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aspects, the poetry which breathes from their streams, and dells, and airy hights, were a proud heritage to imaginative minds. But what are all these when the thought comes, that without mountains, the spirit of man must have bowed to the brutal and the base, and probably have sunk to the monotonous level of the unvaried plain?

Look at the bold barriers of Palestine! see how the infant liberties of Greece, were sheltered from the vast tribes of the uncivilized north by the hights of Hæmus and Rhodope ! Behold how the Alps describe their magnificent crescent, inclining their opposite extremities to the Adriatic and Tyrrhine Seas, locking up Italy from the Gallic and Teutonic hordes, till the power and spirit of Rome had reached their maturity, and she had opened the wide forest of Europe to the light, spread far her laws and language, and planted the seeds

many mighty nations !

Thanks to God for mountains! Their colossal firmness seems almost to break the current of time itself. The geologist in them searches for traces of the early world, and it is there too, that man, resisting the revolutions of lower regions, retains through innumerable years his habits and his rights. While a multitude of changes has remolded the people of Europe, while languages, and laws, and dynasties, and creeds, have passed over it like shadows over the landscape, the children of the Celt and the Goth, who fled to the mountains a thousand years ago, are found there now, and show us in face and figure, in language and garb, what their fathers were; show us a fine contrast with the modern tribes dwelling below and around them; and show us, moreover, how adverse is the spirit of the mountain to mutability, and that there the fiery heart of Freedom is found forever.

HOWITT.

of

LESSON CVIII.

HYMN OF THE MOUNTAINEERS.
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,

Our God, our fathers' God!
Thou hast made thy children mighty,

By the touch of the mountain sod.

Thou hast fixed our ark of refuge,

Where the spoiler's feet ne'er trod;
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,

Our God, our fathers' God!

We are watchers of a beacon

Whose light must never die;
We are guardians of an altar

Mid the silence of the sky:
The rocks yield founts of courage,

Struck forth as by thy rod ;
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,

Our God, our fathers' God !

For the dark, resounding caverns,

Where thy still, small voice is heard ;
For the strong pines of the forests,

That by thy breath are stirred;
For the storms, on whose free pinions

Thy spirit walks abroad;
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,

Our God, our fathers' God.

The royal eagle darteth

On his quarry from the hights, And the stag that knows no master,

Seeks there his wild delights ;
But we, for thy communion,

Have sought the mountain sod;
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,

Our God, our fathers' God!

The banner of the chieftain,

Far, far, below us waves ;The war-horse of the spearman

Cannot reach our lofty caves ;
Thy dark clouds wrap the threshold

Of freedom's last abode;
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

Mrs. HEMANS.

LESSON CIX.

THE WINDS.

We come! we come! and ye feel our might,
As we're hastening on in our boundless flight;
And over the mountains, and over the deep,
Our broad invisible pinions sweep
Like the spirit of liberty, wild and free,
And

ye look on our works, and own 'tis we; Ye call us the Winds; but can ye tell Whither we go, or where we dwell?

Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power,
And fell the forests, or fan the flower,
When the hare-bell moves, and the rush is bent,
When the tower's o'erthrown, and the oak is rent,
As we waft the bark o'er the slumbering wave,
Or hurry its crew to a watery grave;
And ye say it is we! but can ye trace
The wandering winds to their secret place?

And whether our breath be loud and high,
Or come in a soft and balmy sigh,
Our threatenings fill the soul with fear,
Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear
With music aerial, still, 'tis we.
And ye list, and ye look; but what do you see ?
Can you hush one sound of our voice to peace ?
Or waken one note, when our numbers cease ?

Our dwelling is in the Almighty's hand;
We come and we go at his command,
Though joy, or sorrow, may mark our track,
His will is our guide, and we look not back ;
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away,
Or win us in gentle airs to play,
Then lift up your hearts to him who binds,
Or frees, as he will, the obedient Winds !

Miss H. F. GOULD.

LESSON CX.

MUSINGS.
I WANDERED out one summer night,

"T was when my years were few, The breeze was singing in the light,

And I was singing too.
The moonbeams lay upon the hill,

The shadows in the vale,
And here and there a leaping rill

Was laughing at the gale.
One fleecy cloud upon the air

Was all that met my eyes,
It floated like an angel there

Between me and the skies.
I clapped my hands and warbled wild,

As here and there I flew,
For I was but a careless child,

And did as children do.
The waves came leaping o'er the sea,

In bright and glittering bands,
Like little children wild with glee,

They linked their dimpled hands. They linked their hands, but ere I caught

Their mingled drops of dew,
They kissed my feet as quick as thought;

Away the ripples flew !
The twilight hours like birds flew by,

As lightly and as free;
Ten thousand stars were in the sky,

Ten thousand in the sea.
For every wave with dimpled cheek,

That leaped upon the air,
Had caught a star in its embrace,

And held it trembling there.
The young moon, too, with upturned sides,

Her mirrored beauty gave,
And as a bark at anchor rides

She rode upon the wave.
The sea was like the heaven above,

As perfect and as whole,
Save that it seemed to thrill with love,

As thrills the immortal soul.

The leaves, by spirit-voices stirred,

Made murmurs on the air,
Low murmurs, that my spirit heard,

And answered with a prayer,
For 't was upon the dewy sod,

Beside the moaning seas,
I learned at first to worship God,

And sing such strains as these.

The flowers all folded to their dreams,

Were bowed in slumber free,
By breezy hills and murmuring streams,

Where'er they chanced to be.
No guilty tears had they to weep,

No sins to be forgiven;
They closed their eyes and went to sleep,

Right in the face of heaven.

No costly raiment round them shone,

No jewels from the seas, Yet Solomon, upon his throne,

Was ne'er arrayed like these. And just as free from guilt and art,

Were lovely human flowers, Ere sorrow set her bleeding heart

On this fair world of ours,

I heard the laughing wind behind,

Playing with my hair,
The breezy fingers of the wind,

How cool and moist they were !
I heard the night bird warbling o'er

Its soft enchanting strain :
I never heard such sounds before,

And never shall again.

Then wherefore weave such strains as these,

And sing them day by day,
When every

bird
upon

the breeze,
Can sing a sweeter lay?
I'd give the world for their sweet art,

The simple, the divine;
I'd give the world to melt one heart,

As they have melted mine. MRS. A. B. WELBY.

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