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Till, pois'd aloft, the resting beam suspends
Each equal weight; nor this, nor that descends.
So stood the war, till Hector's matchless might
With fates prevailing, turn'd the scale of fight.

6. (h) Fierce as a whirlwind up the walls he flies,
And fires his hosts with loud repeated cries:
Advance, ye Trojans! lend your valiant hands`,
Haste to the fleet, and toss the blazing brands!
They hear, they run; and gathering at his call,
Raise scaling engines, and ascend the wall:
Around the works a wood of glittering spears
Shoots up, and all the rising host appears.

7. A ponderous stone bold Hector heav'd to throw,
Pointed above, and rough and gross below`:
Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise,
Such men as live in these degenerate days.

Yet this as easy as a swain could bear

The snowy fleece, he toss'd and shook in air:
Thus arm'd, before the folded gates he came,

Of massy substance, and stupendous frame;
With iron bars and brazen hinges strong,
On lofty beams of solid timber hung:

Then, thundering through the planks with forceful sway,
Drives the sharp rock; the solid beams give way`,
The folds are shatter'd`; from the crackling door
Leap the resounding bars, the flying hinges roar.

8. Now rushing in, the furious chief appears,
Gloomy as night, and shakes two shining spears:
A dreadful gleam from his bright armor came,
And from his eyeballs flash'd the living flame.
He moves a god`, resistless in his course,
And seems a match for more than mortal force.
Then pouring after, through the gaping space,
A tide of Trojans flows, and fill the place;
The Greeks behold, they tremble, and they fly`;

The shore is heaped with death, and tumult rends the sky.

XLV.

RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS.

FROM MISS MILFORD.

[THIS Lesson is marked for inflection, emphasis and modulation, and is an admirable exercise for them all.]

1. I COME not here to talk. You know too well

The story of our thralldom. We are

-

- slaves!

The bright sun rises to his course and lights

A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beams
Fall on a -slave; not such as swept along

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By the full tide of power, the conqu❜ror led
To crimson glory and undying fame :

(2) But-base-ignoble-slaves; slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,

2.

Rich in some dozen paltry villages`;

Strong in some hundred spearmen`; only great
In that strange spell; — a NAME`.

Each hour, dark fraud,

Or open rapine, or protected murder,

Cries out against them. (h) But this very day`,
An honest man, my neighbor, there he stands,-
Was struck-struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
He toss'd not high his ready cap in air,

Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,

At sight of that great ruffian! (hh) Be we men ́,

And suffer such dishonor? men', and wash not

The stain away in blood? (1) Such shames are common,
I have known deeper wrongs; I that speak to ye,

(l) I had a brother` once ́· a gracious boy,

3.

Full of gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy, — there was the look

Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple.

How I lov'd`

That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once, and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheek; a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
That pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The cōrse, the mangled cōrse, and then (h) I cried

For vengeance! (hh) Rouse`, ye ROMANS! ROUSE, ye SLAVES !

4.

Have
ye
brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die`. Have ye fair daughters? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms`, distain'd
Dishonor'd; and if ye dare call for justice',
Be answer'd by the lash`.

(1) Yet this is Rôme,

That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne Of beauty, rul'd the world! and we are Romans! (h) Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman,

5.

Was greater than a king!

And once again,

-

(hh) Hear me, ye walls, that echo'd to the tread Of either Brutus! Once again, I swear, The eternal city shall be free.

XLVI. THE BROKEN HEART-A SKETCH.
FROM IRVING.

WASHINGTON IRVING, born in 1783, is well known as one of the first of American authors, and has written a large number of works. In early life he followed literary pursuits only as an amusement, but meeting with reverses, he devoted himself to literature as a profession. Some years since he purchased an old Dutch Mansion, on the Hudson, which he fitted up, and where he now resides.

1. EVERY one must recollect the tragical story of young Emmet, the Irish patriot; it was too touching to be soon forgotten. His fate made a deep impression on public sympathy. During the troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned, and executed, on a charge of treason. He was so young`, so intelligent, so generous, so brave, so every thing that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The noble indignation with which he repelled the charge of treason against his country, the eloquent vindication of his name, and his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of condemnation, all these entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution.

2. But there was one heart, whose anguish it would be impossible to describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes ́, he had won the affections of a beautiful and interesting girl, the

daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervor of a woman's first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her, whose whole soul was occupied by his image! Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most loved on earth`, who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, whence all that was most lovely and loving had departed.

3. But then the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so dishonored! there was nothing for memory to dwell on, that could soothe the pangs of separation, none of those tender, though melancholy circumstances, which endear the parting scene, nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent like the dews of heaven to revive the heart in the parting hour of anguish.

4. To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her love.

5. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity which scathe and scorch the soul, which penetrate to the vital seat of happiness, and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but was as much alone there as in the depths of solitude; walking about in a sad reveric, apparently unconscious of the world around her. She carried with her an inward woe, that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and "heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely."

6. The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene; to find it wandering like a specter lone and joyless, where all around is gay`, to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and, looking about for some time with a vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish scene, she began with the capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted every one into tears.

7. The story of one so true and tender could not but excite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her`, and thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent situation, for she was existing on the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance that her heart was unalterably another's.

8. He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear out the remembrance of her early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow but hopeless decline ́, and, at length, sank into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.

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