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set, so surrounded, so scrutinized, by the vigilant guarda that I have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against the Republic, without my knowledge. There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whisper, of which thou shalt not dream. The darkness of night shall not cover thy trea son,—the walls of privacy shall not stille its voice. Baf. lled on all sides, thy most secret counsels clear as noon. day, what canst thou now have in view? Proceed, plot, conspire, as thou wilt; there is nothing you can contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, bear, and promptly understand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in providing for the preservation of the state, than thou in plotting its destruction.

Cicero.

CATILINE'S DEFIANCE.
CONSCRIPT FATHERS:
I do not rise to waste the niglit in words;
Let that Plebeian talk, 'tis not my trade;
But here I stand for right,-)et himn show proof, --
For Roman right, though none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there!
Cling to your master, judges, Romuns, slares !
Ilis charge is false;–I dure him to his proofs.
You.have my answer. Let my actions speak!

But this I will avow, that I have scorned
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong.
Who brands me on the forelieal, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
Wrongs me not half so much as lie who shuts
The gates of honor on me,--turning out
The Roman from his birthright; and for what?

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Banished from Rome! What's banished, but set free
From daily contact of the things I loathe ?
" Tried and convicted traitor!'? Who says this?
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head?
Banished! I thank you for't. It breaks my chain!
I held some slack allegiance till this hour;
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my Lords!
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you! here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your Consul's merciful;– for this, all thanks.
Ile dares not touch a hair of Catiline!

" Traitor!" I go; but, I return! This—trial!
Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs
To stir a fever in the blood of age,
Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel.
This day's the birth of sorrow; this hour's work
Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my Lords!
For there, lienceforth, shall sit, for household yods,
Shapes lot from Tartarus; all shames and crimes;
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.

I go; but not to leap the gulf alone. I go; but when I come, 'twill be the burst Of ocean in the earthquake, -rolling back In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well! You bnild my funeral-pile; but your best blood Shall quench'its flame! Back, slaves! (To the Lictors.) I will return.

George Croiy.

HIS EYE WAS STERN AND WILD. Ris eye was stern and wild,-his cheek was pale and cold as

clay; Upon his tightened lip a smile of fearful meaning lay; lle mused awhile, but not in doubt, -no trace of doubt was

there; It was the steady, solemn pause of resolute despair. Once more he looked upon the scroll,-once more its words ho read,

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Then calmly, with unflinching hand, its folds before him spread.
I saw liim bare his throat, and seize the blue, cold, gleaming

steel,
And grimly try the tempered edge he was so soon to feel.
A sickness crept upon my heart, and dizzy swam my lieadl;
I could not ir, I could not cry,-I felt benumbed and dead;
Black icy horrors struck me dumb, and froze my senses o'er;
I closed my eyes in utter fear, and strove to think no nore.

Again I looked: a fearful change across his face had passed, -
He seemed to rave, -on cheek and lip a tlaky foam was cast;
He raised on high the glittering blade; then first I sound a

tongue, -
“Hold, madman! stay thy frantic deed!" I cried, and forth 1

sprung; IIe heard me but he hceded not; one glance around he gave; And ere I could arrest his hand, he had—begun to shace!

SEARCHING FOR THE SLAIN.

Hold the lantern aside, and shudder not so;
There's more blood to see than this stain on the snow;
There are pools of it, lakes of it, just over there,
And fixed faces all streaked, and crimson-soaked hair.
Did you think, when we came, you and I, out to-night
To search for our dead, yon would be a fair siglit?

You're his wife; you love him-you think so; and I
Am only his mother; my boy shall not lie
In a ditch with the rest, while my arms can bear
His form to a grave that mine own may soon share.
So, if your strength fails, best go sit by the hearth,
While his mother alone seeks his bed on the earth.

You will go! then no faintings! Give me the light,
And follow my footsteps,-my heart will lead riglit.
Ah, God! what is here? a great heap of the slain,
All mangled and gory!—what horrible pain
These beings have died in! Dear mothers, ye weep,
Ye weep, oh, ye weep o’er this terrible sleep!
More! more! Ah! I thought I could nevermore know
Grief, horror, or pity, for anght here below,
Since I stood in the porch and heard his chief toll
How brave was my son, how he gallantly fell.

Did they chink I cared then to see officers stand
Before my great sorrow, each hat in each hand ?
Wlıy, girl, do you feel neither reverence nor friglit,
That your red bands tuun over toward this dim light
These dead men that stare so? Ah, if you had kept
Your senses this morning ere his comrades liad left
You had heard that his place was worst of them alí, -
Not 'mid the stragglers, —where he fought he would fall.
There's the moon through the clouds: O Christ what a scene!
Dost thou from thy heavens o'cr such visions lean,
And still call this cursed world a footstool of thine ?
Hark, a groan! there another,-here in this line
Piled close on each other! Ah, here is the ilag,
Torn, dripping with gore;-bah! they died for this rag.
Ilere's the voice that we seek: poor soul, do not start;
We're women, not glosts. What a gash o'er the leart!
Is there aught we can do? A message to give
To any beloved one? I swear, if I live,
To take it for sake of the words my boy said,
· Horne,” “mother," "wife," ere he reeled down ’mong the

dead.
But, first, can you tell where his regiment stood ?
Speak, speak, man, or point; 'twas the Ninth. Oh, the blood
Is choking his voice! What a look of despair!
There, lean on my knee, while I put back the hair
From eyes so fast glazing. Oh, my darling, my own,
My liands were both idlo when you died alone.
He's dying-he's dead! Close his lids, let us go.
God's peace on his soul! If we only could know
Where our own dear one lies!—my soul has turned sick;
Must we crawl o'er these bodies that lie here so thick?
I cannot! I cannot! How eager you are!
One might think you were nursed on the red lap of War.
He's not here, -and not here. What wild liopes flash through
My thoughts, as foot-deep I stand in this dread dew,
And cast up a prayer to the blue quiet sky!
Was it you, girl, that shrieked? Al! what face doth lie
Upturned toward me there, so rigid and white?
O God, my brain reels! "Tis a dream. My old sight
Is dimmed with these horrors. My son! oh, my son!
Would I had died for thee, my own, only one!
There, lift off your arms; let him come to the breast
Where first he was lulled, with my soul's lymn, to rest.
Your heart never thrilled to your lover's fond kiss
As mine to his baby-touch; was it for this?

He was yours, too; he loved you? Yes, yes, you're right.
Forgive me, my daughter, I'm maddened to night.
Don't mean so, dear child; you're young, and your years
May still hold fair hopes; but the old die of wars.
Yes, take him again;-ali! don't lay your face there;
See, the blood from his wound has stained your loose hair.
Ilow quiet you are! Has she fainted?-lier check
Is cold as his own. Say a word to me,--

--speak!
Am I crazed ? Is she dead? Has her heart broke first?
Her trouble was bitter, but sure mine is worst.
I'm afraid, I'm afraid, all alone with these dead;
Those corpses are stirring; God help my poor head!
I'll sit by my children until the men cone
To bury the others, and then we'll go home.
Why, the slain are all dancing! Dearest, don't move.
Keep away from my boy; he's guarded by love.
Lullaby, lullaby; sleep, sweet darling, sleep!
God and tlıy mother will watch o'er thee keep.

TIIE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. ('er a low couch the setting sun bad thrown its latest ray, Where, in luis last strong agony, a dying warrior lay, The stern old Baron Rulliger, whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent

“They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er; That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more; They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that) Their own liege lord and master born, that I,-ha! ha!-must

die.

“And what is death ? I've dared him oft, before the Paynim

spear; Think ye he's entered at my gate.lias come to seek me here? I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the right was rag

ing hot;, I'll try his might, I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not

“Io! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin,
Bid eachi retainer arm with speed; call every vassal in;
Up with my bavner on the wall; the banquet board prepare:.
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

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