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5.

Oh! what was Zayda's sorrow,

How passionate her cries!

Her lover's wounds stream'd not more free

Than that poor maiden's eyes.

Say, love for thou didst see her tears:

O no! he drew more tight

The blinding fillet o'er his lids,

To spare his eyes the sight.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

6.

Nor Zayda weeps him only,

But all that dwell between
The great Alhambra's palace walls
And springs of Albaicin.
The ladies weep the flower of knights,

The brave the bravest here:

The people weep a champion,

The alcaydes a noble peer.
While mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,

And beat of muffled drum.

SPEECH OF ROBERT EMMETT, AT THE CLOSE OF HIS TRIAL FOR HIGH TREASON.

MY LORDS,-You ask me what I have to say, why Batence of death should not be pronounced on me ao

cording to law? I have nothing to say, that can alter your predetermination, or that it will become me to say with any view to the mitigation of that sentence, which But you are here to pronounce, and I must abide by I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which you have labored to destroy. I have much to say why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it.

2. I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France! And for what end? It is alleged, that I wished to sell the independence of my country! And for what end? Was this the object of my ambition? No; I am no emissary-my ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country--not in power, not in profit, but in the glory of the achievement! Sell my country's independence to France! and for what? A change of masters? No; but for ambition! O my country, was it personal ambition that influenced me-had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my education and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of your oppressors? My country was my idol-to it I sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment, and for it I now offer up my life. No, my lord, I acted as an Irishman, determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling yoke of a domestic faction.

3. Connection with France was indeed intended-but only so far as mutual interest would sanction or require

Were the French to assume any authority inconsistent with the purest independence, it would be the signal of their destruction. Were they to come as invaders, or enemies uninvited by the wishes of the people, I should oppose them to the utmost of my strength. Yes, my countrymen, I should advise you to meet them on the beach, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. I would meet them with all the destructive fury of war, and I would animate my countrymen to immolate them in their boats, before they had contaminated the soil of my country. If they succeeded in landing, and if forced to retire before superior discipline, I would dispute every inch of ground, raze every house, burn every blade of grass, and the last intrenchment of liberty should be my grave.

4. I have been charged with that importance, in the efforts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your lordship expresses it, "the life and blood of the conspiracy." You do me honor overmuch—you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior; there are men engaged in this conspiracy, who are not only supe rior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my lord-men, before the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who would think themselves dishonored to be called your friends who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand. [Here he was inter

rupted.]

5. What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to that scaffold, which that tyranny, of which you are only

the intermediate executioner, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor-shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? I, who fear not to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole life-am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mortality here-by you, too, who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your lordship might swim in it?

6. My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice-the blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim; it circulates warmly and unruffled through the channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous, that they cry to Heaven. Be yet patient! I have but a few more words to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave: my lamp of life is nearly extinguished: my race is run: the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world: it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives, dare now vindicate them, let no prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. I have done!

ARNOLD WINKELRIED.-Montgomery, • Make way for liberty!" he cried; Made way for liberty, and died!

2.

It must not be: this day, this hour,
Annihilates the oppressor's power!
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly, she cannot yield—
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast;
But every freeman was a host,

And felt as though himself were he,
On whose sole arm hung victory.

3.

It did depend on one indeed;
Behold him-Arnold Winkelried!
There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmark'd he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,

Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face;
And, by the motion of his form,
Anticipate the bursting storm;
And, by the uplifting of his brow,

Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

4.

But 'twas no sooner thought than done, The field was in a moment won:

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