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Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war,—

These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them when they were free,
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou,

Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play-
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,

Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole; or in the torrid clime

Dark heaving;-boundless, endless, and sublime—
The image of Eternity-the throne

Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone

Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. "Apostrophe to the Ocean."

BYRON.

10. 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 Cæsar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Cæsar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer,-Not that I loved Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cæsar 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 is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

"Julius Cæsar."

SHAKESPEARE.

11. Father of Earth and Heaven! I call thy name!
Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll;

My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame;
Father, sustain an untried soldier's soul!
Or life, or death, whatever be the goal
That crowns or closes round the struggling hour,
Thou knowest, if ever from my spirit stole

One deeper prayer, 'twas that no cloud might lower
On my young fame!—O hear! God of eternal power.

Now for the fight-now for the cannon peal

Forward-through blood and toil and cloud and fire! Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel, The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire; They shake,-like broken waves their squares retire,— On them, hussars!-Now give them rein and heel; Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire:— Earth cries for blood,-in thunder on them wheel! This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph-seal! "Battle Hymn." KARL THEODOR KÖRNER.

ASPIRATED

1. Lady Macbeth. Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,

And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed
Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready;
He could not miss them. Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done't.

(Enter Macbeth)

My husband!

Macbeth. I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? Lady Macbeth. I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak?

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Macbeth. This is a sorry sight. (Looking on his hands.)
Lady Macbeth. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

Macbeth. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried "Murder!"

That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them:
But they did say their prayers, and address'd them
Again to sleep.

"Macbeth."

SHAKESPEARE.

2. Steady, boys, steady!

Keep your arms ready.

God only knows whom we may meet here.
Don't let me be taken-

I'd rather awaken

To-morrow in-no matter where,―

Than lie in that foul prison hole over there.

"The Wounded Soldier."

3. Hark! they whisper: angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away!"
What is this absorbs me quite,—
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?-

ANON.

Tell me, my soul! can this be death?

"The Dying Christian to his Soul."

РОРЕ.

4. Brutus. How ill this taper burns!-Ha! who comes here? I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition.

(Ghost approaches.)

It comes upon me:-Art thou anything?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me, what thou art.

"Julius Cæsar."

SHAKESPEARE.

PECTORAL

1. Oh, I have passed a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Tho 't were to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time. "Richard III.”

SHAKESPEARE.

2. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

Be thou spirit of health or goblin damn'd.

Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou comest in such a questionable shape

That I will speak to thee! I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father; royal Dane, Oh, answer me!

"Hamlet."

SHAKESPEARE.

3. And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted-nevermore.

"The Raven."

РОЕ.

4. Ghost. I am thy father's spirit,

Doomed for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burned and purged away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul.

"Hamlet."

SHAKESPEARE.

GUTTURAL

1. But you, wretch! you could creep through the world unaffected by its various disgraces, its ineffable miseries, its constantly accumulating masses of crime and sorrow;—you could live and enjoy yourself while the noble-minded were betrayed,-while nameless and birthless villains trod on the neck of the brave and long-descended:-you could enjoy yourself, like a butcher's dog in the shambles, battening on garbage, while the slaughter of the brave went on around you! This enjoyment you shall not live to partake of: you shall die, base dog!—and that before yon cloud has passed over the sun! SCOTT.

2. 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!

"Catiline's Defiance."

GEORGE CROLY.

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