And _this_ is Folly! Like a flaunting flower Her red lips part half wanton, half in scorn: Over the wreck of many a squandered hour This poor frail child of Pleasure well might mourn. But with the consciousness of beauty born, Exulting in her youth’s superior brightness— (Not yet the rose-leaves from her garland torn)— She moves along to scenes of festal lightness. The aged teacher’s solemn, sacred lesson Is a dead letter to her worldly spirit— The Word of Life—its Promise, and its Blessing, The world’s gay votary cares not to inherit! No claims upon a heritage divine— This lot, O Folly! this sad lot is thine.
What though my way unblissful care To weary solitudes incline! I feel thy beauty everywhere; Thy spirit brightens mine.
On all the dewy leaves that crowd The moon-lit trees, I read thy name; From every crimson morning cloud, It flows through all my frame.
And when the spiritual eve advances, To bathe the weary world in rest, Thou comest near, with loving glances, And leanest on my breast.
In all the ages, young or olden, Was ever life so blest as mine! Where’er I go the clime is golden, And all the air divine!
THE LAST SURVIVOR OF THE CREW OF “THE BONHOMME RICHARD.”
This venerable sailor is in the 92d year of his age; nearly sixty of which he has spent on the ocean, and thirty-five under the stars and stripes of his adopted country. Although almost helpless from age, his mind is clear and his memory retentive. He remembers distinctly many interesting incidents during his cruisings with that eccentric but intrepid officer, John Paul Jones, and narrates many of the daring exploits in which he was a participator under the direction of this extraordinary man.
Thomas Johnson is a Norwegian by birth, the son of a pilot at Mandal, a seaport on the coast of Norway, where he was born in the year 1758. Having been engaged in that occupation for nearly twenty years, he was consequently accustomed to a seafaring life; and in the absence of his father towed the first American vessel into the harbor of Mandal. This vessel was the _Ranger_, from Boston, carrying eighteen guns, under the command of Captain Jones. The sight of a ship from a country which was at this time struggling for independence, and of which they knew so little, caused no little sensation among the inhabitants of that town. After their arrival in port, Jones sent for the young pilot, and presenting him with a piece of gold, expressed his pleasure at his expert seamanship, which he had minutely watched during the towing of his ship into the harbor.