The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe;
And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat:

And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity, at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.

7 Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state!

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed;

And, now it courted Love; now, raving, called on Hate.

8 With eyes upraised, as one inspired,

Pale Melancholy sat retired;

And, from her wild, sequestered seat,

In notes, by distance made more sweet,

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul:
And, dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels joined the sound:

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole
Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay
(Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,)

In hollow murmurs died away.

9 But, O! how altered was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung!
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known!

The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen,

Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear,

And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen spear.

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed:
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet, entrancing voice he loved the best.
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids,
Amid the festal-sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing:
While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings,
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round:
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound),
And he, amid his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.

NICOLAI KARAMSIN, a Russian historian and man of letters, was born is 1765, and died in 1826. His writings are numerous both in prose and verse, but his principal work, which was received with great favor by his countrymen, was a "History of Russia," in twelve volumes.

FIRST VOICE.

How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear!
With the howls of the storm-wind-the creaks of the bier
And the white bones all clattering together!

SECOND VOICE.

2 How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep: Its zephyrs, breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, And flowerets perfume it with ether.

FIRST VOICE.

3 There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, And snakes in its nettle weeds hiss.

SECOND VOICE.

4 How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb: No tempests are there: but the nightingales come, And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.

FIRST VOICE.

5 The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave: "T is the vulture's abode; 't is the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the earth with their fangs.

SECOND VOICE.

6 There the cony at evening disports with his love, Or rests on the sod; while the turtles above, Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.

FIRST VOICE.

7 There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath, And loathsome decay fill the dwelling of death; The trees are all barren and bare!

SECOND VOICE.

8 O, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume, With lilies and jessamine fair.

FIRST VOICE.

9 The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears,
Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears,
He is launched on the wreck-covered river!

SECOND VOICE.

10 The traveller, outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary, Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, And sweetly reposes forever.

CXXXI. TACT AND TALENT.

LONDON ATLAS.

TALENT is something, but tact is everything. Talent is serious, sober, grave, and respectable: tact is all that, and more too. It is not a sixth sense, but it is the life of all the five. It is the open eye, the quick ear, the judging 5 taste, the keen smell, and the lively touch; it is the interpreter of all riddles, the surmounter of all difficulties, the remover of all obstacles. It is useful in all places, and at all times; it is useful in solitude, for it shows a man his way into the world; it is useful in society, for it shows 10 him his way through the world.

15

Talent is power, tact is skill; talent is weight, tact is momentum; talent knows what to do, tact knows how to do it; talent makes a man respectable, tact will make him respected; talent is wealth, tact is ready money.

For all the practical purposes of life, tact carries it against talent, ten to one. Take them to the theatre, and put them against each other on the stage, and talent shall produce you a tragedy that will scarcely live long enough to be condemned, while tact keeps the house in a roar, 20 night after night, with its successful farces. There is no

5

want of dramatic talent, there is no want of dramatic tact; but they are seldom together: so we have successful pieces which are not respectable, and respectable pieces which are not successful.

Take them to the bar, and let them shake their learned curls at each other in legal rivalry. Talent sees its way clearly, but tact is first at its journey's end. Talent has many a compliment from the bench, but tact touches fees from attorneys and clients Talent speaks learnedly and Talent makes the world

10 logically, tact triumphantly.

wonder that it gets on no faster, tact excites astonishment that it gets on so fast. And the secret is, that tact has no weight to carry; it makes no false steps; it hits the right nail on the head; it loses no time; it takes all hints; and, 15 by keeping its eye on the weathercock, is ready to take advantage of every wind that blows.

Take them into the church. Talent has always something worth hearing, tact is sure of abundance of hearers ; talent may obtain a living, tact will make one; talent gets 20 a good name, tact a great one; talent convinces, tact converts; talent is an honor to the profession, tact gains honor from the profession.

Take them to court. Talent feels its weight, tact finds its way; talent commands, tact is obeyed; talent is hon25 ored with approbation, and tact is blessed by preferment.

Place them in the senate. Talent has the ear of the house, but tact wins its heart, and has its votes; talent is fit for employment, but tact is fitted for it. Tact has a knack of slipping into place with a sweet silence and glibness of 30 movement, as a billiard ball insinuates itself into the pocket. It seems to know everything, without learning anything. It has served an invisible and extemporary apprenticeship; it waħts no drilling; it never ranks in the awkward squad; it has no left hand, no deaf ear, no blind 35 side. It puts on no looks of wondrous wisdom, it has no air of profundity, but plays with the details of place as