7. "Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then:

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renownHe flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

8. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,

"No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for, now; My king is false-my hope betrayed! My father-O! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!

9. "I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside

thee, yet!

I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met! Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then-for thee my fields

were won;

And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!" 10. Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein,

Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train;
And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face--the king before the dead:

11. "Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?

-Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-give answer, where are they?

-If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay!

12. "Into these glassy eyes put light-be still! keep down thine

ire!

Bid these white lips a blessing speak-this earth is not my sire-. Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed!

Thou canst not?—and a king!-his dust be mountains on the head!"

13. IIe loosed the steed-his slack hand fell-upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad

place,

His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strainHis banner led the spears no more, amid the hills of Spain.

MRS. HEMAN3,

CXXXIII.~PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE MEN OF GHENT.

1 SIRS, ye have heard these knights discourse to you Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers

The worthy leaders ye have lately lost.

True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs;
And ill would it become us to make light

Of the great loss we have suffer'd by their fall.
They died like heroes; for no recreant step
Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear,
No base despair, no cowardly recoil.

They had the hearts of freemen to the last,
And the free blood that bounded in their veins

Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy.

2. But had they guessed, or could they but have dreamed The great examples which they died to show

Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here,
That men should say, "For liberty these died,
Wherefore let us be slaves"-had they thought this,
O, then, with what an agony of shame,

Their blushing faces buried in the dust,

Had their great spirits parted hence for heaven!

3. What! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth

To write, that in five bodies were contained

The sole brave hearts of Ghent! which five defunct.
The heartless town, by brainless counsel led,
Delivered up her keys, stript off her robes,
And so with all humility besought

Her haughty lord that he would scourge her lightly!
It shall not be-no, verily! for now,

Thus looking on you as ye stand before me,
Mine eye can single out full many a man
Who lacks but opportunity to shine

As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell.

4. But, lo! the earl is "mercifully minded!"
And, surely, if we, rather than revenge
The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame,
And fall upon our knees, and say we 've sinned,
Then will my lord the earl have mercy on us,
And pardon us our strike for liberty!

5. O, sirs! look round you, lest ye be deceived;
Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue.

Forgiveness may be written with the pen,
But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon
Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart.
There's that betwixt you been which men remember
Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot-
Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed
From which no morrow's mischief rouses them.
There's that betwixt you been which you yourselves,
Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves,
For must it not be thought some base men's souls
Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out
If, in the coldness of a craven heart,

Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man

For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes?

HENRY TAYLOR

CXXXIV. VARIETIES.

1.-SPEECH OF SEMPRONIUS.

1. My voice is still for war.

Gods! can a Roman senate long debate,
Which of the two to choose-slavery or death?
No! let us rise at once, gird on our swords,

And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe; break through the thick array

Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest,

May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.

2. Rise, fathers, rise! 't is Rome demands your help; Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens,

Or share their fate! The slain of half her senate
Enrich the fields of Thessaly, while we

Sit here, deliberating in cold debates,

If we should sacrifice our lives to honor,
Or wear them out in servitude and chains.

Rouse up, for shame! Our brothers of Pharsalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, To battle!"

66

2. CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY.

ADDISON

1. Ir must be so-Plato, thou reasonest well! Else. whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire.

This longing after immortality?

Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us:
'Tis Heaven itself that points out a hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

2. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes, and changes, must we pass?
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us-
And that there is, all nature cries aloud

Through all her works-He must delight in virtue,
And that, which He delights in must be happy.

But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar

3. I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them.
Thus I am doubly armed. My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This, in a moment, brings me to an end;
But this, informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt among the war of elements,

The wreck of matter and the crash of worlds.

ADDISON.

CXXXV.-MARMION TAKING LEAVE OF DOUGLAS.

1. THE train from out the castle drew;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu

"Though something I might 'plain," he said,

Of cold respect to stranger guest,

Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed

Part we in friendship from your land,

And, noble earl, receive my hand.

2. But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :
"My manors, halls and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone-
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp!"

3. Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, And-"This to me!" he said;

"An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And first I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,

Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)
I tell thee, thou 'rt defied!
And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

4. On the earl's cheek the flush of rage

O'ercame the ashen hue of age;

Fierce he broke forth: "And darest thou, then,

To beard the lion in his den

The Douglas in his hall?

And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?

No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms!-what, warder, ho!

Let the portcullis fall."

5. Lord Marmion turned-well was his need

And dashed the rowels in his steed;

Like arrow through the archway sprung,