A rosy smile o'erspreads her face :
Her mien assumes a softer grace:
She waves her snowy hand; and, see!
My gentle lyre, she points to thee.
She takes, she tunes my trembling lyre;
And, swelling, lo! the notes aspire.
She strikes the chords; and, all around,
The list'ning Echoes drink the sound.

Pure Iambic verses of ten syllables, or five feet, having the accent uniformly placed on the second, fourth, sixth, eighth, and tenth syllables, as

ǎ sūd-l-děn blush | inflames | the wa-l-ving sky, and now the crim-l-son cur-l-tains ō-l-pěn fly

Again, my Muse, expand thy feeble wing,
And wake, with bolder touch, the trembling string.

If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,
Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain.

The cross so strong a red, it sheds a stain,
Where'er it floats, on earth and sea and main.

language, and regrets that the Latin has so few of them. Let not us, who have still fewer, consent to diminish our number, and thus reduce ourselves to the necessity of an aukward periphrase, to express an idea which we can now conveniently comprise in a single word.-In the preceding remarks, I have used the term active, merely in opposition to passive, without regarding the distinction (unnecessary in this place) between transitive and intransitive verbs.

He rose, and saw the field deform'd with blood,
An empty space, where late the coursers stood.

With these, of old, to toils of battle bred,
In early youth my hardy days I led.

There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight;
And Jove himself shall guard a monarch's right.

The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow;
And hissing flew the feather'd fates below.

Th' assembly seated-rising o'er the rest,
Achilles thus the king of men address'd.

To honor Thetis' son he bends his care,
And plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war.

The army thus in sacred rites engag'd,
Atrides still with deep resentment rag'd.

A prophet then, inspir'd by heav'n, arose,
And points the crime, and thence derives the woes.

So short a space the light of heav'n to view!
So short a space, and fill'd with sorrow too!

At this, the sire embrac'd the maid again,
So sadly lost, so lately sought in vain.

While thus, with arms devoutly rais'd in air,
And solemn voice, the priest directs his pray'r....

She said; and, sighing, thus the god replies,
Who rolls the thunder o'er the vaulted skies.

Thy boundless will, for me, remains in force;
And all thy counsels take the destin❜d course.

The thund'rer spoke; nor durst the queen reply:
A rev'rent horror silenc'd all the sky.

Apollo tun'd the lyre; the Muses, round,
With voice alternate aid the silver sound.

She'll lead thee on to seek a deathless name,
And snatch the wreath which binds the brow of Fame.

The Muse astonish'd drops her feeble lyre;
And baffled art gives way to nature's fire.

Aghast she started back, and shook with pain,
As rising breezes curl the trembling main.

The tale of woe no longer strikes the ear;
And ev'ry eye is dried from ev'ry tear.

The pow'r, that bids all cares and troubles cease,
Will kindly crown our future days with peace.

His sire's exploits he now with wonder hears:
The monstrous tales indulge his greedy ears.

She thus in hasty words her grief confess'd,
While Lucy strove to soothe her troubled breast.

Their splendid domes and busy streets declare
Their firmest fort, a king's parental care.

A man he was to all the country dear,

And passing rich * with forty pounds a year.

Iambic verses of eight syllables — in other respects,

pure Iambics

but containing examples of synæresis,

marked in Italic character...

Reclaim'd, the wild licentious youth
Confess'd the potent voice of truth.

Beneath an aged oak reclin❜d,
The various scenes engross'd my mind.

I saw thy youthful mind expand,
And still the spark of genius fann'd.

He bids the piteous tale of woe

In tender cadence sadly flow.

Pussing rich.-On the syntax of this passage from Goldsmith, and of similar phrases, see the note in page 38.

G

Amid the endless ills of life,

The stings of care, the storms of strife,
In all the anxious hours of grief,
My soul anticipates relief.

Content to court the cooling glade,
Inhale the breeze, enjoy the shade....
No anxious vigils here I keep;
No dreams of gold distract my sleep.

Superior worth your rank requires:
For that, mankind reveres your sires.

Prepare the way; your banners spread; Around ambrosial odors shed.

Thy breath inspires the poet's song,
The patriot's free, unbiass'd tongue.

The dewy leaves luxurious shed
Their balmy essence o'er his head.

Where'er I go, I play my part,
And bring a social, jovial heart.

I know, as false thy prospects glare,
As flits the meteor through the air.

Th' electric flame of glory runs
Impetuous through her hardy sons.