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power, and empire; and each in turn met the fatal blow of the assassin. The first fell by the mad revenge of a foreign foe. The ambition of the latter was too strong for their friendship. From the gory locks of Pompey, Cæsar turned away and wept, - Cæsar, who, in his giant strides for empire, fell beneath the dagger of “ the self-appointed executioner of his country's vengeance."

2. How marked the contrast ! how wide the difference! Our triumvirs lived for their country, - labored for its institutions, - dedicated the ardor of youth, the power of manhood, and the wisdom of age, to its sublime and sacred service. And when death, the tardy assassin, approached with faltering step the sanctuary of their lives, he found it tenanted by no ambitious and blood-stained conquerors; its arches hung with no escutcheons of heraldic blazonry ; its galleries strung with no moldering laurels, or worn and rustclad mail; its porches flashing with no falchion lances of chivalric knights. But he found that temple swept and garnished ; the aged priests at its altar, clothed in the pure white robes of virtue ; its laureled arches twined with amaranth ; its galleries hung thick with the trophies of wisdom and eloquence ; and its ivied porches glittering with the gems of immortality. The Cæsar of our triumvirate fell by a higher decree than the sword of Brutus, and left a nation of Antonies to mourn his fall.



1. Press on ! surmount the rocky steeps,

Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch :

lle fails alone who feebly creeps ;

He wins who dares the hero's march.
Be thou a hero ! let thy might

Tramp on eternal snows its way,
And, through the ebon walls of night,

Hew down a passage unto day.

2. Press on ! if once and twice thy feet

Slip back and stumble, harder try;
From him who never dreads to meet

Danger and death, they ’re sure to fly.
To coward ranks the bullet speeds,

While on their breasts, who never quail,
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds,

Bright courage, like a coat of mail.

3. Press on! if Fortune play thee false

To-day, to-morrow she 'll be true ;
Whom now she sinks, she now exalts,

Taking old gifts and granting new.
The wisdom of the present hour

Makes up for follies past and gone :
To weakness, strength succeeds, and power

From frailty springs : - press on ! press on i

4. Therefore, press on! and reach the goal,

And gain the prize, and wear the crown:
Faint not! for to the steadfast soul

Come wealth, and honor, and renown.
To thine own self be true, and keep

Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil :
Press on! and thou shalt surely reap

A heavenly harvest for thy toil!

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SOLILOQUY OF CATO ON IMMORTALITY. - ADDISOX. 1. It must be so:- - Plato, thou reason'st well!

Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality ?
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? —
'T is the divinity that stirs within us :
'T is Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

2. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought !

Through what variety of untried being, —
Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass !
The wide, th' unbounded prospect, lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us,
(And that there is, all nature cries aloud
Through all her works, he must delight in virtue ;
And that which he delights in, must be happy.
But when ? or where? This world was made for Cæsar.
of conjectures, this must end them !

(Laying his hand on his sword.) 3. Thus I am doubly armed. My death and life,

My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This *

in a moment — brings me to an end ;
But this † - informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.

I'm weary

The dagger.
+ Plato's Trentise.

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.



[Characters. — AXALLA, PRINCE OF Tanais, TAMERLANE,* OMAR, and BAJAZET. † - Enter TAMERLANE, AXALLA, PRINCE OF TANAIS, soldiers, and other attendants.)

Axalla. From this auspicious day, the Parthian name
Shall date its birth of empire, and extend,
E'en from the dawning east to utmost Thule, I
The limits of its sway.

Prince. Nations unknown,
Where yet the Roman eagles never flew,

pay their homage to victorious Tamerlane;
Bend to his valor and superior virtue,
And own, that conquest is not given by. chance,
But, bound by fatal and resistless merit,
Waits on his arms.

Tamerlane. It is too much: you dress me
Like an usurper, in the borrowed attributes

* Tam'er-lane, a sovereign prince of Tartary, and one of the most celebrated of the oriental conquerors. He was born in 1335, and died in 1405.

† Baj'a-zet, a Turkish emperor, and renowned warrior. He was defeated and taken prisoner by Tamerlane in 1402, and died in 1403.

| Thule, the name the ancients gave to the most northern country with which they were acquainted.

of injured Heaven. Can we call conquest ours?
Shall man, this pigmy, with a giant's pride,
Vaunt of himself, and say, — Thus have I done this?
Oh, vain pretense to greatness! Like the moon,
We borrow all the brightness which we boast,
Dark in ourselves, and useless. If that hand,
That rules the fate of battles, strike for us,
Crown us with fame, and gild our clay with honor,
’T were most ungrateful to disown the benefit,
And arrogate a praise which is not ours.

Ax. With such unshaken temper of the soul
To bear the swelling tide of prosperous fortune,
Is to deserve that fortune. In adversity,
The mind grows tough by buffeting the tempest,
Which, in success dissolving, sinks to ease,
And loses all her firmness.

Tam. Oh, Axalla!
Could I forget I am a man as thou art, -
Would not the winter's cold, or summer's heat,
Sickness, or thirst, and hunger, all the train
Of nature's clamorous appetites, asserting
An equal right in kings and common men,
Reprove me daily? No, - if I boast of aught,
Be it to have been Heaven's happy instrument,
The means of good to all my fellow-creatures:
This is a king's best praise.

(Enter Omar.)
Omar. Honor and fame (Bowing to Tamerlane.)
Forever wait the emperor: may our prophet
Give him ten thousand days of life,
And every day like this. The captive sultan,
Fierce in his bonds, and at his fate repining,
Attends your sacred will.

Tam. Let him approach. (Enter Bajazet and other Turkish prisoners in chains, with a guard of soldiers | When I survey the ruins of this field,

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