“Man!” comprehensive Volume!--busy Man-- A world of warring passions, hopes and fears; Good, evil--all within one little span! Pride, meanness; wisdom, folly; smiles and tears; Th' oppressor, the oppress'd; the coward, brave; Fate's foot-ball from the cradle to the grave! These records of thy studious days and eves, Thy musings and experience, are to me A moral, that this sure impression leaves; Man never yet was happy--ne'e?' can be! The feverish bliss, my friend, that dreamers feign, Binds him a prisoner faster to his chain. The miser to his treasure, and the proud To pride and its dominion;--to his gorge The glutton;--and the low promiscuous crowd To sordid sensualities, that forge The unseen fetters, which so firmly bind, Are all ignobly bound in body;--mind. He only is a free man, who, like thee, Does stand aloof, and mark the wild uproar That shakes the depths of life's tempestuous sea; And steers his fragile bark along the shore. The swelling canvass and the prosperous gale Herald the shipwreck's melancholy tale! Nature, all beauteous Nature!--thou hast sung In prose poetic, through each various scene; And when thy harp upon the willows hung, She kept thy form erect, thy brow serene; And breathed upon thy soul; and peace was there: The soft, still music of a mother's prayer. She gave thee truth, humility, content; A spirit to return for evil good; A grateful heart for bliss denied, or sent; And sweet companionship in solitude! Candour, that wrong offence nor takes, nor gives; A brother's boundless love for all that lives! Pursue thy solemn theme.--And when on a Man The curtain thou hast dropp'd, return once more To Nature. She has Beauties yet to scan, New Harmonies, Sublimities, in store! She will repay thy love; and weave, and spread, A garland--and a pillow--for thy head. Uncle Timothy. Winding through a verdant copse, we suddenly came in sight of an elegant mansion. From a flower-woven arbour, sacred to retirement, proceeded the notes of a guitar. “Hush!” said the Lauréat, colouring deeply,-- “breathe not! Stir not!” And a voice of surpassing sweetness sang Farewell Autumn's shady bowers, Purple fruits and fragrant flowers, Golden fields of waving com, And merry lark that wakes the mom I Earth a mournful silence keeps, See, the dewy landscape weeps! Hark! thro* yonder lonely dell Gentle zephyrs sigh farewell! Call'd ere long by vernal spring,