ture must not be omitted. The jailer of the press, he affected the patronage of letters-the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosophy-the persecutor of authors and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning! the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Staël, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England. Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time such an individual consistency, were never united in the same character.-A royalist-a republican and an emperor-a Mohammedana Catholic and a patron of the synagogue-a subaltern and a sovereign-a traitor and a tyrant-a Christian and an infidel-he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original-the same mysterious, incomprehensible self-the man without a model, and without a shadow. PHILLIPS. 168.-DIALOGUE: ALEXANDER THE GREAT, AND A ROBBER. Alexander. WHAT, art thou the Thracian robber, of whose exploits I have heard so much? Robber. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. Alex. A soldier! a thief, a plunderer, an assassin! the pest of the country! I could honour thy courage, but 1 must detest and punish thy crimes. Rob. What have I done, of which you can complain? Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; violated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons and properties of thy fellow subjects? Rob. Alexander! I am your captive; I must hear what you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. But my soul is unconquered; and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. Alex Speak freely. Far be it from me to take the advantage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to converse. Rob. I must then answer your question by another. How have you passed your life? Alex. Like a hero. Ask fame, and she will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest: among sovereigns, the noblest: among conquerers, the mightiest. Rob. And does not fame speak of me too? Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band? Was there ever, but I scorn to boast. You yourself know that I have not been easily subdued. Alex. Still, what are you but a robber, a base, dishonest robber? Rob. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry; plundering, ravaging, killing, without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion? All that I have done to a single district with a hundred followers, you have done to whole nations with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burnt a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth. What is, then, the difference, but that as you were born a king, and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I? Alex. But if I have taken like a king, I have given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy. Rob. I, too, have freely given to the poor what I took from the rich. I have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of mankind, and have stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I know, indeed, little of the philosophy you talk of, but I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world for half the mischief we have done it. Alex. Leave me. Take off his chains, and use him well. Are we then so much alike? Alexander like a robber! Let me reflect. DR. AIKIN. 169-THANATOPSIS. To him who in the love of nature holds Into his darker musings, with a mild When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, To nature's teaching, while from all around, Earth that nourish'd thee shall claim And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou wish The hills, Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun; the vales That make the meadows green; and pour'd round all Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, As the long train Of ages glide away the sons of men. The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes To that mysterious realm, where each shall take BRYANT. 170. THE DIAMOND RING. YE ladies fair, with sunny smiles, While I rehearse what once befell A dame of high degree—and fair Her eyes were blue as sapphire gleams, Her every motion breathed of grace, And with her voice of music, spoke He dwelt upon his own domain, Nor felt a wish unsatisfied But with his lady dear he spent Alas! the fate of happiness In this uncertain world! When clouds arise, love's silken sails Must speedily be furl'd. The pennon, that so gayly flew, And waves grow dark beneath the frown The beauteous dame, alas! fell ill; All human aid was vain, To rend the arrow from her side Or mitigate the pain. |