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Appeared ten thousand slanders, all his own.

629. PERRY'S VICTORY. Were anything And those, forsaken of God, and to themselves giv wanting, to perpetuate the fame of this vic-The prudent shunned him, and his house, [en up tory, it would be sufficiently memorable, from As one, who had a deadly moral plague ; the scene where it was fought. This war has And fain all would have shunned him, at the day been distinguished, by new and peculiar characteristics. Naval warfare has been carried Of judgment; but in vain. All, who gave ear, into the interior of a continent, and navies, With greediness, or, wittingly, their tongues as if by magic, launched from among the Made herald to his lies, around him wailed; depths of the forest! The bosom of peace-While on his face, thrown back by injured men fuflakes, which, but a short time since, weren characters of ever-blushing shame, scarcely navigated by man, except to be skimmed by the light canoe of the savage, have all at once been ploughed by hostile ships. The vast silence, that had reigned, for ages, on these mighty waters, was broken by the thunder of artillery, and the affrighted savage-stared, with amazement, from his covert, at the sudden apparition of a seafight, amid the solitudes of the wilderness. The peal of war has once sounded on that Jake, but probably, will never sound again. The last roar of cannon, that died along her shores, was the expiring note of British domination. Those vast, eternal seas will, perhaps, never again be the separating space, between contending nations; but will be embosomed-within a mighty empire; and this victory, which decided their fate, will stand unrivalled, and alone, deriving lustre, and perpetuity, from its singleness.

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630. TRUE FRIENDSHIP. Damon and Py thias, of the Pythagorean sect in philosophy, lived in the time of Dionysius, the tyrant of Their mutual friendship was Sicily. strong, that they were ready to die for one another. One of the two, (for it is not known which,) being condemned to death, by the tyrant, obtained leave to go into his own country, to settle his affairs, on condition, that the other should consent to be imprisoned in his stead, and put to death for him, if he did not return, before the day of execution. The atrant himself, was excited to the highest pitch, tention of every one, and especially of the tyas every body was curious, to see what would be the event of so strange an atlair. When the time was almost elapsed, and he who was gone did not appear; the rashness of the other, whose sanguine friendship had put him upon running so seemingly desperate a hazard, was universally blamed. But he still declared, that he had not the least shadow of doubt in his mind, of his friend's fidelity. The event showed how well he knew him. He came in due time, and surrendered himself to that fate, which he had no reason to think he should escape; and which he did not desire to escape, by leaving his friend to suffer in his place. Such fidelity softened, even the savage heart of Dionysius himself. He pardoned the condemned; he gave the two friends to one another, and begged that they would take himself in for a third.

In future times, when the shores of Erie shall hum with a busy population; when towns, and cities, shall brighten, where now, extend the dark tangled forest; when ports shall spread their arms, and lofty barks shall ride, where now the canoe is fastened to the stake; when the present age shall have grown into venerable antiquity, and the mists of fable begin to gather round its history, then, will the inhabitants of Canada look back to this battle we record, as one of the romantic achievements of the days of yore. It will stand first on the page of their local legends, and in the marvellous tales of the borders. The fisherman, as he loiters along the beach, will point to some half-buried cannon, corroded with the rust of time, and will speak of Deep-in the wave, is a coral grove, ocean warriors, that came from the shores of Where the purple mullet, and gold-fish rove. the Atlantic; while the boatman, as he trims Where the sea-flower-spreads its leaves of blue, his sail to the breeze, will chant, in rude dit-That never are wet, with fallen dew, ties, the name of Perry, the early hero of Lake Eric.-Irving.

THE SLANDERER.

Twas Slander, filled her mouth, with lying words,
Slander, the foulest whelp of Sin. The man,
In whom this spirit entered, was undone.
His tongue-was set on fire of hell, his heart--
Was black as death, his legs were faint with haste
To propagate the lie, his soul had framed.
His pillow-was the peace of families
Destroyed, the sigh of innocence reproached,
Broken friendships, and the strife of brotherhoods;
Yet did he spare his sleep, and hear the clock
Number the midnight watches, on his bed,
Devising mischief more; and early rose,
And made most hellish meals of good men's names.
From door to door, you might have seen him speed,
Or, placed amidst a group of gaping fools,
And whispering in their ears, with his foul lips;
Peace fled the neighborhood, in which he made
His haunts; and, like a moral pestilence,
Before his breath-the healthy shoots and blooms
Of social joy and happiness, decayed.
Fools only, in his company were seen,

THE CORAL GROVE.

But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green, and glassy brine.
The floor is of sand. like the mountain drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift

Their bows, where the tides and billows flow;
The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and the waves are absent there,
And the sands-are bright as the stars, that glow
In the motionless fields of upper air:
There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the pulse is seen

To blush, like a banner, bathed in slaughter: There, with a light and easy motion,

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep seat And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean,

Are bending like corn, on the upland lea:
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of storms,
Has made the top of the waves his own.

Pride goeth before destruction.

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 oflended. 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.
She shone, at every concert; where are bought
Tickets, by all who wish them, for a dollar;
She patronised the theatre, and thought,

Dioptrics, optics, katoptrics, carbon,

Chlorine, and iodine, and aerostatics;
Also,-why frogs, for want of air, exp.re;
And how to set the Tappan sea on fire!
In all the modern languages, she was
Exceedingly well versed; and had devoted,
To their attainment, far more time than has,
For she had taken lessons, twice a week,
By the best teachers lately, been allotted;
For a full month in each; and she could speak
French and Italian, equally as well

As Chinese, Portuguese, or German; and
What is still more surprising, she could spell

was quite familiar in Low Dutch and Spanish,
Most of our longest English words, off hand;
And tho't of studying modern Greek and Danish.
She sang divinely: and in "Love's young dream."
And Fammy dearest," and "The soldier's bride;"
And every song whose dear delightful theine,

Is Love, still love," had oft till midnight tried
Her finest, lottiest pigeon-wings of sound,
Waking the very watchmen far around.-Halleck.

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 myste-
ries, 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 pulled 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 when the pit-half vexed, and half afraid,
With looks of smothered indignation eyed her;
She calmly met their gaze, and stood before 'em,
Smiling at vulgar taste, and mock decorum.
And though by no means a "Bas bleu," she had
For literature, a most becoming passion;
Had skimmed the latest novels, good, and bad,
And read the Croakers, when they were in
fashion;

And Dr. Chalmers' sermons, of a Sunday; [gundi.
And Woodworth's Cabinet, and the new Salma-
She was among the first, and warmest patrons
OfG******'s conversaziones, where, [matrons.
In rainbow groups, our bright eyed maids, and
On science bent, assemble; to prepare
Themselves for acting well, in life, their part,
As wives and mothers. There she learned by heart
Words, to the witches in Macbeth unknown,
Hydraulics, hydrostatics, and pneumatics

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 child-
ish things. For now, we see through a glass,
darkly; but then, face to face: now, I know
a 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
To do the like; our bodies--but forerun

The spirit's duty; true hearts-spread and heave
Unto their God, as flowers do--to the sun;
Give him thy first tho'ts then, so-shalt thou keep
Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer-should
Him company-all day, and in him-sleep.
Dawn with the day; there are set-awful hours---
"Twixt heaven and us; the manna-was not goo

After sun rising; for day-sullies flowers:
Rise to prevent the sun; sleep-doth sins glut,
And heaven's gate opens. when the world's is shut.
Converse with nature's charms, and see her stores unroll'd.

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634. SAILOR BOY'S DREAM.

In slumbers of midnight, the sailor boy lay;

His hammock swung loose, at the sport of the wind;
But watch-worn, and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.
He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasure that waited on life's merry morn;
While memory-stood sideways, half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
Then faney, her magical pinions spread wide,
And bale the young dreamer in ecstasy rise-
Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet, from her nest in the wall;

A trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him, with looks of delight,

His check is impearled, with a mother's warm tear,
And the lips of the boy, in a love-kiss unite,

With the lips of the maid, whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper bea's high in his breast,

Joy quickens his pulse-all his hardships seem o'er,
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest--
O God, thou hast blessed me-I ask for no more,"
Ah, what is that flame which now bursts on his eye!
Ab, what is that sound, which now lirums his ear!
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!
'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck,
Amazement confronts him with images dire-
Will winds, and waves drive the vessel a wreck-
The masts fly in splinters-'he shrouds are on fire!
Like mountains, the billows tremendously swell→→
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mary to sive;
Unseen hands of spirits are wringing his knell,
And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!
Oh! sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss-
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss!
Oh! sailor boy! sailor boy never again

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay;
Unblessed, and unhonore!, down deep in the main,
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,

. Or releem form, or frame, from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And win is, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge.
On beds of green sea-flower, thy limbs shall be laid;
Around thy white boues, the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks, threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below,
Days, mouths, years, and ages, shall circle away,
And the vast waters over thy body shall roll-
Earth loses thy pattern forever, and aye-

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 prepos session, 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,
A thing beyond us, e'en before our death.
All fame is foreign, but of true desert,
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart;
One self-approving hour, whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers, and of loud bussas :
And more true joy, Marcellus-exil'd, feels,
Than Cesar, with a senate at his heels.

Mind, not money-makes the man,

635. CHILD HAROLD.-CANTO IV.
Oh that the desert--were my dwelling place,
With one fair spirit-for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,
And hating no one, love but only her!
Ye elements!-in whose ennobling stir,
I feel myself exalted-Can ye not
Accord me such a being? Do I err

In deeming such-inhibit many a spot!
Though with them to converse, can rarely Le MIT 1st

There is a pleasure-in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture-on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar :
I love not man the less, but nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle-with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal
Roll on, thou deep, and dark blue ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore ;-upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own;
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffinel, and unknown
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble, in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator, the vain title take-
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war!
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy fake,
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, while 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 beh:11, 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, en lless, 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
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne like the bubbles, oaward; from a boy,

I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear,
For I was, as it were, a child of thee,
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane-as i do here.

[fits,

In the dreams of delight, which with ardor w
Oft the phantom of sorrow appears; [scek,
And the roses of pleasure, which bloom on your
Must be steeped in the dew of your tears. [check,
The aged man, that coffers up his gold,
Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful
And scarce hath eyes, his treasure to behold,
But still, like pining Tantalus, he sits,
And useless bans the harvest of his wits,
Having no other pleasure of his gain,
But torment, that it cannot cure his pain.
To err-is human; to forgive-divine.

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 subfine 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 ren, 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.
Ellen was fair, and knew it too,
As other village beauties do,

Whose mirrors-never lie;
Secure of any swain she chose,
She smiled on half a dozen beaux,
And, reckless of a lover's woes,
She cheated these, and taunted those;
"For how could any one suppose

A clown could take her eye?"
But whispers through the village ran,
That Edgar was the happy man,
The maid design'd to bless;

For, wheresover moved the fair,
The youth was, like her shadow, there,
And rumor-boldly match'd the pair,
For village folks will
guess.
Edgar did love, but still delay'd
To make confession to the maid,
So bashful was the youth;
But let the flame in secret burn,
Certain of meeting a return,

When. from his lips, the fair should learn,
Officially, the truth.

At length, one morn, to taste the air,
The youth and maid, in one horse chair,
A long excursion took.

Edgar had nerved his bashful heart,
The sweet confession to impart,
For ah! suspense had caused a smart,
He could no longer brook.

He drove, nor slackened once his reins,
Till Hempstead's wide extended plains
Seem'd join'd to skies above:

Nor house, nor tree, nor shrub was near
The rude and dreary scene to cheer,
Nor soul within ten miles to hear-
And still, poor Edgar's silly fear,

Forbade to speak of love.

At last, one desperate effort broke
The bashful spell, and Edgar spoke,
With most persuasive tone;
Recounted past attendance o'er,
And then, by all that's lovely, swore,
That he would love, for evermore,

If she'd become his own.
The maid, in silence, heard his prayer,
Then, with a most provoking air,

She, tittered in his face;
And said, ""Tis time for you to know,
A lively girl must have a beau,
Just like a reticule-for show;
And at her nod to come, and go-

But he should know his place.
Your penetration must be dull,
To let a hope within

your

skull

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639. WATERLOO; THE BALL AND BATTLE.

And Belgium's capital-had gathered then
Her beauty, and her chivalry; and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women, and brave men

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love, to eyes, which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell; [knell!
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising
Did ye not hear it?—No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car, rattling o'er the stony street:
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet,
To chase the glowing hours, with flying feet-
But hark! That heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds-its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! [roar!
Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening
Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blushed-at the praise of their own loveliness:
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs,
Which ne'er might be repeated; for who could
If ever more should meet, those mutual eyes, (guess,
Since upon night, so sweet, such awful morn

could rise?

638. RECITATIONS INSTEAD OF THEATRES. In its present state, the theatre-de- There was a sound of revelry-by night, serves no encouragement. It has nourished intemperance, and all vice. In saying this, I do not say that the amusement is radically, essentially evil. I can conceive of a theatre, which would be the noblest of all amusements, and would take a high rank, among the means of refining the taste, and elevating the character of a people. The deep woes, the mighty, and terrible passions, and the sublime emotions-of genuine tragedy, are fitted to thrill us with human sympathies, with profound interest in our nature, with a consciousness of what man can do, and dare, and suiler, with an awed feeling of the fearful mysteries of life. The soul of the spectator is stirred from its depths; and the lethargy, in which so many live, is roused, at least for a time, to some intenseness of thought, and sensibility. The drama answers a high purpose, when it places us in the presence of the inost solemn, and striking event of human history, and lays bare to us the human heart, in its most powerful, appalling, glorious workings. But how little does the theatre accomplish its end? How often is it disgraced, by monstrous distortions of human nature, and still more disgraced by profaneness, coarseness, indelicacy, low wit, such as no woman, worthy of the name, can hear without a blush, and no man can take pleasure 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 encour aged. 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 nore. 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 intellectnal 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
To climes, or systems; no, it flows spontaneous,
Like life's warm stream, throughout the whole cre-
And beats the pulse of every healthful heart. [ation,

And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum,
Roused up the soldier, ere the morning star;
While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb,
| Or whispering with white lips-"The foe! they
come! they come !"

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,-alas!
Ere evening, to be trodden like the grass,
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow,
[and low.
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valor, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold,
Last noon-beheld them, full of lusty life,
Last eve-in beauty's circle, proudly gay,
The midnight-brought the signal-sound of strife,
[rent,
The morn-the marshaling in arms,-the day,
Battle's magnificently-stern array!
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when,
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped, and pent,
Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial

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' nd-
And if more happy, thinks himelf more wise: [vise,
All wretchedly deplore the present state;
And that advice seems hest, which comes too late

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