3. Behold, the portals open, and o'er the threshold, now, There steps a weary one with a pale and furrowed

brow;

His count of years is full, his allotted task is wrought;
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not.

4. In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour Of human strength and action, man's courage and his

power.

I muse while still the wood-thrush sings down the golden day,

And, as I look and listen, the sadness wears away.

5. Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes;
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair,
Moves mournfully away from amid the young and fair.

6. O glory of our race that so suddenly decays!

O crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze
O breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air
Scatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not
where!

7. I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn ;

But still the sun shines round me: the evening bird

sings on,

And I again am soothed, and, beside the ancient gate,
In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and wait.

8. Once more the gates are opened; an infant group go out,

The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the sprightly shout.

O frail, frail tree of life, that upon the greensward

strows

Its fair young buds unopened, with every wind that blows!

9. So come from every region, so enter, side by side, The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of pride.

Steps of earth's great and mighty, between those pillars gray,

And prints of little feet, mark the dust along the way.

10. And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear,

And some whose temples brighten with joy in drawing

near,

As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious eye
Of him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die.

11. I mark the joy, the terror; yet these, within my heart,
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to depart;
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and lea,
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me.

Wordsworth and Tennyson have both asserted the mystery of the poet's mind. Here is Bryant's description, which also contains sage advice to the poetical aspirant, quite equal in value to “Hamlet's Instruction to the Players."

a

IV. The Poet.

1. Thou, who wouldst wear the name

Of poet 'mid thy brethren of mankind,

And clothe in words of flame

Thoughts that shall live within the general mind!

Deem not the framing of a deathless lay

The pastime of a drowsy summer day:

a For which, see Fifth Reader, page 433.

2. But gather all thy powers,

And wreak them on the verse that thou dost weave, And in thy lonely hours,

At silent morning or at wakeful eve,

While the warm current tingles through thy veins,

Set forth the burning words in fluent strains.

3. No smooth array of phrase,

Artfully sought and ordered though it be,
Which the cold rhymer lays

Upon his page with languid industry,
Can wake the listless pulse to livelier speed,
Or fill with sudden tears the eyes that read.

4. The secret wouldst thou know

To touch the heart or fire the blood at will? Let thine own eyes o'erflow;

Let thy lips quiver with the passionate thrill; Seize the great thought, ere yet its power be past, And bind, in words, the fleet emotion fast.

5. Then, should thy verse appear

Halting and harsh, and all unaptly wrought, Touch the crude line with fear,

Save in the moment of impassioned thought; Then summon back the original glow, and mend The strain with rapture that with fire was penned.

6. Yet let no empty gust

Of passion find an utterance in thy lay,

A blast that whirls the dust

Along the howling street and dies away; But feelings of calm power and mighty sweep, Like currents journeying through the windless deep.

7. Seek'st thou, in living lays,

To limn the beauty of the earth and sky?

Before thine inner gaze

Let all that beauty in clear vision lie;
Look on it with exceeding love, and write
The words inspired by wonder and delight.

8. Of tempests wouldst thou sing,

Or tell of battles-make thyself a part
Of the great tumult; cling

To the tossed wreck with terror in thy heart;
Scale, with the assaulting host, the rampart's height,
And strike and struggle in the thickest fight.

9. So shalt thou frame a lay

That haply may endure from age to age,

And they who read shall say,

"What witchery hangs upon this poet's page!

What art is his the written spells to find

That sway from mood to mood the willing mind!"

CHAPTER LVI.—MISCELLANEOUS.

The Atmosphere. From the French of Camille Flammarion.

1. Of all the various subjects which invite a studious examination, it is impossible to select one possessing a more direct, a more permanent, or a more real interest than the Atmosphere, which gives life to earth, ocean, lakes, rivers, streams, forests, plants, animals, and men, and in and by which all things have their being. The Atmosphere is an ethereal sea reaching over the whole world; its waves wash the mountains and the valleys, and we live beneath it and are penetrated by it.

2. It is the Atmosphere which makes its way as a lifegiving fluid into our lungs, which gives an impulse to the frail existence of the new-born babe, and receives the last

gasp of the dying man upon his bed of pain. It is the Atmosphere which imparts verdure to the fertile fields, nourishing at once the tiny flower and the mighty tree; which stores up the solar rays in order to give us the benefit of them in the future.

3. It is the Atmosphere which adorns with an azure vault the planet in which we move, and makes us an abode in the midst of which we act as if we were the sole tenants of the infinite-the masters of the universe. It is the Atmosphere which illuminates this vault with the soft glitter of twilight, with the waving splendors of the aurora borealis, with the quivering of the lightning and the multiform phenomena of the heavens. At one moment it inundates us with light and warmth, at another it causes the rain to pour down in torrents upon the thirsty land.

4. It is the channel by which the sweet perfumes descend from the hills, and the vehicle of the sound which permits human beings to communicate with each other, of the song of the birds, of the sighing of the wind among the trees, and of the moaning of the waves. Without it our planet would be inert and arid, silent and lifeless. By it the globe is peopled with inhabitants of every kind.

5. Its indestructible atoms incorporate themselves in the various living organisms; the particle which escapes with our breath takes refuge in a plant, and, after a long journey, returns to other human bodies; that which we breathe, eat, and drink, has already been inhaled, eaten, and drunk millions of times: dead and living, we are all formed of the same substances.-What study can possess a vaster or more direct interest than that of the vital fluid to which we owe the manner of our being and the maintenance of our life?

In the foregoing article are numerous statements connected with the subject of Natural Philosophy. Let the teacher see how many of them the pupil can explain the truth of.-It "stores up the solar rays,""gives us the benefit of them in the future,"-its "atoms incorporate themselves in the various living organisms," etc.