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ductor of souls, the god Anubis; the formidable dog, the guardian of the mansion of Osiris, (or the divine abode ;) the balance in which the heart or deeds of the deceased are weighed against the symbol of integrity; the infant Harpocrates-the emblem of a new life seated before the throne of the judge; the range of assessors who are to pronounce on the life of the being come up to judgment; and finally the judge himself, whose suspended sceptre is to give the sign of acceptance-or condemnation. Here the deceased has crossed the living valley and river; and in the caves of the death region where the howl of the wild dog is heard by night, is this process of judgment going forward and none but those who have seen the contrasts of the region with their own eyes, none who have received the idea through the borrowed imagery of the Greeks, or the traditions of any other people, can have any adequate notion how the mortuary ideas of the primitive Egyptians, and through them, of the civilised world at large, have been originated by the everlasting conflict of the Nile and the Desert. Harriet Martineau.
HEARD a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
And 'tis my faith that every flower
The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
The budding twigs spread out their fan
And I must think, do all I can,
If this belief from Heaven be sent,
What man has made of man!
THE LOST SHEPHERD.
THE snows arise, and foul and fierce
All Winter drives along the darken'd air. In his own loose-revolving fields the swain Disaster'd stands; sees other hills ascend,
Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,
Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on
Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home
A dire descent! beyond the power of frost ;
Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge,
Smooth'd up with snow; and, what is land, unknown, What water, of the still unfrozen spring,
In the loose marsh or solitary lake,
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils.
These check his fearful steps; and down he sinks
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,