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"O World-God, give me Wealth!" the Egyptian cried.

His prayer was granted. High as heaven behold

Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold.

Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet, World-circling traffic roared through mart and street,

His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings enshrined

Set death at naught in rock-ribbed charnels deep.

Seek Pharaoh's race to-day, and ye shall find

Rust and the moth, silence and dusty sleep.

"O World-God, give me Beauty!" cried the Greek.

His prayer was granted. All the earth be

came

Plastic and vocal to his sense; each peak, Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame,

Peopled the world with imaged grace and light.

The lyre was his, and his the breathing might

Of the immortal marble, his the play Of diamond-pointed thought and golden tongue.

Go seek the sunshine race. Ye find to-day A broken column and a lute unstrung.

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I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! he sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave! Not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame,
But base, ignoble slaves!-- slaves to a horle
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords
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.
But this very day

An honest man, my neighbor (pointing to PAthere he stands,

OLO), Was struck

wore

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The badge of Ursini! because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor? men, and wash not
The stain away in blood? Such shames are com

mon.

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye.
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of Heaven upon his face which linners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son ! He left my side;
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance ! Rouse ye, Romans! Rouse

ye, slaves!

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, distained,
Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world! Yet we are Romans !

Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman

Was greater than a king! And once again
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus !- - once again, I swear,
The eternal city shall be free; her sons shali
walk with princes.

MARY RUSSELL MITFORD

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But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of | Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the

war,

What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
"T is thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the
gate.

A steed comes at morning: no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin to death and captivity led!
O, weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead;
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.

LOCHIEL.

rock!

But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array

WIZARD.

- Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day; But man cannot cover what God would reveal; For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.

Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring

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Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? "T is the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven.

O crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it
stood,

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Culloden is lost, and my country deplores,
But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, for-
lorn,

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?

Ah no! for a darker departure is near;
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ;
His death-bell is tolling: O mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims.
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to
beat,

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale —

LOCHIEL.

- Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale; For never shall Albin a destiny meet,

And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat!

brood.

LOCHIEL.

False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan, Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one !

They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,

And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.

Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock!

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed

in their gore,

Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,

With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe;
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of

fame!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

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