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declivities in colors dipped in heaven, has been the source of the most absorbing sensations. There stands magnitude, giving the instant impression of a power above man, grandeur that defies decay, antiquity that tells of ages unnumbered, beauty that the touch of time makes only more beautiful, use exhaustless for the service of man, strength imperishable as the globe; the monument of eternity, the truest earthly emblem of that everliving, unchangeable, irresistible Majesty, by whom and for whom all things were made!

ODE ON THE PASSIONS.-Collins.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet, in early Greece, she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell;
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired,

From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart,
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each for madness ruled the hour-

Would prove his own expressive power.

2.

First, Fear, his hand its skill to try,
Amid the chords, bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Even at the sound himself had made.
3.

Next, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,
In lightnings, own'd his secret stings:
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept, with hurried hands, the strings
4.

With woful measures, wan Despair--
Low, sullen sounds! his grief beguiled;
A solemn, strange, and mingled air;
'Twas sad, by fits-by starts, 'twas wild.
5.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure!

Still it whisper'd-promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail,
Still would her touch the strain prolong;

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,

She call'd on Echo still, through all her song.

And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smiled and wav'd her golden hair.

6.

And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,

Revenge-impatient rose,

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down

And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast, so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wce;
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 unalter'd mien; While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his

head.

7.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state!

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd:

And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate.

8.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,

Pale Melancholy sat, retired;

And, from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes, by distance made more sweet,

Par'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul:
And, dashing soft, from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels joined the sound.

Thro' glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole;
Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay,
Round-a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing-
In hollow murmurs-died away.

9.

Bat, oh! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest bue, Her bow across her shoulders flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket 1ung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known!

10.

The oak-crown'd 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 leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.

11.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial.

He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd;
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet, entrancing voice he lov'd 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 kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd, 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.

THE HOLY ALLIANCE.-Daniel Webster.

It is not a little remarkable, that a writer of reputa. tion upon the Public Law, described, many years ago, not inaccurately, the character of the Holy Alliance.

I allude to Puffendorff. "It seems useless," says he,
"to frame any pacts or leagues barely for the defence
and support of universal peace; for, by such a league,
nothing is superadded to the obligation of natural law,
and no agreement is made for the performance of any-
thing, which the parties were not previously bound to
perform; nor is the original obligation rendered firmer
or stronger by such an addition. Men of any tolerable
culture and civilization might well be ashamed of enter-
ing into any such compact, the conditions of which imply
only that the parties concerned shall not offend in any
clear point of duty. Besides, we should be guilty of
great irreverence toward God, should we suppose that
his injunctions had not already laid a sufficient obliga.
tion upon us to act justly, unless we ourselves volun-
tarily consented to the same engagement: as if our
obligation to obey his will depended upon our own plea

sure.

2. "If one engage to serve another, he does not set it down expressly and particularly among the terms and conditions of the bargain, that he will not betray nor murder him, nor pillage nor burn his house. For the same reason, that would be a dishonorable engagement in which men should bind themselves to act properly and decently, and not break the peace.

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3. Such were the sentiments of that eminent writer. How nearly he had anticipated the case of the Holy Alliance, will appear from comparing his observations with the preamble to that alliance, which is as follows:

* Book 2, chap. ii.

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