dismissed them, with marks of his attention or regard; and taking leave of Philip with all the tenderness of a father who embraced his son for the last time, he set sail under convoy of a large fleet of Spanish, Flemish, and English ships. His voyage was prosperous and agreeable: and he arrived at Laredo in Biscay, on the eleventh day after he left Zealand. As soon as he landed, he fell prostrate on the ground; and considering himself now as dead to the world, he kissed the earth, and said, "Naked came I out of my mother's womb and naked I now return to thee, thou common mother of mankind." From Laredo he proceeded to Valladolid. There he took a last and tender leave of his two sisters; whom he would not permit to accompany him to his solitade, though they entreated it with tears: not only that they might have the consolation of contributing, by their attendance and care, to mitigate or to sooth his sufferings but that they might reap instruction and benefit, by joining with bim in those pious exercises, to which he had consecrated the remainder of his days.. From Valladolid, he continued his journey to Plazencia in Estremadura. He had passed through that city a great many years before; and having been struck at that time with the delightful situation of the monastery of St. Justus, belonging to the order of St. Jerome, not many miles distant from that place, he had then observed to some of his attendants, that this was a spot to which Dioclesian might have retired with pleasure. The impression had remained so strong on his mind, that he pitched upon it as the place of his retreat. It was seated in a vale of no great extent, watered by a small brook, and surrounded by rising grounds, covered with lofty trees. From the nature of the soil, as well as the temperature of the climate, it was esteemed the most healthful and delicious situation in Spain. Some months before his resignation, he had sent an architect thither, to add a new apartment to the monastery, for his accommodation; but he gave strict orders that the style of the building should be such as suited his present station, rather than his former dignity. It consisted only of six rooms, four of them in the form of friars' cells, with naked walls; the other two, each twenty feet square, were hung with brown cloth, and furnished in the most simple manner. They were all on a level with the ground; with a door on one side into a garden, of which Charles himself had given the plan, and had filled it with various plants, which he proposed to cultivate with his own hands. On the other side, they communicated with the chapel of the monastery, in which he was to perform his devotions. Into this humble retreat, hardly sufficient for the comfortable accommodation of a private gentleman, did Charles enter, with twelve domestics only. He buried there, in solitude and silence, his grandeur, his ambition, together with all those vast projects, which, during half a century, had alarmed and agitated Europe; filling every kingdom in it by turns, with the terror of his arms, and the dread of being subjected to his power. In this retirement, Charles formed such a plan of life for himself, as would have suited the condition of a private person of a moderate fortune. His table was neat but plain; his domestics few; his intercourse with them familiar; all the cumbersome and ceremonious forms of attendance on his person, were entirely abolished, as destructive of that social ease and tranquillity, which he courted, in order to sooth the remainder of his days. As the mildness of the climate, together with his deliverance from the burdens and cares of government, procured him, at first, a considerable remission from the acute pains with which he had been long tormented, he enjoyed, perhaps, more complete satisfaction in this humble solitude, than all his grandeur had ever yielded him. The ambitious thoughts and projects, which had so long engrossed and disquieted him, were quite effaced from his mind. Far from taking any part in the political transactions of the princes of Europe, he restrained his curiosity, even from any inquiry concerning them: and he seemed to view the busy scene which he had abandoned, with all the contempt and indifference arising from his thorough experience of its vanity, as well as from the pleasing reflection of having disentangled himself from its cares. DR. ROBERTSON, PART II. PIECES IN POETRY. CHAPTER I. SELECT SENTENCES AND PARAGRAPHS. SECTION I. Short and easy Sentences. Education. TIS education forms the common mind; Candour. With pleasure let us own our errors past; Reflection. A soul without reflection, like a pile Secret Virtue. The private path, the secret acts of men, Necessary Knowledge easily attained. Disappointment. Disappointment lurks in many a prize, Virtuous elevation. The mind that would be happy must be great; Great in its wishes; great in its surveys. Extended views a narrow mind extend. Natural and fanciful Life. Who lives to nature, rarely can be poor: NOTE. In the first chapter, the Compiler has exhibited a considerable variety of poeticil instruction, for the young reader's preparatory exercise. Charity. In faith and hope the world will disagree; The Prize of Virtue. What nothing earthly gives or can destroy, Sense and Modesty connected. } Moral Discipline salutary: Heav'n gives us friends to bless the present scene; Resumes them to prepare us for the next. All evils natural are moral goods; All discipline, indulgence, on the whole. Present Blessings Undervalued. Like birds, whose beauties languish, half conceal'd, 'Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes Expanded shine with azure, green, and gold, How blessings brighten as they take their flight! Hope. Hope, of all passions, most befriends us here: Happiness modest and tranquil. But it compos'd and gave him such a cast True Greatness. Who noble ends by noble means obtains, The Tear of Sympathy. No radiant pearl, which crested fortune wears, No gem that twinkling hangs from beauty's ears, Q Nor the bright stars, which night's blue arch adorn, SECTION II. Verses in which the lines are of different length. RESTLESS mortals toil for nought; The Passions. The passions are a num'rous crowd, Trust in Providence recommended. 'Tis providence alone secures, Epitaph. How lov'd, how valu'd once avails thee not, 'Tis all thou art and all the proud shall be. Fame. All fame is foreign, but of true desert; |