LESSON CX.

HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNL
COLERIDGE.

1. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course? so long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovereign Blanc!
The Arve and Arveiron † at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form,
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above,
Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, black,—
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But, when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity.

2. O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,

Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer,
I worshiped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought,
Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy,—

Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,

Into the mighty vision passing there,

As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven!

Cha-mou'ni, a town in a celebrated vale which lies north of Mont Blanc in Switzerland. This vale is 3,300 feet above the sea, and the scenery around it is an rivaled in beauty and grandeur.

† Ar've end Ar-vei'ron, rivers which have their sources at the foot of Mont Blanc.

3. Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest; not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy. Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.

4. Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!
O, struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Coherald, wake! O wake! and utter praise!
Who sunk thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

5. And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad! Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, "orever shattered, and the same forever? Who gave you your invulnerable life,

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam?

And who commanded, and the silence came,
"Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?"

6. Ye ice-falls! ye, that from the mountain's brow, Adown enormous ravines slope amain,

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! Silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun

Clothe you with rainbows? Who with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?--
"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, " God!"
"God!" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds !
And they, too, have a voice, - yon piles of snow,
And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder, "God!"

7. Ye living flowers, that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats, sporting round the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds !
Ye signs and wonders of the elements !

Utter forth, "God!" and fill the hills with praise !

8. Thou, too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,

Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene,
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,
Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain! thou
That, as I raise head
my
- awhile bowed low

upward from thy base

Slow traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud.

Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God."

* Gentiana Major, with its blossoms of loveliest blue, grows in immense numbers within a few paces of these glaciers.

LESSON CXI.

THE LAST HOURS OF WASHINGTON. — CUSTIA

1. Many years have passed since an interesting group were assembled in the death-room, and witnessed the last hours of Washington. On the morning of the 13th of De cember, 1799, the General was engaged in making some improvements in the front of Mount Vernon. As was usual with him, he carried his own compass, noted his observations, and marked out the ground. The day became rainy with sleet; and the improver remained so long exposed to the inclemency of the weather, as to be considerably wet before his return to the house. About one o'clock, he was seized with chillness and nausea, but having changed his clothes, he sat down to his in-door work, there being no moment of his time for which he had not provided an appropriate employment.

2. At night, on joining his family circle, the General complained of a slight indisposition; and, after a single cup of tea, repaired to his library, where he remained writing until between eleven and twelve o'clock. Mrs. Washington retired about the usual hour, but becoming alarmed at not hearing the accustomed sound of the library door as it closed for the night, and gave signal for rest in the well-regulated mansion, she rose again, and continued sitting up, in much anxiety and suspense. At length the well-known step was heard on the stair, and upon the General's entering his chamber, the lady chided him for staying up so late, knowing him to be unwell; to which Washington made this memorable reply: "I came as soon as my business was accomplished. You well know, that through a long life, it has been my unvaried rule, never to put off till the morrow, the duties which should be performed to-day."

3. Having first carefully covered the fire, the man of

mighty labors sought repose; but it came not as it long had been wont to do, to comfort and restore, after the many earnest occupations of the well-spent day. The night was passed in feverish restlessness and pain. "Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," was destined no more to visit his couch; yet the manly sufferer uttered no complaint, would permit no one to be disturbed in his rest on his account; and it was only at daybreak, he would consent that the overseer might be called in, and bleeding be resorted to. A vein was opened, but no relief was afforded.

4. Couriers were despatched to Dr. Craik, the family physician, and Drs. Dick and Brown, as consulting physicians, all of whom came with speed. The proper remedies were administered, but without producing their healing effects; while the patient, yielding to the anxious looks of all around him, waived his usual objections to medicines, and, without hesitation or remark, took those which were prescribed. The medical gentlemen spared not their skill, and all the resources of their art were exhausted in unwearied endeavors, to preserve this noblest work of nature.

5. The night approached, the last night of Washington; the weather became severely cold, while the group gathered nearer the couch of the sufferer, watching with intense anxiety for the slightest dawning of hope. He spoke but little. To the respectful and affectionate inquiries of an old family servant, as she smoothed down his pillow, how he felt, he answered, "I am very ill." To Dr. Craik, his earliest companion in arms, longest tried and bosom friend, he observed, "I am dying, sir, — but I am not afraid to die."

6. The patient bore his acute suffering with fortitude and perfect resignation to the Divine will, while, as the night advanced, it became evident that he was sinking, and he seemed fully aware that his hour was nigh. He inquired the time, and was answered, a few minutes to twelve. He