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7. WHAT IS AMBITION?

WHAT is ambition? 'Tis a glorious cheat!
Angels of light walk not so dazzling

The shining walls of heaven. The unsearched mine
Hath not such gems. Earth's constellated thrones
Have not such pomp of purple and of gold.
It hath no features. In its face is set
A mirror, and the gazer sees his own.
It looks a god, but it is like himself!
It hath a mien of empery, and smiles
Majestically sweet, but how like him!

His kindred are forgotten or estranged;
Unhealthful fires burn constant in his eye;
His lip grows restless, and its smile is curled
Half into scorn, till the bright, fiery boy,
That was a daily blessing but to see,
His spirit was so bird-like and so pure,
Is frozen, in the very flush of youth,
Into a cold, care-fretted, heartless man.

But what is its reward? At best, a name!
Praise, when the ear has grown too dull to hear;
Gold, when the senses it should please are dead;
Wreaths, when the hair they cover has grown gray;
Fame, when the heart it should have thrilled is numb;
All things but love when love is all we want.
And close behind comes Death, and ere we know
That e'en these unavailing gifts are ours,

He sends us, stripped and naked, to the grave!

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS

8. THE ORATOR DESCRIBED.

IMAGINE to yourselves Demosthenes, addressing the most illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations depended.

How awful such a moment! How vast the subject! Is the man possessed of talents equal to the great occasion? Yes, superior! By the power of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost in the dignity of the orator; and the importance of the subject, for a while, is superseded by admiration of his talents.

With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault and subjugate the whole man, and at once captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions! To effect this, must be the utmost effort of the most improved state of human nature. Not a faculty that he possesses is here unemployed; not a faculty that he possesses but here is exerted to its utmost pitch. All his internal powers are at work. All his external, testify their energies. Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the passions, are all busy. Without, every muscle, every nerve, is excited. Not a feature, not a limb, but speaks. The organs of the body, attuned to the exertions of the mind, through the kindred organs of the hearers, instantly vibrate those energies from soul to soul.

Notwithstanding the diversity of minds in such a multitude, by the lightning of eloquence they are melted into one mass; the whole assembly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry is, "Let us march against Philip! Let us fight for our liberties! Let us conquer, or die!"

RICHARD BRINSLEY BUTLER SHERIDAN.

9. PROCRASTINATION.

BE wise to-day. "Tis madness to defer:
Next day the fatal precedent will plead;
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life.

Procrastination is the thief of time:
Year after year it steals, till all are fled,
And to the mercy of a moment leaves
The vast concerns of an eternal scene.

Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, that all men are about to live,

Forever on the brink of being born.

All pay themselves the compliment to think
They one day shall not drivel; and their pride,
On this reversion, takes up ready praise,

At least, their own; their future selves applaud.
How excellent that life they ne'er will lead!
Time lodged in their own hands is Folly's vails;
That lodged in Fate's, to wisdom they consign:
The thing they can't, but purpose, they postpone.
"T is not in folly not to scorn a fool,

And scarce in human wisdom to do more.

All promise is poor dilatory man,

And that through every stage. When young, indeed,
In full content, we sometimes nobly rest
Un-anxious for ourselves; and only wish,
As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise.

At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty, chides his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve;

In all the magnanimity of thought,
Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.
And why? Because he thinks himself immortal.
All men think all men mortal but themselves;
Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate
Strikes through their wounded heart some sudden dread;
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air,
Soon close: where passed the shaft, no trace is found.

EDWARD YOUNG.

10. A PETITION TO TIME.

TOUCH us gently, Time.

Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently, as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream.

Humble voyagers are we:

Husband, wife, and children three

(One is lost,

an angel, fled

To the azure overhead).

Touch us gently, Time.

We've not proud or soaring wings;

Our ambition, our content,

Lies in simple things.

Humble voyagers are we,

O'er life's dim, unsounded sea,

Seeking only some calm clime:

Touch us gently, gentle Time.

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (Barry Cornwall).

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"TO-MORROW," didst thou say?

Methought I heard Horatio say, "To-morrow!"
Go to! I will not hear of it. "To-morrow?"
"T is a sharper, who stakes his penury
Against thy plenty; takes thy ready cash.

And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and promises,-
The currency of idiots; injurious bankrupt,

That gulls the easy creditor.

"To-morrow ?"

It is a period nowhere to be found
In all the hoary registers of Time,
Unless, perchance, in the fool's calendar.
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society
With those who own it.

No, my dear Horatio,

'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father;

Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless
As the fantastic visions of the evening.

But soft, my friend, arrest the present moments,
For, be assured, they all are arrant tell-tales;
And though their flight be silent, and their paths
Trackless as the winged couriers of the air,
They post to heaven, and there record thy folly;
Because, though stationed on the important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,
Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved.
And know for that thou slumberest on thy guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive; and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the High Tribunal
Of hood-winked Justice, who shall tell thy audit?

Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio;
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.

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