PLUTARCH. X. Thou, Sibyl rapt! whose sympathetic soul Infused the myst’ries thy tongue failed to tell; Though from thy lips the marvellous accents fell, And weird wise meanings o’er the senses stole, Through those rare cadences, with winsome spell; Yet, even in such refrainings of thy voice, There struggled up a wailing undertone, That spoke thee victim of the Sisters’ choice,-- Charming all others, dwelling still alone. They left thee thus disconsolate to roam, And scorned thy dear, devoted life to spare. Around the storm-tost vessel sinking there The wild waves chant thy dirge and welcome home; Survives alone thy sex’s valiant plea, And the great heart that loved the brave and free. “_One knocked at the Beloved’s door, and a Voice asked from within, Who is there? And he answered, It is I. Then the Voice said, This house will not hold me and thee, and the door was not opened. Then went the Lover into the desert, and fasted and prayed in solitude. And after a year he returned, and knocked again at the door. And again the Voice asked, Who is there? and he said, It is Thyself. And the door was opened to him_”. PERSIAN POET. XI. Priest of the gladsome tidings, old and new, To whom by nature fell, as the most fit, The saintly Channing’s mantle; brave and true, Thou heedst thy calling, and dost well acquit Thyself of the high mission. Thy sage wit (O brother in the Lord, and well approved To lead men heavenward to the Father’s throne, And Son’s that sits at His right hand beloved!) Hath ministered to every clime and zone Washed by Pacific or Atlantic sea, With chainless flow ’neath Heaven’s unbounded cope. Son of the Church, saint of thy century! Undoubting faith is thine, and fadeless hope, And ardent, all-embracing charity. “_Philosophy does not look into pedigrees. She did not receive Plato as noble, but she made him such_ ”. SENECA. XII. Interpreter of the Pure Reason’s laws, And all the obligations Thought doth owe These high ambassadors of her great cause; Philosopher! whose rare discernments show Apt mastery of her surpassing skill, And why each thought and thing is inly so Conceived and fashioned in the plastic Will; Thou Reason’s canons dost so well maintain, With such adhesive and sincere regard, That every deviator seeks in vain To escape thy apprehension; evil-starred, With Dante’s sophisters they writhe in pain. Then from thy judgment-seat, dismissed with ruth, Thou lead’st the stumblers in the way of truth.