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On the same page of history on which their names and deeds are recorded, and in as imperishable characters, shall yours

also be inscribed : and when the future heroes of far distant centuries shall turn back to that page for stimulants to their exertions; future statesmen and patriots look there for lessons of wisdom and virtue; and the future poet draw thence a noble theme for his aspiring muse ;-your names shall not be passed by unnoticed by them; the same voices that swell with praises and benedictions to the memories of your ancestors, shall load your's with execrations and curses. Let us, my countrymen, escape so disgraceful an immortality. Let us avert so disastrous a determination of our hitherto brilliant career.

Although the most perfect things of this world carry with them the taint of imperfection ; although the all-glorious works of nature require the constantly sustaining and corrective hand of their great Creator; although in man, in all the labour of his hands and all the emanations of his mind, are contained the seeds of decay and dissolution; and we may not hope to obtain for ourselves or our country an exemption from this universal law, yet may we hope to effect what is within the power of man to do, what it was meant he should do. We may hope, by constant watchfulness and exertions, to repress the growth of noxious principles in our natures,' and to stimulate and to quicken into operation those which are great and noble.

THE OCEAN.-Cornwall.

O tHou vast Ocean! Ever-sounding Sea !
Thou symbol of a drear immensity !
Thou thing that windest round the solid world,
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled
From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone;
Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep
Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep.
Thou speakest in the east and in the west
At once, and on thy heavy-laden breast
Fleets come and go, and ships that have no life
Or motion, yet are moved and met in strife,

The earth hath nought of this : no chance nor change Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare Give answer to the tempest-waken air; But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range At will, and wound its bosom as they go : Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow; But in their stated rounds the seasons come, And pass like visions to their viewless home, And come again, and vanish : the young Spring Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming; And Winter always winds his sullen horn, When the wild Autumn with a look forlorn Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies Weep, and flowers sicken, when the Summer flies. Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power, A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour, When thou dost lift thy anger to the clouds, A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind, How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind, And stretch thine arms, and war at once with heaven. Thou trackless and immeasurable Main! On thee no record ever lived again To meet the hand that writ it: line nor lead Hath ever fathom’d thy profoundest deeps, Where haply the huge monster swells and sleeps, King of his watery limit, who, 't is said, Can move the mighty ocean into stormOh! wonderful thou art, great element, And fearful in thy spleeny humours bent, And lovely in repose: thy summer form Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves Make music in earth's dark and winding caves, I love to wander on thy pebbled beach, Marking the sun-light at the evening hour, And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach, Eternity, Eternity, and Power.




The Commonwealth is on the brink of ruin. Certain turbulent spirits rear their crests so high, that no room is left for the milder virtues of the prince.

The senate for some time past has been negligent, tame, and passive. Your lenity, conscript fathers, your lenity has given encouragement to sedition. It is in consequence of your indulgence, that Thrasea presumes to trample on the laws; that his son-in-law, Helvidius Priscus, adopts the same pernicious principles ; that Paconius Agrippinus with the inveterate hatred towards the house of Cæsar, which he inherited from his father, declares open hostility; and that Curtius Montanus, in seditious verses, spreads abroad the venom of his pen.

Where is Thrasea now? I want to see the man of consular rank in his place; I want to see the sacerdotal dignitary offering up vows for the emperor; I want to to see the citizens taking the oath of fidelity. Perhaps that haughty spirit towers above the laws and the religion of our ancestors ; perhaps he means to throw off the mask, and own himself a traitor and an enemy to his country.

Let him appear in this assembly; let the patriot come; let the leader of faction show himself; the man who so often played the orator in this assembly, and took under his patronage the inveterate enemies of the prince. Let us hear his plan of government. What does he wish to change? what abuses does he mean to reform?

If he came every day with objections, the cavilling spirit of the man might teaze, perplex, and embarrass us; but now his sullen silence is worse; it condemns every thing in the gross.

And why all this discontent? A settled peace prevails in every quarter of the empire : does that afflict him ? Our armies, without the effusion of human blood, have been victorious : is that the cause of his disaffection?

He sickens in the midst of prosperity; he pines at the flourishing state of his country; he deserts the forum; he threatens to abjure his country, and retire into voluntary banishment; he acknowledges none of your laws; your decrees are to him no better than a mockery; he owns no magistrates, and Rome to him is no longer Rome. Let

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him therefore be cut off at once from a city, where he has long lived an alien: the love of his country banished from his heart, and the people odious to his sight.


Extract from an Address, delivered in Boston, in behalf of the Greeks,

by the Rev. S. E. Dwight.

Are you a


Though not called to plead the cause of Greece, before my assembled countrymen; yet, at the request of your committee, I am at this time allowed, my friends and fellow citizens, to urge her claims on you. But need I urge them? What heart does not throb, what bosom does not heave, at the very thought of Grecian Independence? Have you the feelings of a man, and do you not wish, that the blood of Greece should cease to flow and, that the groans and sighs of centuries should be heard no more ? Are you a scholar; and shall the land of the muses ask your help in vain ? With the eye of the enthusiast do you often gaze at the triumphs of the arts; and will you do nothing to rescue their choicest relics from worse than Vandal barbarism ? mother, rejoicing in all the charities of domestic life;you a daughter, rich and safe in conscious innocence and parental love; and shall thousands more, among the purest and loveliest of your sex, glut the shambles of Smyrna, and be doomed to a capacity inconceivably worse than death. Are you a Christian, and do you cheerfully contribute your property to christianize the heathen world? What you give to Greece is to rescue a nation of Christians from extermination, to deliver the ancient churches, to overthrow the Mohammedan imposture, to raise up a standard for the wandering tribes of Israel, and to gather in the harvest of the world. Are you an American citizen, proud of the liberty and independence of your country? Greece, too, is struggling for these very blessings, which she taught your fathers to purchase with their blood. And when she asks your help, need I urge you to bestow it ? Where am I? in the land of the Pilgrims—in a land of Independence-in a land of Freemen. Here, then, I leave their cause,



J. S. Knowles. [Gesler with a hunting pole.]

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Ges. Alone-alone! and every step, the mist
Thickens around me! On these mountain tracts
To lose one's way, they say, is sometimes death!
What, hoa ! Holloa ! No tongue replies to me!
What thunder hath the horror of this silence !
'I dare not stop—the day, though not half run,
• Is not less sure to end his course; and night,

Dreary when through the social haunts of men
* Her solemn darkness walks, in such a place
‘As this, comes wrapped in most appalling fear.'
I dare not stop-nor dare I yet proceed,
Begirt with hidden danger: if I take
This hand, it carries me still deeper into
The wild and savage solitudes I'd shun,
Where once to faint with hunger is to die :
If this, it leads me to the precipice,
Whose brink with fatal horror rivets him
That treads upon 't, till drunk with fear, he reels
Into the gaping void, and headlong down
Plunges to still more hideous death. Cursed slaves,
To let me wander from them! Hoa-holloa !-
My voice sounds weaker to mine ear; I've not
The strength to call I had, and through my limbs
Cold tremor runs—and sickening faintness seizes
On my heart. O Heaven, have mercy! Do not see
The color of the hands I lift to thee!
Look only on the strait wherein I stand,
And pity it! Let me not sink-Uphold !
Support me! Mercy !-Mercy!

[He stands stupified with terror and exhaustion. Albert enters with his hunting pole, not at first seeing Gesler.]

Alb. I'll breathe upon this level, if the wind Will let me.

Ha! a rock to shelter me ! Thanks to't—a man! and fainting. Courage, friend ! Courage.—A stranger that has lost his wayTake heart-take heart: you ’re safe. How feel you now?

Ges. Better.

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