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An hour passed on, the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;

He woke to hear his sentries shriek,

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"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!" He woke to die midst flame, and smoke,

And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain cloud; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band:

"Strike-till the last armed foe expires;

Strike for your altars and your fires;
-

Strike for the green graves of your sires,
God, and your native land!"

They fought

like brave men, long and well;

They piled that ground with Moslem slain:

They conquered -- but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw

His smile when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;

They saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

Come to the bridal chamber, Death,
Come to the mother, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;
Come when the blessed seals

MARCO BOZZARIS.

That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;
Come when the heart beats high and warm,

With banquet song and dance and wine,
And thou art terrible; the tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine.

But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.

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Bozzaris! with the storied brave

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee; there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime.

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For thou art freedom's now, and fame's,
One of the few, the immortal names
That were not born to die.

159

XXVIII.

WHAT INTEMPERANCE DOES.

AUTHOR NOT KNOWN.

I AM aware that there is a prejudice against any man engaged in the manufacture of alcohol. I believe from the time it issues from the coiled and poisonous worm in the distillery, alcohol is demoralizing to everybody that touches it, from its source to where it ends. I do not believe that anybody can contemplate the subject without being prejudiced against it. All they have to do is to think of the wrecks on either side of the stream of death, of the suicides, of the insanity, of the poverty, of the destruction, of the little children tugging at the breast, of weeping and despairing wives asking for bread, of the man struggling with imaginary serpents produced by this accursed thing; and when you think of the jails, of the almshouses, of the asylums, of the prisons, and of the scaffolds, I do not wonder that every thoughtful man is prejudiced against this vile stuff called alcohol. Intemperance cuts down youth in its vigor, manhood in its strength, and age in its weakness. It breaks the father's heart, bereaves the doting mother, extinguishes natural affection, erases conjugal love, blots out filial attachment, blights parental hope, and brings down mourning age in sorrow to the grave. It produces weakness, not

WHAT INTEMPERANCE DOES.

161

strength; sickness, not health; death, not life. It makes wives widows, children orphans, fathers fiends, and all of them paupers and beggars. It feeds rheumatism, nurses gout, welcomes epidemics, invites cholera, imports pestilence, and embraces consumption. It covers the land with idleness, poverty, disease, and crime. It fills your jails, supplies your almshouses, and demands your asylums. It engenders controversies, fosters quarrels, and cherishes. riots. It crowds your penitentiaries, and furnishes the victims for your scaffolds. It is the life-blood of the gambler, the aliment of the counterfeiter, the prop of the highwayman, and the support of the midnight incendiary. It countenances the liar, respects the thief, and esteems the blasphemer. It violates obligation, reverences fraud, and honors infamy. It defames benevolence, hates love, scorns virtue, and slanders innocence. It incites the father to butcher his helpless offspring, helps the husband to massacre his wife, and aids the child to grind the parricidal axe. It burns up man and consumes woman, detests life, curses God, and despises heaven. It suborns witnesses, nurses perjury, defiles the jury box, and stains the judicial ermine. It bribes voters, disqualifies votes, corrupts elections, pollutes our institutions, and endangers our Government. It degrades the citizen, debases the legislator, dishonors the statesman, and disarms the patriot. It brings shame, not honor; terror, not safety; despair, not hope; misery, not happiness. And with the malevolence of a fiend,

it calmly surveys its frightful desolations; and insatiated with havoc, it poisons felicity, kills peace, ruins morals, blights confidence, slays reputation, wipes out national honor, and then curses the world and laughs at its ruin. It does all that and more. IT MURDERS THE SOUL. It is the sum of all villainies; the father of crimes; the mother of all abominations; the curse of curses; the devil's best friend, and God's worst enemy.

XXIX.

WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE.

SIR WILLIAM JONES.

WHAT constitutes a state?

Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Not bays and broad-arm ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;

Not starred and spangled courts,

Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to

pride.

Nomen, high-minded men,

With powers as far above dull brutes endued

In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude, –

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