« ZurückWeiter »
Its Flag and Union in the hour of gloom,
We publish God! The towering mountains cry,
The dew-drop diamond on the lilies' breast,
The glow of Venus and the glare of Mars,
The child's fond prattle and the mother's prayer,
Beware ye doubting disbelieving throng,
MY LORD TOMNODDY.-Ingoldsby Legends,
My Lord Tomnoddy got up one day;
It was half after two,
Was clean of limb,
His boots were polish'd, his jacket was trim;
Tiger Tim, come tell me true,
Tim look'd up, and Tim look'd down,
He let go the handle, and thus he said,
As the door, released, behind him bang'd:
แ An't please you, my Lord, there's a man to be hang'd."
My Lord Tomnoddy jump'd up at the news,
"Run to M'Fuze,
And Lieutenant Tregooze,
And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues.
Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Black-more:
With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing!"
My Lord Tomnoddy stept into his cab-
Through street, and through square,
Went the high-trotting mare at a very quick pace;
Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm,
Knocking down-very much to the sweeper's dismayAn old woman who wouldn't get out of the way,
And upsetting a stall
Which made all the pious Church-mission folks squall, But eastward afar,
The clock strikes twelve-it is dark midnight-
There is "punch," "cold without," "hot with," "heavy wet”
And sand on the floor, without carpets or rugs.
Welsh rabbits and kidneys-rare work for the jaws,-
And Lieutenant Tregooze,
All come to see a man "die in his shoes P
The clock strikes One!
And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fun,
And laughing at ev'ry thing, and ev'ry body.—
Save Captain M'Fuze,
The clock strikes Four!-
Are gather'd a couple of thousand or more;
At the press-yard gate,
Till slowly its folding doors open, and straight
A wagon comes loaded with posts and with planks
The clock strikes Five!
And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive;
A candle burns down in the socket, and sinks.
And acceptances all the bill-brokers refuse;
Sweetly, oh! sweetly, the morning breaks,
Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks;
As that which its course has now begun,
And hark!-a sound comes, big with fate;
It is tolling, alas! a living man's knell!-
That pale wan man's mute agony,-
What was to be done?-The man was dead!
THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON.-Rufus Choate.
THE birthday of the "Father of his Country!" May it ever be freshly remembered by American hearts! May it ever re-awaken in them a filial veneration for his memory; ever rekindle the fires of patriotic regard for the country which he loved so well, to which he gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous period of the early Indian warfare; to which he devoted his life in the maturity of his powers, in the field; to which again he offered the counsels of his wisdom and his experience, as president of the convention that framed our Constitution; which he guided and directed while in the chair of state, and for which the last prayer of his earthly supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him so well, and so grandly, and so calmly, to die. He was the first man of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and most sacred in our love, and ever hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze in the last American heart, his name shall be a spell of power and of might.
Yes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man can share with him. It was the daily beauty, and towering and matchless glory of his life which enabled him to create his country, and at the same time, secure an undying love and regard from the whole American people.
The first in the hearts of his countrymen!" Yes, first! He has our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were brave and wise and good men, before his day, in every colony. But the American nation, as a nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that Young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejaculation; and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life! Yes; others of our great men have been appreciated-many admired by all;-but him we love; him we all love. About and around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied elements-no sectional prejudice nor bias-no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes; when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm, and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, that sublime flame of