,
That, from the inmost darkness of the place,
Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground,

The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 4. Here is continual worship ; nature, here,

In the tranquillity that thou dost love,
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around,
From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes ; and yõn clear spring, that, midst its herbs,
Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does.


Thou hast not left
Thyself without a witness, in these sbades,
Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace,
Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak-
By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem
Almost annihilated—not a prince,
In all the proud old world beyond the deep,
E'er wore his crown as loftily as he
Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which
Thy hand has graced him, Nestled at his root
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower,
With scented breath, and look so like a smile,
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mõld,
An emanation of the indwelling Life,
A visible token of the upholding Love,

That are the soul of this wide universe.
6. My heart is awed within me, when I think

Of the great miracle that still goes on,
In silence, round me—the perpetual work
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed
Forever. Written on thy works, I read
The lesson of thy own eternity.
Lo! all grow old and die : but see, again,
How, on the faltering footsteps of decāy,
Youth presses—ever gay and beautiful youth-
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors

Mölder benēath them. 7.

Oh! there is not lost One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yět, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yět shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy Death ; yea, seats himself Upon the sepulcher, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own noŭrishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

8. There have been holy men, who hid themselves

Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived
The generation born with them, nor seemed
Less agèd than the hõary trees and rocks
Around them; and there have been holy men,
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus.
But let me often to these solitudes
Retire, and, in thy presence, reässure
My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps, shrink,

And tremble, and are still.

O God! when thou
Dost scare the world with těmpèsts, set on fire
The heavens with falling thŭnderbolts, or fill,
With all the waters of the firmament,
The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods,
And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call,
Uprises the great deep, and throws himself
Upon the continent, and overwhelms
Its cities ;—who forgěts not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power,
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by!
Oh! from these sterner aspects of thy face
Spare me and mine ; nor let us need the wrath
Of the mad, unchained elements, to teach
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate,
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty,
And to the beautiful order of thy works
Learn to conform the order of our lives. BRYANT.



T is easy enough to understand how the sight of a picture or

the original : nor is it much more difficult to conceive, how the sight of a cottage should give us something of the same feeling as the sight of a peasant's family; and the aspect of a town raise many of the same ideas as the appearance of a multitude

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