hope of victory animates me. Your spirit, your age, your valor, give me confidence, to say nothing of necessity, which makes even cowards brave. To prevent the numbers of the enemy from surrounding us our confined situation is sufficient; but should Fortune be unjust to your valor, take care not to lose your lives unavenged-take care not to be taken and butchered like cattle rather than, fighting like men, to leave to your enemies a bloody and mournful victory. corpse AFTER THE BATTLE.* When the battle was over, it was plainly seen what boldness and what energy of spirit had prevailed throughout the army of Catiline, for, almost everywhere, every soldier, after yielding up his breath, covered with his the spot which he had occupied when alive. A few, indeed, whom the praetorian cohort had dispersed, had fallen somewhat differently, but all with wounds in front. Catiline himself was found far in advance of his men, among the dead bodies of the enemy; he was not quite breathless and still expressed in his countenance the fierceness of spirit which he had shown during his life. Of his whole army, neither in the battle nor in flight was any free-born citizen made prisoner, for they had spared their own lives no more than those of the enemy. did the army of the Roman people obtain a joyful or bloodless victory, for all their bravest men were either killed in the battle or left the field severely wounded. Nor Of many who went from the camp to view the ground or plunder the slain, some, in turning over the bodies of the enemy, discovered * Catiline and Caius Antonius, Petreius commanding the latter. a friend, others an acquaintance, others a relative; some, too, recognized their enemies. Thus gladness and sorrow, grief and joy, were variously felt throughout the whole army. Translation of REV. JOHN SELBY WATSON, M. A. IAG THE SPIRIT OF WINE. FROM "OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE." AGO. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? IAGO. Marry, Heaven forbid ! CAS. Reputation, reputation, reputation! Ch, I have lost my reputation. I have lost the immortal part, sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation! Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. Oh that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that' we should with joy, revel, pleasure and applause transform ourselves into beasts! IAGO. Come, you are too severe a moraler. . . . CAS. I will ask him for my place again: he shall tell me I am a drunkard. Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! Oh, strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil. SHAKESPEARE. LOVE WITHOUT RETURN. RIEVE not, fond man, nor A note of merry laughter comes from far; I hear of distant herds the tinkle low; let one tear Steal from thine eyes; Down in the vale, where cool the shadows she'll hear No more of Cupid's For why shouldst thou nour- Thy easy breast, and not have like return? Let, then, her frigid coolness move are, The brook goes by with constant murmur ing flow. The same bird sings that did one year ago, I hear the hum of insect life again; All things seem bright and beautiful; but oh, 'Tis not the same bright world that it was then. Yes, all is changed, though outwardly the same: The bird no longer sings to listening ear; Though all the west with crimson is aflame, The day seems like November, gray and drear. When I would see, there comes a blinding tear Through which I only see a golden past; There comes a memory, when I would hear, Of hopes which were too beautiful to last. A year ago but one short year ago- I watched his coming ere he had forgot The well-worn path that led him to my side; Then came he always: now he cometh not, But in his absence only hope hath died. Lo LOVE. OVE is the blossom where there blows Everything that lives or grows; Love doth make the heavens to move, And the sun doth burn in love; Love the strong and weak doth yoke, And makes the ivy climb the oak, Under whose shadows lions wild, Softened by love, grow tame and mild; Love no medicine can appease : He burns the fishes in the seas; Not all the skill his wounds can stench, Not all the sea his fire can quench. Love did make the bloody spear Once a leavy coat to wear, While in his leaves there shrouded lay Waited in trembling hope, and then in Sweet birds for Love that sing and play. fear, Then in despair: he comes no more again. I've put the rose upon my breast in vain, In vain bound braids and jewels in my hair, JOYS. GILES FLETCHER. That, though my heart ached with a numb- HOW fading are the joys we dote upon ! ing pain, When he should come he'd find me not less fair. Like apparitions seen and gone; But those which soonest take their flight Are the most exquisite and strong; Like angels' visits, short and bright, Come back to me, dear love, come back to Mortality's too weak to bear them long. me! My heart calls with a yearning, passionate cry; My life is desolate for want of thee, My soul is grieved because thou art not nigh. My love waits only for a word to fly And nestle close to thy warm heart, my own: The night is coming on; the shadows die In deeper shades, and still I am alone. MRS. E. B. DUFFEY. JOHN NORRIS. And died. Does youth, does beauty, read | So if I dream I have IMA she Whose fair impression in my faithful heart Makes me her medal, and makes her love me I have you, you, For all our joys are but fantastical, To this gross clay confined, flutters on earth As kings do coins, to which their stamps And view with piercing eyes the grand impart The value, go, and take my heart from hence, for me. Honors oppress weak spirits, and our sense see. machine, Worlds above worlds, subservient to His voice Who, veiled in clouded majesty, alone move And changeful seasons in their turns advance, When you are gone, and reason gone with Unmoved, unchanged himself,—yet this at you, Then phantasy is queen, and soul and all; She can present. joys meaner than you do, Convenient and more proportional. least Grant me propitious: an inglorious life W EEP SLEEP. you no more, sad fountains: What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven's sun doth gently waste, But my sun's heavenly eyes View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets; When fair at even he sets? JOHN DOWLAND. |