By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut-flowers,
By thousands, have burst from the forest-bowers,
And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes,
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains.
-But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb!

I have passed o'er the hills of the stormy North
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth,
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the rein-deer bounds through the pasture free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,

And the moss looks bright where my step has been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a gentle sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky,
From the night-bird's lay through the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-bough into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain-brows,
They are flinging spray on the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.

Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may be now your home.
Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly,
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay:
Come forth to the sunshine: I may not stay!

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men,
The waters are sparkling in wood and glen;
Away from the chamber and dusky hearth,
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth;
Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

But ye!-ye are changed since ye met me last;
A shade of earth has been round you cast!
There is that come over your brow and eye
Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die
Ye smile!-but your smile hath a dimness yet—
-Oh! what have ye looked on since last we met?

Ye are changed, ye are changed!—and I see not here
All whom I saw in the vanished year!

There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright,
Which tossed in the breeze with a play of light;
There were eyes, in whose glistening laughter lay
No faint remembrance of dull decay.

There were steps, that flew o'er the cowslip's head,
As if for a banquet all earth were spread;

There were voices that rung through the sapphire sky,
And had not a sound of mortality!

-Are they gone?—is their mirth from the green hills passed?
-Ye have looked on Death since ye met me last!

I know whence the shadow comes o'er ye now:
Ye have strown the dust on the sunny brow!
Ye have given the lovely to Earth's embrace;
She hath taken the fairest of Beauty's race!
With their laughing eyes and their festal crown,
They are gone from amongst you in silence down!

They are gone from amongst you, the bright and fair;
Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair!

-But I know of a world where there falls no blight:
I shall find them there, with their eyes of light!

Where Death, midst the blooms of the morn, may dwell,
I tarry no longer :-farewell, farewell!

The summer is hastening, on soft winds borne:

Ye

may press the grape, ye may bind the corn For me, I depart to a brighter shore :

Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more. go where the loved, who have left you, dwell,

I

And the flowers are not Death's :-fare ye well, farewell!

LESSON LXXXVI.

Folly of deferring, to a Future Time, the religious Duties of the Present.-WELLBELOVED.

THERE are few young persons so careless and indifferen.. as not occasionally to look forward to the time when they shall become devout. However they may neglect God, and disregard the duties of religion at present, they hope to serve and obey God, and to live virtuously, before they die.

Alas! they reflect not, that, by a continuance in evil practices, they render it almost impossible that they should attain to any love of virtue; that, by forming habits inconsistent with piety, in the early period of their lives, they expose themselves to the almost certain hazard of never acquiring one pious sentiment, how protracted soever their existence in the present world.

Be careful, I entreat you, my young friends, not to indulge such fallacious hopes. To whatever you now devote yourselves, to that you will, most probably, continue to adhere to the last hour. Your future pursuits may be in some respects altered, but they will never be totally changed. A vicious youth almost invariably becomes a vicious man; and they whose declining years are dignified by virtue and piety, are, for the most part, those who sought wisdom early and found her.

We are the creatures of habit; and, if we wish to be found, in old age, proceeding in the paths of wisdom and virtue, we must yield ourselves to the counsels of religion in the days of our youth. It is both the safest and the easiest way to form no habits which you propose hereafter to break, to cherish no dispositions which you hope, when time has confirmed them, to relinquish; to gain a fondness for no practices which you know will, if not abandoned, disqualify you for the happiness of a future state.

If you cannot resolve to be pious now, how can you hope for the resolution hereafter? If passion exerts so strong an influence at present, how can you expect that long indulgence will lessen its power? If you neglect to form habits of virtue, when every thing invites and assists you in this important work, how can you trust to that period, when, to the labour and difficulty of acquiring new principles, will be added that of undoing all that the former years of your lives have effected?

A moment's reflection will show you, that the attainment of pious affections in old age, after a long pursuit of folly, must require nothing less than an entire change of dispositions and of conduct, a complete regeneration of the mind and character. Old things must pass away, and all things become new. From reflecting, turn yourselves to the experience of mankind, and observe how few are capable of the exertion so necessary in this momentous concern.

"Remember, then, your Creator, in the days of your youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, in which," disturbed by reflections upon the past, oppressed by the consciousness of your inability to relinquish what you disapprove, and alarmed at the prospect of futurity, "ye shall say, We have no pleasure in them."

It is an error, too commonly prevalent, that the duties of piety are inconsistent with the enjoyment of youth, and that they tend to damp, if not extinguish, the vivacity which adorns that season of life. You will perhaps be told, that devotion is not required in you; that it will serve only to render you gloomy, disqualify you for the society of those who are young like yourselves, and render you a fit companion for those only, who have forgotten the days of former years, and have arrived at the verge of the grave.

Be not influenced by such assertions; make the experiment for yourselves; and, if you do not find that the ways of piety are the only ways of pleasantness, and her paths the only paths of peace, I ask you not to walk in them: if the service of God do not yield you the only rational and pure pleasure, I will cease from advising you to avoid the debasing slavery of sin.

That devotion will interfere with the pursuits which young persons sometimes follow, and prohibit the pleasures in which they are too frequently seen to indulge, I will not deny. Yes, my young friends, if you will be virtuous and devout, you must refrain from all those pleasures which end in pain; you must abandon all those pursuits which lead to disgrace and ruin; you must apply to other sources of gratification than those, which, however sweet to the taste, contain a deadly poison; you must fly the society of those "whose feet go down to death, whose steps take hold on hell;" and often send your thoughts to that land of promise, where all the wise and virtuous shall enjoy inconceivable and uninterrupted happiness.

Are these requisitions unreasonable? are these injunc

tions oppressive? will these destroy your innocent gayety, or render you gloomy and austere? The most thoughtless and inexperienced will acknowledge, that no joys but such as are innocent can be pure and lasting; and piety requires of you no more, than that you indulge not in those that are impure and deceitful.

The peculiar enjoyment of youth arises from innocence, inexperience in the vicissitudes and trials of life, and ardent hope. Devotion, therefore, will increase your enjoyment, instead of lessening it, by rendering you secure against temptations, assuring you of the favour and friendship of God, encouraging you to contemplate, with satisfaction and with pleasure, whatever his providence shall reserve for you in future; and, above all, by giving a wider scope for your expectations to range in,-by opening before you the eternal abodes of the wise and the good.

LESSON LXXXVII.

Religion the best Preparation for the Duties of Life.-NORTON

THE interest which we feel in the young should direct our attention to all those means, by which their virtue and happiness may be secured, and by which they may be saved, as far as possible, from the evils that are in the world. The worst sufferings, to which they are exposed, are those which may be avoided; for they are those which we bring upon ourselves.

The best preparation, which we can give them, for meeting the trials, and performing the duties, of life, is religious principle. Through the influence of this only can a character be formed, which will lead one to act, and suffer, and resist, wisely and honourably, in every situation. This only can deliver man from the power of the world, and secure him from becoming the slave of circumstances and accidents.

The essential truths of religion are those truths, which we know concerning God; and concerning ourselves, considered as immortal beings. It is religion which teaches us what we are, and on whom we depend; and which, widening immeasurably our sphere of view, discovers to us by far the most important of our relations, those which connect us with God, and with eternity. It is little to say