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LXXIX.-CHOICE OF HERCULES.

FROM THE TATLER.

1. WHEN Hercules was in that part of his youth, in which it was natural for him to consider what course of life he ought to pursue, he one day retired into a desert, where the silence and the solitude of the place very much favored his *meditations. As he was musing on his present condition, and very much perplexed in himself on the state of life which he should choose, he saw two women of larger stature than ordinary, approaching him.

2. One of them had a very noble air and graceful +deportment; her beauty was natural and easy, her person clean and unspotted, her eyes cast toward the ground with an agreeable *reserve, her motion and behavior full of modesty, and her raiment as white as snow. The other had a great deal of health and floridness in her countenance, which she had helped with an artificial white and red; and she endeavored to appear more graceful than ordinary in her mien, by a mixture of affectation in all her gestures. She had a wonderful confidence and assurance in her looks, and all the variety of colors in her dress, that she thought were the most proper to show her complexion to advantage. She cast her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those that were present, to see how they liked her, and often looked on the figure she made in her own shadow. Upon her approach to Hercules, she stepped before the other lady, who came forward with a regular composed carriage, and running up to him, accosted him after the following manner:

3. "My dear Hercules, I find you are very much divided in your thoughts upon the way of life that you ought to choose: be my friend, and follow me: I will lead you into the possession of pleasure, and out of the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and disquietude of business. The affairs of either war or peace shall have no power to disturb you. Your whole employment shall be to make your life easy, and entertain every sense with its proper gratifications. Sumptuous tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, *concerts of music crowds of beauties, are all in readiness to

receive you. Come along with me into this region of delights, this world of pleasure, and bid farewell forever to care, to pain, to business." Hercules, hearing the lady talk after this manner, desired to know her name; to which she answered, "My friends and those who are well acquainted with me, call me Happiness: but my enemies and those who would injure my reputation, have given me the name of Pleasure."

4. By this time, the other lady had come up, and addressed herself to the young hero in a very different manner. "Hercules," said she, "I offer myself to you, because I know you are descended from the gods, and give proofs of that descent, by your love of virtue, and application to the studies proper for your age. This makes me hope that you will gain, both for yourself and me, an immortal reputation. But before I invite you into my society and friendship, I will be open and sincere with you; and must lay this down as an established truth, that there is nothing truly valuable which can be purchased without pains and labor. The gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the favor of Deity, you must be at the pains of worshiping him; if the friendship of good men, you must study to oblige them; if you would be honored by your country, you must take care to serve it; in short, if you would be eminent in war or peace, you must become master of all the qualifications that can make you so. These are the only terms and conditions upon which I can promise happiness."

5. The goddess of Pleasure here broke in upon her discourse; "You see," said she, "Hercules, by her own confession, the way to her pleasures is long and difficult, whereas that which I propose is short and easy." "Alas!" said the other lady, whose visage glowed with scorn and pity, “what are the pleasures you propose? To eat before you are hungry, drink before you are thirsty, sleep before you are tired; to gratify appetites before they are raised, and raise such appetites as nature never planted. You never heard the most delicious music, which is the praise of yourself; or saw the most beautiful object, which is the work of your own hands. Your *votaries pass away their youth in a dream of mistaken pleasures; while they are hoarding up anguish, torment, and remorse, for old age.

6. "As for me, I am the friend of the gods and of good men; an agreeable companion of the artisan; a household guardian to the fathers of families; a patron and protector of servants; an associate in all true and generous friendships. The banquets of my *votaries are never costly, but always delicious; for none eat or drink at them, who are not invited by hunger and thirst. Their slumbers are sound, and their wakings cheerful. My young men have the pleasure of hearing themselves praised by those who are in years: and those who are in years, of being honored by those who are young. In a word, my followers are favored by the gods, beloved by their acquaintance, esteemed by their country, and, after the close of their labors, honored by posterity."

7. We know, by the life of this memorable hero to which of these two ladies he gave up his heart; and, I believe, every one who reads this, will do him the justice to approve of his choice.

LXXX. AMBITION.

FROM WILLIS.

1. WHAT is ambition? 'Tis a glorious cheat!
It seeks the chamber of the gifted boy,
And lifts his humble window, and comes in
The narrow walls expand, and spread away
Into a kingly palace, and the roof

Lifts to the sky, and unseen fingers work
The ceilings with rich blazonry, and write
His name in burning letters over all.
And ever, as he shuts his wildered eyes,
The phantom comes and lays upon his lids
A spell that murders sleep, and in his ear
Whispers a deathless word, and on his brain
Breathes a fierce thirst no waters will allay.

2. He is its slave henceforth. His days are spent
In chaining down his heart, and watching where
To rise by human weaknesses. His nights
Bring him no rest in all their blessèd hours.
His kindred are forgotten or testranged;
Unhealthful fires burn constant in his eye.

His lip grows restless, and its smile is curled
Half into scorn; till the bright, fiery boy,
That 't was a daily blessing but to see,
His spirit was so bird-like and so pure,
Is frozen, in the very flush of youth,
Into a cold, care-fretted, heartless man.

3. And what is its reward? At best, a name!

Praise when the ear has grown too dull to hear;
Gold-when the senses it should please are dead;
Wreaths-when the hair they cover has grown gray;
Fame-when the heart it should have thrilled is numb;
All things but love-when love is all we want;
And close behind comes Death, and ere we know,
That even these unavailing gifts are ours,
He sends us, stripped and naked, to the grave.

LXXXI.-LAMENT FOR THE DEAD.

FROM OSSIAN.

1. Reyno. THE wind and rain are over; calm is the noon of day. The clouds are divided in heaven; over the green hill flies the inconstant sun; red, through the stony vale, comes down the stream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O stream! But more sweet is the voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the son of song, mourning for the dead. Bent is his head of age, and red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou son of song, why alone on the silent hill? Why complainest thou as a blast in the wood, as a wave on the lonely shore?

are for the dead; my voice Tall thou art on the hill; But thou shalt fall like

2. Alpin. My tears, O Reyno! for the inhabitants of the grave. fair among the sons of the slain. Morar; and the mourners shall sit on thy tomb. The hills shall know thee no more, thy bow shall lie in the halls, unstrung.

3. Thou wert swift, O Morar! as a roe on the hill; terrible as a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm; thy sword in battle, as lightning in the field. Thy voice was like a stream after rain; like thunder on distant hills. Many fell by thy arm; they were consumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou didst return from war, how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face w the sun, after rain; like the moon,

in the silence of night; calm as the breast of the lake, when the loud wind is hushed into repose. Narrow is thy dwelling, now; dark the place of thine abode. With three steps, I compass thy grave, O thou, who wast so great before! Four stones, with their heads of moss, are the only *memorial of thee. A tree with scarce a leaf, long grass whistling in the wind, mark to the hunter's eye, the grave of mighty Morar. 4. Morar! thou art low indeed: thou hast no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth; fallen is the daughter of Morglan. Who, on his staff, is this? Who this, whose head is white with age, whose eyes are galled with tears, who quakes at every step? It is thy father, O Morar! the father of no son but thee. Weep, thou father of Morar, weep; but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead, low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice, no more awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake? Farewell, thou bravest of men; thou conqueror of the field; but the field shall see thee no more, nor the gloomy wood be lightened by the splendor of thy steel. Thou hast left no son, but the song shall pre

serve thy name.

LXXXII.-THE CHURCH-YARD.

FROM KARAMISIN.

[THE two Voices from the Grave.]

First Voice.

How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear!
With the howls of the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier,
And the white bones all clattering together!

Second Voice.

How peaceful the grave; its quiet how deep!
Its +zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,
And flow'rets perfume it with ether.

First Voice.

There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead,
And the yellow scull serves the foul toad for a bed,
And snakes in the nettle-weeds hiss.

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