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The Lord and the Judge.—Lomonosov.* The God of gods stood up-stood up to try The assembled gods of earth. “How long," he said, “How long will ye protect impiety, And let the vile one raise his daring head ? 'Tis yours my laws to justify-redress All wrong,
however high the wronger be ;
ye like fading autumn-leaves will fall ;
WHATE’er thou purposest to do,
A certain man a house would build ;
And thus in silent waiting stood
Your house is finished, Sir, at last ;
LESSON XXXVII. Hope triumphant in death.—CAMPBELL. UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn, When soul to sou), and dust to dust return, Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour! Oh! then thy kingdom comes, Immortal Power ! What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal dayThen, then, the triumph and the trance begin! And all the Phænix spirit burns within!
Oh! deep-enchanting prěl'ude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die! Mysterious worlds, untravell’d by the sun! Where Time's far-wandering tide has never run, From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears.
'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud,
Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume
Soul of the just! companion of the dead ! Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ? Back to its heavenly source thy being goes, Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ; Doom'd on his airy path awhile to burn, And doom’d, like thee, to travel, and return.Hark! from the world's exploding centre driven, With sounds that shook the firmament of Heaven, Careers the fiery giant, fast and far, On bickering wheels, and adamantine car; From planet whirld to planet more remote, He visits realms beyond the reach of thought; But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run, Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun! So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd Her trembling wings, emerging from the world; And, o'er the path by mortal never trod, Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God !
Lines written during a thunder storm.-DMITRIEV.*
Interview between Waverley and Fergus Mac-Ivor, at Carlisle,
previous to the execution of the latter.-Scott. AFTER a sleepless night, the first dawn of morning found Waverley on the esplanade in front of the old Gothic gate of Carlisle castle. But he paced it long in every direction before the hour when, according to the rules of the garrison, the gates were opened, and the drawbridge lowered. He produced his order to the sergeant of the guard, and was admitted. The place of Fergus's confinement was a gloomy and vaulted apartment in the central part of the castle; a huge old tower, supposed to be of great antiquity, and surrounded by outworks, seemingly of Henry VIII's time, or soniewhat later. The grating of the huge old-fashioned bars and bolts, withdrawn for the purpose of admitting Edward, was answered by the clash of chains, as the unfor. tunate chieftain, strongly and heavily fettered, shuffled along the stone floor of his prison, to filing himseif into his friend's arms.
* Bowring's Speciinens of Russian Poets.
My dear Edward,” he said, in a firm and even cheerful voice, “ this is truly kind. I heard of your approaching happiness with the highest pleasure ; and how does Rose ? and how is our old whimsical friend the Baron? Well, I am sure,
your looks—and how will you settle precē'. dence between the three ermines passant, and the bear and boot-jack ?”—“How, O how, my dear Fergus, can you talk of such things at such a moment ?”—“Why, we have entered Carlisle with happier auspices, to be sure—on the 16th of November last, for example, when we marched in, side by side, and hoisted the white flag on these ancient towers. But I am no boy, to sit down and weep because the luck has gone against me.
I knew the stake which I risked; we played the game boldly, and the forfeit shall be paid manfully.
“ You are rich,” he continued, “Waverley, and you are generous; when you hear of these poor Mac-Ivors being distressed about their miserable possessions by some harsh overseer or agent of government, remember you have worn their tartan, and are an adopted son of their race. The Baron, who knows our manners, and lives near our country, will apprize you of the time and means to be their protector. Will you promise this to the last Vich Ian Vohr ?”. Edward, as may well be believed, pledged his word; which afterwards he so amply redeemed, that his memory still lives in these glens by the name of the Friend of the Sons of Ivor.-“ Would to God," continued the chieftain, “I could bequeath to you my rights to the love and obedience of this primitive and brave race: or at least, as I have striven to do, persuade poor Evan to accept of his life upon their terms; and be to you what he has been to me, the kindest -the bravest--the most devoted
The tears which his own fate could not draw forth, fell fast for that of his foster-brother. “ But," said he, drying them, “ that cannot be. You cannot be to them Vich' Ian