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He looked around, he blushed, he laughed,
He started up, like one from sleep
And trembled for his life:
He saw his weeping wife.
In his deep dream he had not felt
Their agonies and fears;
To plead with prayers and tears.
But the foul fiend her hateful spell
He grasped the bowl to seek relief;
No more his conscience said:
His children begged for bread.
Through haunts of horror and of strife,
12. The Call Of Poland.—Campbell.
Have ye sharpened your swords? for the battle is nigh— The morn of the conflict is breaking;Oh dark is the dawn, but slaughter's red eye, Shall enlighten the path you are taking, Bright hope in your bosoms awaking, That the vengeance which slept under muscovite sway, The treasure of years, shall be kindled to-day.
Tis freedom that calls you, though dim be the sun,
The darkness around you dispelling;
By the glory our tyrants would quench, but in vain—
By him who, undaunted, again and again
By all that is worthy in man's little day,
Go dare as your fathers, or perish as they.
Have ye sharpened your swords for the banquet of death?Have ye made the blood-deep adjuration 1 Have ye dared on the hazard the stake of your breath?Again ye shall be a free nation— Not vain shall be your invocation;The call of each sword upon liberty's aid Shall be written in gore on the steel of its blade!
13. The Ocean.—Anonymous.
Likeness of heaven! agent of power!
What are the riches of Mexico's mines,
From the high hills that view thy wreck-making shore,
How humbling to one with a heart and a soul,
Yes! where are the cities of Thebes and of Tyre?
But thou art almighty—eternal—sublime—
But hold! when thy surges no longer shall roll, And that firmament's length is drawn back like a scroll;Then—then shall the spirit that sighs by thee now, Be more mighty—more lasting, more chainless than thou!
14. The World.—Anonymous.
How beautiful the world is! The green earth covered with flowers—the trees laden with rich blossoms—the blue sky, and the bright water, and the golden sunshine. The world is, indeed, beautiful, and He who made it must be beautiful.
It is a happy world. Hark! how the merry birds sing— and the young lambs—see! how they gambol on the hillside. Even the trees wave, and the brooks ripple, in gladness. Yon eagle!—Ah! how joyously he soars up to the glorious heavens —the bird of liberty, the bird of America.
"His throne is on the mountain-top;
His fields the boundless air;
The skies—his dwellings are.
He rises, like a thing of light, Amid the noontide blaze:The midway sun is clear and bright— It cannot dim his gaze."
It is happy—I see it and hear it all about me—nay, I feel it —here, in the glow, the eloquent glow of my own heart. He who made it must be happy.
It is a great world. Look off to the mighty ocean when the storm is upon it;—to the huge mountain, when the thunder and the lightnings play over it; to the vast forest—the interminable waste;—the sun, the moon, and the myriads of fair stars, countless as the sands upon the seashore. It is a great, a magnificent world,—and He who made it,—Oh! He is the perfection of all loveliness, all goodness, all greatness, all gloriousness!
15. CATILINE, ON HEARING HIS SENTENCE OF BAN IS.IMENT.
Banished from Rome! what's banished but set free From daily contact of the things I lothe? "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. He 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 sinew strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrows !—This hour's work Will breed proscriptions.—Look to your hearths, my lords, For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, Shapes hot 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.
16. To A Child.—Yankee.
Things of high import sound I in thine ears,
Dear child, though now thou mayest not feel their powei , But hoard them up, and in thy coming years
Forget them not, and when earth's tempests lower,
A talisman unto thee shall they be,
To give thy weak arm strength—to make thy dim eye see. Seek truth, that pure celestial truth—whose birth
Be free.—Not chiefly from the iron chain,
The master of thyself. If lost, regain
The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free.
Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet,
And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet.
Seek virtue. Wear her armor to the fight;
Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might
By each contending turbulent ill of life. Seek virtue.—She alone is all divine; And having found, be strong, in God's own strength and thine
Truth—freedom—virtue—these, dear child, have power,
If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour;
Neglect them—thy celestial gifts are vain— In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled; Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled.
17. "there's Death In The Pot."—Anonymous.
Hark! hark! the alarum has sped,
Dire pestilence stalks in the breeze,
It heeds neither mountain nor seas.
From Asia's dark morass it springs,