A grateful homage may we yield, From day to day we humbly own Our sins before thee we confess; Still let thy grace our life direct; For thine the power, the kingdom thine; All glory's due to thee: Thine from eternity they were, And thine shall ever be. ROBERT BLAIR. XXXVI. TIME. "FROM the cotter's hearth or the workshop of the artizan to the palace or the arsenal, the first merit, that which admits neither substitute nor equivalent, is, that every thing be in its place. Where this charm is wanting, every other merit either loses its name, or becomes an additional ground of accusation and regret. Of one, by whom it is eminently possessed, we say proverbially, he is like clock-work. The resemblance extends beyond the point of regularity, and yet falls short of the truth. Both do, indeed, at once divide and announce the silent and otherwise indistinguishable lapse of time. But the man of methodical industry and honourable pursuits does more: he realizes its ideal divisions, and gives a character and individuality to its moments. If the idle are described as killing time, he may be justly said to call it into life and moral being, while he makes it the distinct object not only of the consciousness, but of the conscience. He organizes the hours, and gives them a soul, and that, the very essence of which is to fleet away, and evermore to have been, he takes up into his own permanence, and communicates to it the imperishableness of a spiritual nature. Of the good and faithful servant, whose energies, thus directed, are thus methodized, it is less truly affirmed, that he lives in time, than that time lives in him. His days, months, and years, as the stops and punctual marks in the records of duties performed, will survive the wreck of worlds, and remain extant when time itself shall be no more.' Coleridge. EDUCATION, THE SUPPORT OF PUBLIC ORDER. 295 TIME flies; it is his melancholy task XXXVII. EDUCATION, THE SUPPORT OF PUBLIC ORDER. "AGAIN, for that other conceit, that learning should undermine the reverence of laws and government, it is assuredly a mere depravation and calumny, without at all shadow of truth. For to say, that a blind custom of obedience should be a surer obligation, than duty taught and understood; it is to affirm, that a blind man may tread surer by a guide, than a seeing man can by a light. And it is without all controversy, that learning doth make the minds of men gentle, generous, maniable, and pliant to government; whereas, ignorance makes them churlish, thwarting, and mutinous; and the evidence of time doth clear this assertion, considering that the most barbarous, rude, and unlearned times have been most subject to tumults, sedition, and changes."-Bacon. THE discipline of slavery is unknown Amongst us; thence the more do we require Cannot subsist, nor confidence, nor peace;1 Thus, duties rising out of good possest, And prudent caution needful to avert Impending evil, equally require That the whole people should be taught and trained: Be rooted out, and virtuous habits take With such foundations laid, avaunt the fear To the prevention of all healthful growth, 1. "Know that to be free is the same thing as to be pious, to be wise, to be temperate and just, to be frugal and abstinent, and lastly, to be magnanimous and brave; so to be the opposite WORDSWORTH. of all these is the same as to be a slave." 2. What is the law of increase? XXXVIII. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. "Or Gray's harmless and studious life, time has fairly spared but one beautiful relic. His reputation as a scholar is like a tale that is told; his odes are quite neglected; but his "Elegy in a Country Churchyard " will bear his name gracefully down the tide of ages. It is one of the immortal poems of the language; and every year sees it renewed, illustrated, and more and more hallowed. It is perfectly characteristic of Gray. Almost every line is a select phrase, not to be improved by taste or ingenuity. The subject is one of the happiest in the range of poetry. To roam through the cities of the dead, and muse over the humble names there chronicled; to ponder amid the tombs upon the mysteries of life, the varieties of earthly fortune, the strange lot which ordains that man should live and love, and then pass away and be remembered no more-this is no flight of fancy, but a train of thought and experience so near the universal mind, so suggestive to the heart, so familiar to the least meditative, that it appeals at once, and with eloquence, to all human beings. We all love to speculate upon the injustice of destiny, and the latent capacity of every man. We feel that,'chill penury' has repressed the 'noble rage' of many a gifted spirit. We cherish an instinctive faith in the undeveloped talent, the secret virtue, the obscure excellence of the millions who die and 'make no sign.' And, who has not strayed at sunset into the quiet precincts of a country churchyard? Who has not sought the spot where the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep? Who has not felt a melancholy pleasure steal upon his soul, as he has stood among the graves, and received the solemn teachings of the scene, amid the lingering light?' The spirit of such reveries, the tone and hues of such a landscape, Gray has caught and enshrined for ever in verse. The thoughts which compose the elegy are not startling and new; not a line it contains but has been traced by learned criticism to some ancient or modern source; and scarcely a word has escaped question from those microscopic commentators who rejoice to pick flaws in whatever gem of art or literature charms the world. Gray's elegy may, indeed, absolutely possess no higher claim to the reputation it enjoys than that of being an ingenious piece of mosaic; but, wherever the materials were derived, the effect of the whole is too excellent to permit us to quarrel with the details. The very cadence of the stanza is attuned to elegiac music: it floats ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 297 solemnly along like the moaning of the breeze in spring, amid the cypresses and willows. The hues of the picture are subdued to the 'sober livery' of twilight. Tender sentiments-a regret made sublime by the sense of beauty- a recognition of death blended with a vague feeling of its mysterious revelations-the sweet quietude of evening-sad, but soothing, thoughts of 'passing away'-the memory of the departed; all throng upon us in every verse of the elegy, and associate the name of the gentle student of Cambridge with ideas of contemplative delight."- Tuckerman. THE curfew tolls' the knell of parting day, Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone |