5 10 All passions in our frames of clay Imagination's world of air, And our own world, its gloom and glee, And death's sublimity. And Burns, though brief the race he ran, LESSON LXVI.-THE FUTURE LIFE.-W. C. BRYANT. Lines addressed to a deceased friend. How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps, 5 For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain, 10 Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven? 20 Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? A happier lot than mine, and larger light, And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 25 For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, Shrink and consume the heart, as heat the scroll And wrath hath left its scar,-that fire of hell Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 10 Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? LESSON LXVII.-THE SPIRIT OF POETRY.-H. W. LONGFELLOW. There is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where'er the south wind blows; Where, underneath the white thorn in the glade, Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Aslant the wooded slope at evening goes; Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in; The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, 5 In many a lazy syllable, repeating Their old poetical legends to the wind. And this is the sweet spirit that doth fill The world; and, in these wayward days of youth, 10 As the bright image of the light and beauty 15 The heaven of April, with its changing light, Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek 20 Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes 25 To have it round us, and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. 5 10 LESSON LXVIII.-THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW.-N. P. WILL”. Woe! for my vine-clad home! That it should ever be so dark to me, With its bright threshold, and its whispering tree' Fearing the lonely echo of a tread, Beneath the roof-tree of my glorious dead! Lead on my orphan boy! Thy home is not so desolate to thee, May bring to thee a joy; But, oh! how dark is the bright home before thee II T" 5 10 15 Lead on! for thou art now My sole remaining helper. God hath spoken, The forehead of my upright one, and just, He will not meet thee there Who blessed thee at the eventide, my son! The lips that melted, giving thee to God, Is with the sleepers of the valley cast, Woe! that the linden and the vine should bloom, LESSON LXIX.-THE SICILIAN VESPERS.- J. G. WHITTIER. With the veil of evening fell, Till the convent tower sent deeply forth The chime of its vesper-bell.* 5 One moment, and that solemn sound Fell heavily on the ear; 10 15 20 But a sterner echo passed around, The peasant heard the sound, As he sat beside his hearth; And the song and the dance were hushed around, *The signal adopted by the Sicilians, for commencing the massacre of their French conquerors, 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 The chieftain shook in his bannered hall, And the warder shrank from the castle wall, Woe, woe, to the stranger then, In the red array of mailed men, For the wakened pride of an injured land From the plumed chief to the pilgrim band; Proud beings fell that hour, With the young and passing fair; And the flame went up from dome and tower The stranger priest at the altar stood, And clasped his beads in prayer, But the holy shrine grew dim with blood, The avenger found him there! Woe, woe, to the sons of Gaul, To the serf and mailed lord! They were gathered darkly, one and all, And the morning sun, with a quiet smile, On ruined temple and mouldering pile, And the man of blood that day might read, In a language freely given, How ill his dark and midnight deed Became the light of heaven. LESSON LXX.-MEXICAN MYTHOLOGY.-WM. H. PRESCOTT. The Aztecs, or ancient Mexicans, had no adequate con ception of the true God. with whom volition is action, who has no need of inferior The idea of unity,-of a being, |