631. BRUTUS' HARANGUE ON CESAR'S DEATH. Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me-for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any, in this assembly, any dear friend of Cesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Cesar-was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand, why Brutus-rose against Cesar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Cesar--less, but, that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cesar were living, and die all slaves; than that Cesar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears for his love, joy-for his fortune, honor-for his valor, and death-for his ambition. Who's here so base, that would be a bondman? if any, speak; for him--have I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman? if any, speak? for him-have I offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? if any, speak; for him--have I offended.I pause for a reply. None! then none--have I offended. I have done no more to Cesar, than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death-is enrolled in the capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth; as, which of you shall not?-With this I depart- -that as I slew my best lover-for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. 632. ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY. Dioptrics, optics, katoptrics, carbon, Chlorine, and iodine, and aerostatics; As Chinese, Portuguese, or German; and was quite familiar in Low Dutch and Spanish, Is "Love, still love," had oft till midnight tried 633. CHARITY. Though I speak--with the tongues of men, and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity-suffereth long, and is kind; charity--envieth not; charity-vaunteth not itself; it is not puffed up; doth not behave itself unseemly; seeketh not her own; is not easily provoked; thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity--never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there That Wallack looked extremely well in Rolla; be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we She fell in love, as all the ladies do, With Mr. Simpson-talked as loudly, too, As any beauty of the highest grade, To the gay circle in the box beside her; And Dr. Chalmers' sermons, of a Sunday; [gundi. know, in part, and we prophecy, in part. But, when that which is perfect, is come, then that, which is in part, shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now, we see through a glass, darkly; but then, face to face: now, I know in part; but then, shall I know, even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.-St Paul. EARLY RISING AND PRAYER. When first thy eyes unvail, give thy soul leave 634. SAILOR BOY'S DREAM. In slumbers of midnight, the sailor boy lay; His hammock swung loose, at the sport of the wind; And the swallow sings sweet, from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. His cheek is impearled, with a mother's warm tear, With the lips of the maid, whom his bosom holds dear. Joy quickens his pulse-all his hardships seem o'er, In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss- Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Or redeem form, or frame, from the merciless surge; Oh! sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul.-Dimond. TIME AND ITS CHANGES. Reformation is a work of time. A national taste, however wrong it may be, cannot be totally changed at once; we must yield a little to the prepossession, which has taken hold on the mind, and we may then bring people to adopt what would offend them, if endeavored to be introduced by violence. What's fame? a fancied life in other's breath, Mind, not money-makes the man, 635. CHILD HAROLD.-CANTO IV. In deeming such-inhabit many a spot! There is a pleasure-in the pathless woods, (Calm, or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me [fits, 1 636. PATRIOTIC TRIUMPH. The citizens of America-celebrate that day, which gave birth to their liberties. The recollection of this event, replete with consequences so beneficial to mankind, swells every heart with joy, and fills every tongue with praise. We celebrate, not the sanguinary exploits of a tyrant, to subjugate, and enslave-millions of his fellow-creatures; we celebrate, neither the birth, nor the coronation, of that phantom, styled a king; but, the resurrection of liberty, the emancipation of mankind, the regeneration of the world. These are the sources of our joy, these the causes of our triumph. We pay no homage at the tomb of kings, to sublime our feelings-we trace no line of illustrious ancesters, to support our dignity-we recur to no usages sanctioned by the authority of the great, to protect our rejoicing; no, we love liberty, we glory in the rights of men, we glory in independence. On whatever part of God's creation a human form pines under chains, there, Americans drop their tears. A dark cloud once shaded this beautiful quarter of the globe. Consternation, for awhile, agitated the hearts of the inhabitants. War desolated our fields, and buried our vales in blood. But the dayspring from on high soon opened upon us its glittering portals. The angel of liberty descending, dropped on Washington's brow, the wreath of victory, and stamped on American freedom, the seal of omnipotence. The darkness is past, and the true light now shines-to enliven, and rejoice mankind. We tread a new earth, in which dwelleth righteousness; and view a new heaven, flaming with inextinguishable stars. Our feet will no more descend into the vale of oppressions; our shoulders will no more bend-under the weight of a foreign domination, as cruel, as it was unjust. Well may we rejoice-at the return of this glorious anniversary; a day dear to every American; a day-to be had in everlasting remembrance; a day, whose light circulates joy-through the hearts of all republicans, and terror through the hearts of all tyrants.-Maxy. 637. TIT FOR TAT: COQUETRY PUNISHED. A clown could take her eye?" The maid design'd to bless; When, from his lips, the fair should learn, At length, one morn, to taste the air, Edgar had nerved his bashful heart, Or in your bosom spring. I never dream'd of such a thing!" Man, always prosperous, would be giddy and insolent; always afflicted-would be sullen, or despondent. Hopes and fears, joy and sorrow, are, therefore, so blended in his life, as both to give room for worldly pursuits, and to recall the admonitions of conscience. could rise? 638. RECITATIONS INSTEAD OF THEA- 639. WATERLOO; THE BALL AND BATTLE. TRES. In its present state, the theatre-de- There was a sound of revelry-by night, serves no encouragement. It has nourished And Belgium's capital-had gathered then intemperance, and all vice. In saying this, Her beauty, and her chivalry; and bright I do not say that the amusement is radically, The lamps shone o'er fair women, and brave men essentially evil. I can conceive of a theatre, which would be the noblest of all amuse- A thousand hearts beat happily; and when ments, and would take a high rank, among Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, the means of refining the taste, and elevating Soft eyes looked love, to eyes, which spake again, the character of a people. The deep woes, And all went merry as a marriage-bell; [knell! the mighty, and terrible passions, and the But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising sublime emotions-of genuine tragedy, are fitted to thrill us with human sympathies, Did ye not hear it?—No; 'twas but the wind, with profound interest in our nature, with a Or the car, rattling o'er the stony street: consciousness of what man can do, and dare, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; and suffer, with an awed feeling of the fearful No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet, mysteries of life. The soul of the spectator To chase the glowing hours, with flying feetis stirred from its depths; and the lethargy, But hark! That heavy sound breaks in once more, in which so many live, is roused, at least for a time, to some intenseness of thought, and As if the clouds-its echo would repeat; sensibility. The drama answers a high pur- And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! [roar! pose, when it places us in the presence of the Arm! arm! it is-it is the cannon's opening most solemn, and striking event of human Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, history, and lays bare to us the human heart, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, in its most powerful, appalling, glorious workings. But how little does the theatre And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago accomplish its end? How often is it disgra- Blushed-at the praise of their own loveliness: ced, by monstrous distortions of human na- And there were sudden partings, such as press ture, and still more disgraced by profaneness, The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs, coarseness, indelicacy, low wit, such as no Which ne'er might be repeated; for who could woman, worthy of the name, can hear with- If ever more should meet, those mutual eyes, (guess, out a blush, and no man can take pleasure Since upon night, so sweet, such awful morn in-without self-degradation. Is it possible, that a christian, and a refined people, can resort to theatres, where exhibitions of dancing are given, fit only for brothels, and where the most licentious class in the community throng, unconcealed, to tempt, and destroy? That the theatre should be suffered to exist, in its present degradation, is a reproach to the community. Were it to fall, a better drama might spring up in its place. In the meantime, is there not an amusement, having an affinity with the drama, which might be usefully introduced among us? I mean, Recitations. A work of genius, recited by a man of fine taste, enthusiasm, and powers of elocution, is a very pure, and high gratification. Were this art cultivated, and encouraged, great numbers, now insensible to the most beautiful compositions, might be waked up to their excellence, and power. It is not easy to conceive of a more effectual way, of spreading a refined taste through a community. The drama, undoubtedly, appeals more strongly to the passions than recitation; but the latter brings out the meaning of the author more. Shakspeare, worthily recited, would be better understood than on the stage. Then, in recitation, we escape the weariness of listening to poor performers; who, after all, fill up most of the time at the theatre. Recitations, sufficiently varied, so as to include pieces of chaste wit, as well of pathos, beauty and sublimity, is adapted to our present intellectual progress, as much as the drama falls below it. Should this exhibition be introduced among us successfully, the result would be, that the power of recitation would be extensively called forth, and this would be added to our social, and domestic pleasures. Thou knowest but little, If thou dost think true virtue--is confined And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, blent! What's in the air? Some subtle spirit-runs through all my veins; Hope-seems to ride, this morning, on the wind, And outshines the sun. When things go wrong, each fool presumes t' ad- And beats the pulse of every healthful heart. [ation, | And that advice seems best, which comes too late. 640. FEVER DREAM. A fever--scorched my body, fired my brain! I raged with thirst, and begged a cold, clear draught Of fountain water.-Twas with tears, denied. I drank a nauseous febrifuge, and slept; Thirst raged within me.-I sought the deepest vale, I crushed the withered herbs, and gnawed dry roots, Still crying, Water! water!-While the cliffs and caves, In horrid mockery, re-echoed "Water!" With solar flame, upon the sandy bank Of a broad river.-"Soon, oh soon!" I cried, And quaff my fill."-I ran-I reached the shore.- Grew still more frantic. Those, who dug the earth, At sight of whom, a general groan-announced The death of hope. Ah! now, no more was heard Thence to the woods. The baked plain gaped for moisture, The breath of furnace-fierce, volcanic fire, Or hot monsoon, that raises Syrian sands To ciouds. Amid the forests, we espied A faint, and bleating herd. Sudden, a shrill, And horrid shout arose of-"Blood! blood! blood!" And drank up all the blood, that was not human! We were dyed in blood! Despair returned; The cry of blood was hushed, and dumb confusion reigned. Even then, when hope was dead-past hope I heard a laugh! and saw a wretched man Rip his own veins, and, bleeding, drink With eager joy. The example seized on all: Each fell upon himself, tearing his veins, Fiercely, in search of blood! And some there were, Upon their neighbor's arms, and slew them for their blood- To their parched tongues! "Tis done!-now all is gone! "Rend, oh! ye lightnings! the sealed firmament, Luxurious death! Ye earthquakes, split the globe, Thus raged the multitude. And many fell Loud as the seven apocalyptic thunders, Kind friends, at your call, I'm come here to sing; Though small's the delight to you I can bring Some noses are large, and others are small, To some folks, I'm told, she gives no nose at all, Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me! My cause of complaint, and the worst of my woes, Is, because I have got such a shocking long nose. Some insult or other, each day I do meet, And by joking, my friends are all foes; A woman, with matches one day, I came near, Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me! Each rascal, each day, some inuendo throws, For the night before marriage, entranc'd with my [bliss, In love, e'er some torment occurs I screw'd up my lips, just to give her a kiss, Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me! The ring that I gave, at my head soon she throws, Or, like pilgrim of old, with his load at his back, I can't get a wife, though each hour hard I try, "I'm afraid to have you!" when I ask 'em for why? Because, you have got such a nose. Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me! A wag, you must know, just by way of a wipe, If I ask any one my way to disclose, If I lose it-they answer, why, follow your nose, |