M ^ Cornell University WB Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924075572739 H THE 3 1924 076 572 739 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER; A COLLECTION OF ORATORICAL AND DRAMATICAL PIECES, SOLILOQUIES AND DIALOGUES, WITH AH OEIGINAL IT^TEODUCTOEY ESSAY OH THE ELEMITNTS OF ELOCUTION, DESIGHED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS, ACADEMIES, AND COLLEGES. BY J. C. ZACHOS, A.M. FOURTH EDITION. NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY A. S. BARNES & CO CINCINNATI : H. W. BEEBY & CO. 1855. Emterzd according to act of CongresSj in the year 1851, "toy H. W. DERBY k CO., la. the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the UWted States for the District of Ohla PREFACE I HAVE proposed to myself, in this work, to put a better book in tlie hands of the student of oratory, than has yet been given to the public. There are already some excellent manuals on the subject ; but I say it without the least invidious design, and in accordance with most teachers of elocution with whom I have conversed, that they are found inadequate to the purpose of instruction and copious illustration. Many of these are almost entirely taken up with the dissection of the subject by minute technical details and numerous rules ; or, in the absence of all system and theory, they are a jumbled collection of illustrations, in which leanness and barrenness are very conspicuous. The chief fault to be found with such books of elocution as I have met, is, that whereas the Enghsh language abounds with such a vast amount of the most fervid eloquence ; with so many specimens of language wrought out with a concentration of thought and rhetorical power, that must strike fire from the coldest heart; with such high-wrought descriptions, and dra- matic, passionate and powerful exhibitions of feeling ; these books of oratory seem to have stumbled on very little of all these ; and show up, for the most part, but " a beggarly account " of tame and diy pieces, with here and there a gem of pure water. I have designed, therefore, the present work, with two points in view : to have a system clear and complete, but briefly ex- pressed, so as to give unity of method and symmetrical organism to the book, without repelling the student with too much tech- nicality ; and after this, to have a copious collection of illustra- tions, in which 'no point of rhetorical excellence should be omitted, and none of which should be unworthy of a high place in the estimation of the student of oratory and dramatic expression. iy PREFACE. Let it be borne in mind, that it is not the object of sucli a book to give merely specimens of fine writing, but of declamatory and dramatic sjjcalinc/. Hence I have rejected everything that could not come under one of the following heads : earnest declamation, vehement invective, dramatic passion and descrip- tion, wrapt meditation and soUloquy, fine wit, rich humor, and spirited dialogue. How far I have succeeded in this, I leave others to judge. I have not been so sedulous of novelty in all my selections, as of intrinsic excellence. Here will be found a number of those pure and noble specimens of eloquence, such as Chatham's, Patrick Henry's, Webster's, which no book of professed elocution can leave out ; and it will be remembered that to the youthful student they are all new. The preliminary essay has some original analyses in articula- tion, and other points of elocution, to which I would respectfully call the teacher's attention. If the work should materially promote the noble art of speak- ing, too much neglected in our country, I shall feel myself amply rewarded for the no small labor which it has cost me. J. O. £d» INTRODUCTION. Science is taught by precept ; Art must be taught by example. Elocution is an art, and therefore cannot be learned from books. No book can supersede the living teacher. Here, as in all art, Nature must be appealed to at every step ; there is no other or higher court to which to carry the decision. The teacher by example can best stimulate the student to open his ear to the voice of Nature. A book such as this is only intended to stimulate and assist the consciousness of the student in the apprehension of Nature's dictates, and to serve the teacher with an efficient means of illustration. It is a sign of narrowness and poverty of spirit, that the art of speaking is so poorly cultivated in most of our schools and colleges. It is but an imperfect preparation that they can give a man to enter society, without giving him the power of delivery of thought and feeling. The want of it makes the freeman afraid to exercise his rights, the thinker give way to the mere talker, the true statesman to the demagogue. It makes poor, snifSing interlocutors, instead of bold and manly orators. It puts the province of governing in the hands of the shameless and the foolish, instead of those of the good and wise. Let every youth be taught to speak ; those who have talent and virtue will have so much the advantage over the stupid and the vicious. But health of body as well as of mind depend upon this. There is scarcely a muscle or organ in the body, that is not brought into free and healthful exercise by an energetic exertion in speaking. Let any one study his experience in giving a loud and continuous Bound, and he will find how complicated and great is the eifort. The knees are stifiened ; the muscles of the back erect the person to the utmost; the abdominal muscles are brought strongly into play ; the intercostal muscles expand the chest, and the lungs have the freest movement ; the circulation is quickened, and the whole man is roused to the center of his living organism. Can such an exercise be often resorted to without the greatest physical benefit! Vi INTBODCCnOW. Children would suffer infinitely less from the sedentary habits and confinement of school, if they were given exercises in a sort of vocal gymnastics several times a, day, in the course of the other school exercises. Many would thus be saved from consumption, bronchitis, spinal affections, and the numerous diseases that are often traced to confinement at schools and academies. There seems a general prejudice against subjecting girls at school to vocal exercises, which works much to their injury in this respect. Calisthenics and vocal gymnastics should be as much a part of their training as that of boys ; but in a diflferent spirit, and for a different purpose. It is certain they need it as much physically, and in another aspect they need it as much morally. For though they are not expected to become public orators, it is no reason that their souls should be shut up in a husky and sputtering speech, or in a trembling and weak voice. Modesty and delicacy have nothing to do with such things, and it is folly to suppose that the full and ener- getic development of the woman can lead to anything but to what is noble and beautiful. IfoTE. — The following movements, breathings and exercises of the voice suitable for the school-room, by expanding the chest, quickening the circulation, and imparting energy and pliancy to the respiratory and vocal organs, have considerable use in developing the powers of elocution. MOVEMENTS. 1st. Position erect, with arms a-kimbo. The head elevated, the shoulders back and down ; place the hands upon the hips, then throw the elbows forcibly backward. 2d. Move the hands, after extending them downward by the sides, briskly up and down. 3d. Let the hands and arms be placed in a vertical position ; then drawn down and projected upward with force. 4th. Extend the arms horizontally forward, and move them back and forth quickly and with force. 5th. Place the arms horizontally forward with the palms of the hands together ; then throw them apart forcibly, bringing the back of the hands as nearly as possible behind the back. 6th. A variety of exercises in gestures descriptive or passionate, for the purpose of acquiring grace in movement. These this good taste and ingenuity of the teacher must suggest. INTRODUCTION. VH BREATHINGS. 1 St. Full breathing. — Place the arms and handa as required in the first movement ; slowly draw the breath until the chest is fully- expanded; emit it with the utmost slowness. 2d. Audible breathing. — Draw in the breath as in full breathing, and expire it audibly in a prolonged sound of the letter H. 3d. Forcible breathing. — Fill the lungs, and then let out the breath suddenly and forcibly in the manner of an abrupt anl whispered cough. 4th. Sighing. — Fill suddenly the lungs with a full breath, and emit it as quickly as possible. 5th. Gasping. — With a convulsive effort inflate the lungs ; then send forth the breath more gently. 6th. Panting. — Breathe quickly and violently, making the emis- sion of the breath loud and forcible. THE VOICE. For exercises of the voice, and especially in articulation, the table of elementary sounds and the preliminary exercises should be used daily and with a most assiduous practice. USE OF THE TABLE. 1st. In a distinct and moderate utterance of all the sounds . 2d. In an explosive and forcible manner of making each sound. 3d. In the application of all the elements of Elocution, while producing the^ different sounds; as. Emphasis, Inflection, Pitch, Force, Tone, (especially the orotund,) Movement, &c. A chart of these elementary sounds ought to be hung up in every school-room, and made the subject of diligent practice for some time. I proceed now to give a brief exposition of the principles of Elocution. I have purposely dwelt but little on this part, because I designed this book more as a manual of exercises, than as an elaborate treatise on the subject; and experience has taught me that multiplying rules and technical directions in an art that depends so much upon instinct, and nature brought into play by example, has the effect of " killing the spirit in the letter." CONTENTS. PRELIMINARIES. PAQE. Articolation 15 Accent 24 Pronunciation 26 Expression 27 Gesture 37 EARNEST DECLAMATION. Character of True Eloquence Webster. 41 Phillips on the Policy of England 49 Ireland Grattan. 43 Washington a Man of Genius E. P. Whipple. 44 Chalmers on War 45 The Famine in Ireland S. S. Prentiss. 46 Cicero for Milo 47 Demosthenes to the Athenians 48 Salathiel to Titus Croltj. 49 Phillips on the Vf rongs of Ireland 51 The Price of Eloquence Chaunccy Colton, D. D. 52 A Political Pause Fox. 53 Prevalence of War Grimlce. 54 New England and the Union S. iS. Prentiss. 55 Christianity the Basis of Liberty Beecher. 56 Phillips on Washington 57 RoUa to the Peruvians Sheridan. 58 Speech of Belial, dissuading War Milton. 59 Popular Elections George M'Di'ffie. 60 The Mexican War Thomas Corwin. 61 Phillips on America 62 Adams and Jefferson Edward Everett. 63 Moloch's Oration* for War Milton. 63 Cassius instigating Brutus against Ccesar Skakspearc. 64 The Adventurers in the Mayflower Everett. 65 Hannibal to the Carthaginian Army 67 The Folly of Disunion Gaston. 67 Phillips on the Catholic Question 68 Character of Napoleon Bonaparte Phillips. 69 A Call to Liberty Warren 70 Speech of Logan, the Indian Chief Humphrey. 71 The Wrongs of the Indian Race Story. 72 Ames'.-gpeech on the British Treaty 73 The Right of England to Tax America Burke. 74 South Carolina and Massachusetts Webster. 75 The Same, Continued -. Webster. 76 Lord Stanhope on Neutral Rights 76 Chatham on the American Revolution 77 The Same, Continued Chatham. 78 The Irish Disturbance Bill Daniel O'Connell. 79 British Influence John Randolph. 81 Webster's Reply to Hayne 82 viii CONTENTS. IX FAOE. Reply to Webster, in Senate, 1830 Hayne. 83 Specimen of the Eloquence of James Otis • 84 God's Rebuke to Job Bible. 86 Chatham's Reply to Hillsborough 87 The Federal Union Webster. 88 Necessity of a Pure National Morality Beecher. 89 Self-Vindication Robert Emmet. 90 Reply to the Duke of Grafton Thurlow. 91 The Perfect Orator Anomjmous. 92 Anniversary of the Settlement of New England Webster. 92 Events Great, because of their Results Webster. 93 Corruption, the Cause of the Fall of States Story. 94 An Appeal in behalf of American Liberty Story. 95 The Tomahawk submissive to Eloquence Neal. 96 Ancient and Jlodern Productions .-n Sumner. 97 The Murderer's Secret Webster. 98 The Same, Continued Webster. 99 French Aggressions Paine. 100 Supposed Speech of John Adams Webster. 100 The Same, Continued Webster. 101 The Miseries of War Chalmers. 103 Free Discussion Webster. 103 American Institutions Webster. 104 Speech of Patrick Henry 105 The Same, Continued Patrick Henry. 106 Brutus justifying the Assassination of Caesar Shakspeare. 107 Hamlet's Address to the Players Sliakspeare. 108' Curran in defense of Rowan 109 Curran on the Liberty of the Press Ill The Same, Continued Curran. 112 Noble Defense of Irish Character Phillips. 113 Curran on Irish Emancipation 114 On the Union of Church and State Phillips. 115 Speech to Mr. Finley Phillips. 116 Curran against O'Brien 117 Curran in defense of Orr t 119 The Same, Continued Curran. 120 The Public Informer Curran. 121 Appeal to the Jury Curran. 122 Speech of Mr. Phillips ". 123 Th-8 Same, Continued Phillips. 124 The Same, Continued Phillips. 126 Napoleon Bonaparte Phillips. 128 The Same, Continued Phillips. 129 Appeal to the Jury against Blake Phillips. 130 Appeal to the Jury in behalf of O'Mullen Phillips. 131 The Same, Continued PhiUips. 132 Appeal to the Jury against Dillon Phillips. 132 On the Liberty of the Press Phillips. 133 The Advantages of Education Phillips. 134 Appeal to the Jury in behalf of Guthrie Phillips. 135 An Appeal to the Jury Curran. 137 The Fallen Wife Phillips. 138 The Same, Continued Phillips. 138 Curran against Mr. Justice Johnston ' 140 The Same, Continued Curran. 141 X COKTERTS. The Same, Continued .Curran. 142 Curraii against the Marquis of Headford 143 Noble Tribute to Lord Avonmore Curran. 141 Prince Lewis' Answer to the Pope's Legate Shakspeare. 145 Destiny of tlie Human Race upon Earth J- C. Zachos. 146 DKCLAM A TION. — VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. Employment of Indians in Civilized Warfare Chatham. 148 Moloch and Satan, before the Powers of Hell White. 149 The Same, Continued White. 150 Marullus to the Mob Shakspeare. 1 50 Speech of Raab Kiuprili Coleridge. 151 The Seminole's Reply G. W. Patten. 152 Extract from a Speech of Mr. Burke 153 The Indignation of Constance Shakspeare. 1 54 The Passing of the Rubicon Knowles. 155 Las Casas dissuading from Battle Sheridan. 156 Rienzi's Address to the Romans Miss Mitford. 157 Speech of Sempronius for War Addison. 158 Csesar's Triumphs Knowles. 1,59 Reply to the Reflections of Mr. Walpole Pitt. 160 Grattan's Reply to Mr. Corry 161 Catiline on hearing his Sentence of Banishment Croly. 162 From Cicero's Oration against Verres 163 From Cicero's First Oration against Catiline 164 Bolingbroke against Norfolk Shakspeare. 165 Meeting of Death and Satan Milton. ] 66 The Quarrel of Achilles and Atrides Pope 167 The Same, Continued Pope. 168 Gloster's Indignation Shakspeare. 169 Norfolk against Bolingbroke Shakspeare. 170 Margaret's Curse Shakspeare. 172 DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. Song, from the Lady of the Lake Scott. 1 73 The Death-Fire Ann S. Stephens. 174 A Fever Dream John M. Harney. 175 Bernardine Du Born Slgourney. 176 The Kaiser W. Howitt. 178 The American Patriot's Song Anonymous. 179 The Flight of Xerxes Miss Jewsbury. 179 The Village Blacksmith Longfellow. ISO The Last Days of Herculaneura Atherstone. ] 82 The Prisoner in Herculaneum Atherstone. 183 The Baron's Last Banquet Albert G. Greene. 184 Bernardo and King Alphonso Lockhart. 185 The Battle of Bannockburn Campbell. 187 Henry V, at the Seige of Harfleur Shakspeare. 188 Henry V, encouraging his Soldiers Shakspeare. 189 New England's Dead M'Lellan. 190 Darkness Byron. 191 The Gladiator 192 Science and Religion Mrs. Sigourney. 194 The O'Kavanagh J. Augustus Shea. 195 " Look Not Upon the Wine." Willis. 19G CONTSNTS. XI Alonzo the Brave Lewis. ] 97 The Owl Anonymous. 199 The Maid of the lun , Southey. 201 Arnold Winkelried Montgomery. 204 The Maniac Lewis. 205 The Grave of the Greyhound W. Spencer. 207 The Mummy Sinilh. 210 The American Flag Dr. Drake. 211 Parting of Douglas and Marmion Scott. 213 The Old Oaken Bucket Woodwortk. 215 Warren's Address Pierpont. 216 Battle of Warsaw Campbell. 216 Brougham and Canning Anonytnous. 217 Excelsior . , Lonqfellow. 21 8 vVar Song of the Greeks, 1822 CimpbeU. 220 What is Time ? Marsden. 220 Boadicea Cowper. 221 The Bended Bow Mrs. Hemans. 223 Lochinvar Scott. 224 The Vision of Belshazzar Byron. '225 The Sailor-Boy's Dream Dimond. 226 The Spider and the Bee Anonymous. 228 Death-Song of Outalissi Campbell. 229 David's Lament for Absalom Willis. 231 The Burial of Sir John Moore Wolfe. 232 Absalom's Dream Hilllwuse. 233 The Downfall of Cardinal Wolsey Skakspeare. 234 The Murdered Traveler Brijant. 235 The Leper WUlis. 236 The Child's First Grief Mrs. Hemans. 239 The Gipsy Wanderer Anonymous. 240 Glenara Campbell. 241 Casablanca Mrs. Hemans. 242 The Song of Constance Scott. 243 The Destruction of Sennacherib Byron. 244 The Battle of Busaco Anonymous. 245 Pulaski's Banner Anonymous. 24,6 Giuevra Rogers. 2*7 The Vulture of the Alps Anonymous.- . 248 The Close of Autumn Bryant. 249 The Love of Country and of Home Montgomery. 250 The Hurricane Bryant. 251 'I'he African Chief Bryant. 252 Goody Blake and Harry Gill Wordsworth. 254 What 's Hallowed Ground ? Campbell. 256 Pleasures of Hope Campbell. 257 Patriotism .Scott. 257 Qreece Byron. 258 The Isles of 'Greece Byron. 259 The Raising of Samuel Byron. The Serpent of the Still Milford Bard. Virginius and his Daughter Macaulay. Horatius at the Bridge MacMulay. 264 A Roman Battle Macaulay. 267 The Death of Leonidas l>»'2/- 269 Song of MacMurrough Scott. 270 260 261 262 XU C0>iTENT3. PAGR. Elijah's Interview with God Camphdl. S'Tl Byron Pnllok. 279 Parrhasuis II'iWk. 273 Marco Bozzaria Hilkck. 275 Ode to the Passions Collins. 277 Alexander's Feast Dnjdcn. 279 The Fearless De Courcy 283 The Fireman Anoiiymaus. 2.-^6 Battle of Waterloo Byron. 2.H7 The Avenging Ghilde Locklmrt 2h8 The Pounder Locklmrt. 289 The Bull Fight of Gazul Lockhart. 290 Antony's Oration over Ga;sar's Body Shakspeare. 292 Tlie Vengeance of Mudara Locklmrt. 294 The Battle in Heaven Milton. 295 The Same, Continued Milton. 296 The Same, Continued Milton. 297 Satan in Hell .' Milton. 299 The Same, Continued Milton. 300 The Same, Continued Millon. 302 Defeat of the Rebel Angels Milton. 303 Gabriel and Satan Milton. 304 Passage of the Red Sea Heber. 306 King Henry to his Son Shakspeare. 307 Moonlight and Music Shakspeare. 308 Love's Ecstasy Shakspeare. 309 Oberon's Vision Shakspeare. 309 Prospero Shakspeare. 310 Marins in Prison De Quincy. 311 SOLILOQUY AND MEDITATION. Soliloquy of Manfred Byron. 313 King Richard's Meditation on Kings Shakspeare. 314 King Richard's Lament Shakspeare. 315 Romeo in the Garden Shakspeare. 316 Clifford's Soliloquy Shakspeare. 3 1 6 Gloster's Soliloquy Shakspeare. 317 Richard III, before the Battle of Bosworth Shakspeare. 318 The Guilty Conscience Shakspeare. 319 Clarence's Dream Shakspeare. 320 Hotspur's Soliloquy on the Contents of a Letter Shakspeare. 321 King Edward's 1/ament over Clarence Shakspeare. 322 Hamlet's Soliloquy Shakspeare. 323 Soliloquy of Hamlet's Uncle Shakspeare. 323 The Dying Horse Blachett. 324 Antony over the Dead Body of Ca3sar Shakspeare. 325 A Soliloquy from Hamlet Sluikspeare. 320 Hamlet on his own Irresolution Shakspeare. 327 Lady Macbeth's Soliloquy Shakspeare. 329 Gate's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul Addison. 329 Lady Randolph's Soliloquy Home. 330 Othello's Vengeful Sorrow Shakspeare. 331 Macbeth meditating the murder of Duncan Shakspeare. 332 A Soliloquy of Macbeth Shakspeare. 332 Shylock's Soliloquy and Address Shakspeare. 333 Falstaff on Sack Shakspeare. 334 CONTENTS. Sill - PAGE. Soliloquy on Character SJiakspeare. 335 Soliloquy on a Dog Skakspeare. 335 Falstaflfs Description of his Soldiers Skakspeare. 336 Soliloquy of Dick, the Apprentice 337 WIT — HUMOR— BURLESQUE. The Rhyming Apothecary Colman. 339 One Good Turn Deserves Another Mrs. GUman. 339 Old Grimes Albert G. Greene. 340 The Removal Anonymous. 341 History .of John Day Hood. 342 The Alarmed Skipper J.T. Field. 344 The Seven Ages of Man Skakspeare. 345 The Three Black Crows Byrom. 346 The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger Anonymous. 347 Misconception Anonymous. 348 The Apple-Dumplings and George III Wolcott. 349 The Directing Post Anonymous. 350 The Atheist and Acorn Anonymous. 351 The Ass and the Nightingale Kriler. 351 The Young Fly and the Old Spider Wolcott. 352 Spectacles, or Helps to Read Byrom. 353 Lodgings for Single Gentlemen Colman. 354 The Fat Actor and the Rustic 356 Logic Anonymous. 357 Apology for the Pig Southey. 358 The Duel - Hood. 359 Frank Hayman Taylor. 361 Christmas Times 362 ' A Grecian Fable Foote. 364 The Country Bumpkin and Razor Seller Wolcott. 365 Queen Mab Skakspeare. 266 The Rich Man and the Poor Man ; Khemniizer. 367 The Frost Hannak F. Gould. 368 The Three Warnings Mrs. Tkrale. 369 The Music Crier Hood. 371 The Magpie, or Bad Company Anonymous, 375 Ode to my Boy, aged three years Hood, 378 The Old Hat 379 The Whiskers Woodworth. 381 A Very Poor Horse Skakspeare. 383 FalstaiFs Moral Lecture Skakspeare. 384 DIALOGUES— SERIOUS AND COMIC. The Triumph of Julius Csesar Skakspeare. 385 Cassias instigating Brutus against Ccesar Skakspeare. 387 The Offering of the Crown to Cassar Skakspeare. 390 The Conspiracy Skakspeare. 394 The Shipwrecked Prince Skakspeare. 398 The Greeks before Troy Skakspeare. 401 Achilles' Message Skakspeare. 404 Banishment of the Duke of Kent Skakspeare. 406 The Fool's Remonstrance Skakspeare. 407 The Loyal Follower Skakspeare. 409 The Anger of Kent Skakspeare. 41U XIV CONTENTS. PAO' The Usurpation of Bolingbroke Skakspeare. 41.j Rebellion of Hotspur, Mortimer, and Glendower Skakspeare. 417 The Welshman and his Leek Skakspeare. 420 The Disguised King Skakspeare. 423 The Feud of the Roses Skakspeare. 42 I The Quarrel of (lloster and Winchester Skakspeare. 427 The Murder of Prince Arthur Skakspeare. 429 The Enchanter and his Familiar Spirit Skakspeare. 432 The Punning Messenger Skakspeare. 4.'16 Indications of being in Love Skakspeare. 437 Will it be a Match Skakspeare. 4.'J9 A Woman's Virtues and Faults Skakspeare. 411 The Ludicrous Lover Skakspeare. 'U3 The Conceited Steward Skakspeare. 444 The Fool in Office Skakspeare. 447 Dogberry's Charge Skakspeare. 449 The Amateur Tragedians Skakspeare. 45 1 Father's Wit and Mother's Tongue Skakspeare. 453 The Usurer's Bond Skakspeare. 456 The Mild Threat Skakspeare. 459 The Quarrel on the Seventh Cause Skakspeare. 460. An Answer to Fit any Question Skakspeare. 461 lago inciting Othello to Jealousy Skakspeare. 463 The Choleric Prince Skakspeare. 468 The Two Murderers Skakspeare. 469 The Grief of Macduff Skakspeare. 470 The Danish Sentinels Skakspeare. 473 The Unquiet Spirit Skakspeare. 477 Hamlet's Interview with his Father's Spirit Skakspeare. 480 The Indignation of Hamlet Skakspeare. 4S2 The Burial of Ophelia Skakspeare. 485 The Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius Skakspeare. 486 Prince Arthur of Bretagne Skakspeare. 489 FalstafF's Valor Skakspeare. 493 The Miser Fielding. 496 The Two Robbers Dr. Aiken. 497 The Constable De Bourbon Kemble. 499 The Lost Maiden Holcraft. 503 The Hakon Jarl Anonymous. 504 The Saracen Brothers Anonymous. 506 How to tell Bad News Anonymous. 511 Indigestion Anonymous. 512 The Valorous Apothecary .Colman. 514 The Embryo Lawyer Allingkam. 517 The Irish Servant Oulton. .520 The Stygian Ferry 523 The Prophet of Mecca Miller. 526 The Dramatist Skeridan. 529 The Swiss Patriot Knowles. 532 The King-Maker Franklin. 546 The Colonists L. Aiken. 549 The Churchyard Karamsin. 551 ABTIOULATION. 1 5 ARTICULATION. ELEMENTARY SOUNDS. There are forty-one elementary sounds in the English lan- giiage, which may be thus arranged according to three principles of classification : 1. According to the organs with which they are chiefly formed : Vocal, Labial, Linguo-Dental, Linguo-Palatal, and Guttural. 2. According to the nature of the sound : Tonic, Subtonic, and Atonic. 3. According to the manner of expressing the sound : Checked, Vanishing, Abrupt, Smooth, Liquid, Resonant, Aspirate, Ambiguous. These are_presented in one view in the following table : THE ELEMENTARY SOtJNDS (41) 16 VOCAL TONICS. 8 Checked. 8 Prolonged an4 Yanishing. 1. I as in J?. ^. . / as in Pique. ^. E " Bet. 1. E " Ere. 3. A " At. 3. A " Rare. 4. A (final) " Era. 4. A " Far. 6. " Odd. 6. " Or. 6. U " Up. 6. TJ " Cur 7. O (final) " Hero. 7. Oar. U " Put. 8. U " Rule. 25 ATONICS AND SUBTONICS. 7 Lahials. 6 Linguo-Dental. 8 Linguo-Falatal. 4 Guttural. „ .^ , { Aton. l.P. 1. T. 1. Ch. 1. K. 8 Abrupt I g^^^^j^ 2. B. 2. D. 2. J. 2. G. „ „ ,, Aton. 3. F. 3. Th. 4. S. 3. Sh. 8 bmooth j s^bton. 4. V. 5. Th. 6. Z. 4. Zh. 2 Liquid Subton. 5. L. 6. R. 3 Resonant Subton. 6. M. 7. N. 3. Fg. 2 Aspirate Aton. 6. Wh. 4. H. 2 Ambiguous Subt. 7. W. 8. Y. MOST COMMON COMPOUND VOCALS. 1. Ai as in Aim. 5. Oi as in Oil. 2. le " Pie. 6. Oi " Going. 3. Ou " Thou. 7. TJi " Ruin. 4. Ow " Blcrw. 8. Ue " Fluent. ARTICULATION. OF THE LETTERS OE SIGNS OF SOUNDS. The irregularity and the inadequacy of the signs of sound used in the language, present great difficulties in learning to read and -^vritc it correctly. It is an obstacle likewise in acquiring a correct articulation ; for in this the proper significance of every letter or sign of so\ind that enters into the word should be distinctly apprehended. But this is not always easy in the present state of Orthoepy. I proceed, therefore, to such an analysis of the use of the present signs of the elementary sounds in the language, as may assist in acquiring a correct articulation. There are forty-one elementary sounds, and only twenty-six letters or signs of sounds ; consequently there is a deficiency of fifteen signs, which has to be made up by making the same sign represent several diflferent sounds ; and for some sounds there is no especial letter, but, only some combination of letters. Note. — Indeed the greatness of the difBculty that attends this subject, can only be appreciated by those who have directed to it a special attention. The painful toil and trouble of our childhood is forgotten in the facility which long drilling and constant repetition have given to our maturer years. Yet the first three or four years of instruction are chiefly spent in teacliing children the proper significance and use of those signs of sound. When we consider that all this labor is owing to irregularities that can be swept away in one blow by the adoption of one simple law, viz : that of having a single sign for each elementary sound, it seems a wonder that intelligent beings should submit to such a monstrous perversion of human labor. It is a subject I cannot here enter upon ; but the reformation proposed in this respect demands the earnest attention and practical co-operation of every one interested in the cause of education. What shall we make of a system of representative signs, in view of anything rational or convenient, which leaves one a choice of eleven thousand six hundred and twenty-eight different ways of spelling the same word ! To make my assertion good, I will take the word Conslanlinople. There are thirteen simple sounds in it, not counting the final e which is silent. A glance at the following analysis with respect to the signs of sounds, will show that the analogy of common usage will justify one in representing several of these sounds by more than one sign, making in all nineteen diiferent signs for thirteen sounds. These nineteen signs, according to the Algebraic Theory of C'omhi- nations, can be used to spell the word in eleven thousand six hun- dred and twenty-eight different ways ! And this, not throwing in ARTICULATION. 1 / As I propose to give the student a clear idea of each element- ary sound, and the diflferent ways of marking it, I shall treat of each separately. But I must premise that accurate articu- lation can only be learned from a teacher who is versed in the same ; and such remarks as can be made in a book can only refer the intelligent pupil to his consciousness, and put him upon the way merely of verifying the true sounds. 8 Vo cal To nice . Checked (in ike sound.) (See the Table.) These are called vocal, because the sound comes from the vocal organs proper, unmodified by the action of the tongue, teeth, and palate, as other sounds, but only by the shape which the cavity of the mouth assumes when they are sent forth. They are called tonics, because they are the proper tones or musical sounds in language. They are called checked in the sound ; that is, there is a positive effort made by the organs, in which the sound is checked, stopped, or snatched up abruptly when it is fully formed. This distinguishes them from another class of sounds radically the same as these, but differing in the manner in which the sound is completed. These eight sounds form a natural ascending and descending scale analogous to the musical scale, in which the volume of sound enlarges up to the fifth sound, then diminishes again, but not in the same manner. The volume of sound is detennined by the cavity of the mouth, which is most enlarged and approaches most to a circle in the fourth sound ; then contracts to form the sounds before and after ; but this contraction is different for the sounds on the right from those on the left of the fourth sound. Thus, taking the circle to represent the fourth sound, then a series of ellipses wiU represent the other sounds ; thus : any silent letters, in which words abound, and which might swell the present calculation to over a million .' ! As a. curiosity, one of these combinations is given — Kancdenio- napLe — justified by the analogy of the sound of k in Idch, a in all, c in city, d in slopped, e in there, o in zcomen, a in was. Not only is there scarcely a letter in the language that represents one invariable sound, but most of them stand for so many different sounds as to place upon the present twenty-six letters the labor of representing one hundred sounds ! besides, twelve of these are often silent, and have no significance in combination. Such is this embroglio and sense-confounding system of repre- sentative signs ! Nothing but a dry routine, a constant drilling, and a stultifying repetition, can ever make a tolerable speller. 2 1 8 ARTICULATION. I E. A. A. 0. U. O. U. It. Met. At. Era. Odd. Up. Open. Put. o oO 1 2 3 4 6 6 7 8 These represent severally the cavities of the mouth in forming the sounds. It is in representing this class of sounds chiefly that the irreg- ularities of the present system of signs appear most conspicuous. In treating of the sounds, the order of the table is observed. All the letters that are ever used to represent each sound are given as appropriate signs of the sound. ILLUSTEAIIONS OE THE VOCAL TONICS — CHECKED FIRST SOUND. I as in It. Ee " Been. U " Busy. " Women. Ey as in Lackey. Y " Hymn, Lyric, Ei " Foreign. Ui " Guilt. E " Pretty. Ea as in le " Sieve. Guinea. SECOND SOOND. E as in Met. Ea as in Dead, Head. A " Any, Many. Ai " Said. XJ " Bury. Ay " Sunday, Monday. Eo as in Leopard, J eopardy. THIRD SOUND. A as in Ask, Acute, Abode. Ai as in Plaid. Au as in Laugh. FOURTH SOUND. A (final or unaccented) as in Boa, Coma, Stigma, Era, Mamma. N. B. — A feeble manner of giving this sound often confounds it with the sixth sound of the Table, or with the first and lightest Bound of R. FIFTH SOUND. O as in Odd, On, Kob, Sob. A aa in Wad, Was. ARTICULATION. . tO SIXTH SOUND. U as iu Up, Bud, Cup, Fun. lo as in Cushion, Motion. Ou " Rough. " Done, Colonel. Eo " Surgeon. Oo " Blood. SEVENTH SOUND. (final or before an Abrupt Atonic) as in Hero, Bravo, Plato, Cocoa, Open, Opal, Cargo, Sago, Also, Ditto, Calico. EIGHTH S OUND . C as in Put. Oo as in Good, Book. O " "Wolf. Ui " Suit. Ou as in Would, Could. 8 Vocal Tonics. — Vanishing (in the sound.) This class of vocal tonics is radically the same as the checked ; they differ merely in having a secondary and more feeble tone of the same kind as the first, which may be called the vanishing tone. It is a prolongation of the radical tone, but of a more evanescent and lighter character, into which the radical tone expires. It will be observed by this, that the distinction between the checked and vanishing sounds, is not that of Ions- and short. The checked are always short, and the vanishing are relatively longer ; but when either come under the influence of accent and expression, this distinction is confounded and almost lost. The checked and vanishing tonics have generally the same representative signs, and correspond to each other. N. B. — In every syllable where there is a vanishing sound, there are always two tonic signs, or an R, except in some monosyllables. The tonic signs are not always in yiirte-position, as in Theme. The first of these represents the radical, and the second the vanish- ing sound. The same effect is produced by an R, which ler jthens the preceding tonic without losing its own specific sound. ILLTJSTBATIONS OF THE VOCAL TONICS — VANISHINGf. FIRST SOUND. E as in Be, Me, He, Theme. I as in Pique, Machine. Ee " Eel, Feel, Seen. Eo " Feof. le " Shield, Field. Ui " Build. Ea " Bean, Sea, Eager. Uay " Quay. 20 , ARTICULATION. SECOND SOUND. E as in Where, There, Ere. Ei as ia Heir. thihd sound. A as in Care, Rare. Ai as in Hair, Air. FOURTH SOUND. A as in Father, Arm, Balm. Ea as in Heart. Ua as in Guard. FIFTH SOUND. A as in All, Ball, Halt. Ou as in Brought, Fought. Au " Aught. O " For, Nor. Aw " Law. Oa " Broad. SIXTH SOUND. Er as in Err, Herb, Therefore. Yr as in Myrrh. Ear " Earth. Ur " Curb, Furl. Ir " Fii-m, Gird, Mirth. Or " World. Uer as in Conquer. N. B. — The presence of the R seems essential to this vanishing tonic, but does not lose its own peculiar sound. SEVENTH SOUND. Ou as in Pour, Four. a as in Oar, Hoar. Oo " Door. O " Core, Sore. I have hesitated somewhat about this, and its corresponding checked sound in the Table, (see the Table of Elementary- Sounds,) as not being distinctly recognized in any analysis of the elementary sounds that I have met with. But I have not been able to reject them from the analysis that I have made of these sounds, and I think they will approve themselves to most ears who have attended to the sounds made in coireot articulation. There is a tendency in this sound, except, I think, before the letter R, to vanish in the eighth sound of the Vocal Tonics, making a diphthong, as in Ode, Old, Soul, Beau, Foe, Dough, Bow, &c. EIGHTH SOUND. as in Move, To, Do. Ue as in True, Sue, Due. Oo " Ooze, Loose, Noose. U " Rule, Fuse, Tube. Ew " Crew, Drew, New. Oe " Shoe. Ui " Craise, Bruise. Ui " Juice, leu as in Lieu, Purlieu. ARTICULATION. 21 Diphthongs or Compound Vocals. A diphthong consists of two tonic sounds following in succes- sion, and coalescing more or less ; each preserves its separate sound. The_ second sound, however, has generally the character of a vanishing soiind. In the following table of diphthongs, the numbers indicate which of the tonics, in the order of the table of elementary sounds, make up each diphthong. l.= l and 2. Ee. Seest, Freest. 2.=1 and 3. Ea, la. Examples : Reaction, Beatitude, Piazza. 3.= 1 and 7. Eo. Ux.: Creole, Seraglio. 4.= 1 and 8. Ew, Ue, Ui, Eau, lew, U. Ex.: Few, View, Mute, Dew, Beauty, Clew. The sound of Y as a subtonic is here often touched in connecting the first and second sound of this diphthong. 5. =2 and 1. A, Ai, Ay, Ey, Ei, Ea. Ex.: Ale, Aim, Lay, Prey, Keigh, Yea, May. 6.=4 and 1. I, Ai, Ey, Uy, le, Y, Ey. Ex.: I, My, Eye, Naivete, Buy, Pie, Guile, Ley. 7.=4 and 8. Ou, Ow. Ex.: Thou, Loud, E"ow, Cow, Stout. 8. =5 and 1. Oi and Oy. Ex.: Oil, Void, Coy, Joy, Boy. 9. =7 and 1. Oi, Owi, Ewi. Ex.: Going, Throwing, Sewing. 10.=7 and 2. Oe, Owe. Ex.: Poet, Lowell, Coexist. 11. =7 and 8. Ow, Oe, Ou, O, Eau, Oa, Ew. Ex.: Though, Blow, Dough, Foe, Ode, Old, Beau, Sew, So, No, Sow. 12.=8 and 1. Oi, Ui, Ooi. Ex.: Doing, Ruin, Cooing. 13.=8 and 2. Ue, Ua, Ewa. Ex.: Truant, Fluent, Renewf I 14.= 8and3. Ua, Wa. Ex.: Quack, Thwack. IS. =8 and 7. Uo. Ex.: Quote. Atonies and Subtonics . The chief difficulties of correct and forcible articulation art connected with the enunciation of this class of sounds. Indeed it has been said, " Take care of your consonants, and the vowels wiU take care of themselves." Too much attention, therefore, cannot be paid to the clear apprehension and familiar practice of this class of elementary sounds. All the symbols used to mark the sound are given. 22 AB.TICULATION. 7 Labial Sounds . The Labial Sounds are so called, because the sound or breath, in passing from the mouth, is chiefly modified by the position and action of the Ups. In describing them, the same order is observed as in the Table. 1. P. An atonic abmpt sound. Atonic, because it has no tone or musical sound ; but is merely a strong expulsion of the breath in a whisper. Abrupt, because in the manner of forming- it, tlic breath is suddenly or abruptly forced through the lips. Ex.: Pip, Pulp, Pope, Paper, Pop, Palpable, Paupur, Papa. P is sometimes silent. Ex\: Psalm, Psalter, Receipt. 2. B. A subtonio abrupt sound. Subtonic, because while it has an audible sound it does not amount to a tone or a musical sound, but to a sort of murmur. Ex.: Babe, Bulb, Barb, Blab, Bob, Bib, Bible, Bibber. B is sometimes silent. Ex.: Debt, Dumb, Thumb, Subtle. 3. F, Gh, Ph. An atonic smooth sound. Smooth, because the sound or breath is allowed to pass with less resistance and in a more gentle manner than in most of the atonic and subtonic sounds. Ex.: Fife, Fade, Phosphorescent, Fearful, Phantom, Rough, Laugh, Philosopher, Enough, Tough. Gh and Ph are sometimes silent. Ex.: Dough, Through, Plough, Phthisic, Phthisis. 4. v. A smooth subtonic sound. Ex.: Vivid, Vivacious, Veh'et, Vie, Vain, Voice. 5. M. A resonant subtonic. Resonant, a peculiar ringing sound tliat is obtained by forcing the sound through the nose. Ex.: Man, Mummy, Mimic, Mamma, Moon, Moment, Mammoth. 6. Wh. An aspirate atonic. Aspirated, by the forcible man ner in which the breath is forced through the lips when in the attitude of forming the sound. Ex.: When, Wheel, Whether, What, Whittle, White. 7. W. An ambiguous subtonic. Ambiguous, — it approaches very near to the nature of a vocal tonic ; but as it is never sounded by itself, independent of some tonic sound, it seems more proper to class it with the subtonics. Ex.: Woe, Wed, Weak, Wood, Well, Wayward, We, Way. W is sometimes silent. Ex.. Wrong, Write, Wrestle, Wreck. 6 Linguo- D ental Sounds. 1. T or D (final). An abnipt atonic. Ex.: Tart, Trout, Tint, Tactics, Tittle-tattle, Titular, Rushed, Helped, Stopped. ARTICUXATION. 23 T is sometimes silent. Ex.: Ragout, Eclat, Debut. 2. D. An abrupt subtonic. Ex.: Dead, Dared, Did, Deed, Dandy, Diddle, Deduce, Odd, Duds. D silent. Ex.: Wednesday, Handkerchief. 3. Th. Atonic — smooth. Ex.: Thin, Theme, Thorn, Lath, Moth, Bath, Think, Threat. 4. S, C. A smooth atonic. Ex.: Sauce, Cease, Secede, Kiss, Succeed, Seduce, Sense, Saucy, Sluice. N. B. — C has this sound only before E, I, Y. 6. Th. A smooth subtonic. Ex.: Thither, That, Thou, They, Whither, Then, This, Those. 6. Z, S, X, C. A smooth subtonic. Ex.: Zeal, Buzz, Ease, Rose, Is, Discern, Diseases, Xenophon, Suffice, Sacrifice. 8 Lifiguo- P al atal Sounds. The Linguo-Palatal Sounds are those ■which, in passing out of the mouth, are modified by the action of the tongue upon the palate. 1. Ch, Teh. An abrupt atonic sound. Ex.: Church, Check, Witch, Rich, Stretch, Catch, Chatter. 2. J, G. An abrupt subtonic. Ex.: Judge, Gem, Ginger, Just, Jacob, Genus, George. 3. Sh, S, T, C. A smooth atonic. Ex.: Shame, Shun, She, Nation, Nuptial, Martial, Ocean, Social, Special, Sure, Sugar. 4. Z, S. A smooth subtonic. Ex.: Azure, Closure, Hosier, Pleasure, Grazier, Treasure. 6. L. A liquid subtonic. Liquid — a peculiar flowing free- dom of sound readily coalescing with the tonic sounds. Ex.: Loll, Jill, Lily, Lollard, Likely, Lovely, Lowly, Lonely, Lullaby. L is sometimes silent. Ex.: Alms, Balm, Calf, Half, Chalk. 6. R. A liquid subtonic. This sound is given with three degrees of intensity. In the first, the tong-ue is held close to the palate without touching it, and the sound is emitted similar to a tonic, but with less openness and freedom. It is thus sounded when it follows a tonic in the same syllable. In the second, the tongue (not the tip) just touches the palate. This sound is given to R before a tonic. In the third, the tip of the tongue is made rapidly to vibrate against the palate. This is employed for great emphasis. Ex.: Are, More, Far, Car, Roll, Rare, Tremblmg, Trill. 7. N. A nasal subtonic. Ex.: Nine, None, New, Ninny. N silent. Ex.: Hymn, Kiln, Column, Autumn. 2i AKTICULATION. 8. Y. An ambiguous subtonic. Ambiguous, both because its subtonic approaches vciy near to a tonic sound, and often the letter is a pure tonic character. Y as a subtonic. Ex.: Ye, Yell, Yarn, You, Youth. Y as a tonic. Ex.: Eye, By, Fry, Lily. Y silent. Ex.: Key, Sunday, Monday, &c. 4 Guttural Sounds. The Guttural Sounds are those which, in passing through the throat, are there modified by the action of the back part of the tongue against the rear-palate. 1. K, C, Q. An abrupt atonic. Ex.: Kick, Chord, Quick, Cocoa, Cook, Quote. N. B. — C has this sound before A, O, U. Q, is always followed by U. K is sometimes silent. Ex.: Knife, Knight, Knell, Knob. 2. G-. An abrupt subtonic. Ex.: Gig, Gay, Rug, Egg, Gag, Giggle. G silent. Ex.: Sign, Deign, Gnash, Gnat, Phlegm. 3. Ng, N. A nasal subtonic. Ex.: Bringing, Ringing, Singing, Gingham, Ink, Bank, Drink, Wink. 4. H. An aspirate atonic. Ex.: Hate, Ha! Ha! Hall, Hot. H silent. Ex.: Heir, Honest, Herb, Hour, Honor. EXERCISES IN AETICULATION. BUBTONIO COMBINATIONS. ■ (fOR PRACTICE.) 1. Bl, dl, gl, rl, vl, zl, lb. Id, Im, In. — Able, handle, glow, hurl, driv'l, muzz'l, bulb, fold, film, fall'n. 2. Br, dr, gr, rb, rd, rg, rm, m.— Brand,_draw, grave, barb, lard, barge, arm, bard. 3. Bz, dz, gz, thz, Iz, mz, nz, rz, vz. — Robes, deeds, begs, breathes, falls, tombs, fans, wars, lives. 4. Gd, jd. Id, md, nd, ngd, bid, did, gld, rid, zld. — Begg'd, wedg'd, fold, doom'd, land, hang'd, hobbl'd, addl'd, haggl'd, snarl'd, muzzl'd. 5. Lbd, rbd, Imd, nnd, dnd, rnd, snd, rvd. — Bulb'd, barb'd, film'd, arm'd, madd'n'd, bum'd, reas'n'd, carv'd. 6. Bbz, rdz, rmz, rnz, roz, dnz, zmz, znz. — Orbs, barbs, arms, barns, carves, madd'ns, spasms, pris'ms. 7. Lbz, loz, Imz, Idz, biz, dlz, glz, rlz, viz, zlz. — Bulbs, elves, films, folds, cables, addles, mangles, hurls, driv'ls, muz- zles. ACCENT. 25. ATONIC COMBINATION. 1. Fs, ks, ps, ts, sk, sp, St. — Cliffs, rooks, caps, bats, mask, spend, stone. 2. Fth, ptli, Ms, ptlis, fts, pts, sps, sts. — Fifth, depth, fifths, depths, wafts, crypts, clasps, rests. 3. Ft, kt, pt, cht, skt, spt, fst, pst. — Oft, sack'd, crept, push'd, fetch'd, mask'd, clasp'd, laugh'st, lap'st. SUBTONIC AND ATONIC COMBINATIONS. 1. Fl, kl, pi, si, tl, Ish, 1th, Ik, Ip, Is, It. — Fling, cling, plume, slay, title, filch, health, milk, help, false, halt. 2. Fr, kr, pr, tr, rf, rch, rk, rp, rs, rt. — From, cro-vvn, prance, trade, turf, search, hark, harp, hearse, cart. 3. Mf, mp, mt, ngk, nch, nt, kn, sn, vn. — Nymph, hemp, tempt, ink, linch, meant, tak'n, snow, ev'n. 4. Ivnd, pnd, pld, sld, tld, 1ft, Ikt, Ipt. — Beck'n'd, op'n'd, rippl'd, nestl'd, titl'd, delft, milk'd, help'd. 5. Rth, rsh, rft, rkt, rnt, rpt, sht, skt. — North,, marsh, wharf'd, work'd burnt, harp'd, smash'd, mask'd. 6. Lfs, nfs, Iks, Its, nts, ngths, Iths. — Gulfs, nymphs, milks, halts, wants, lengths, healths, 7. Dst, gst, fst, 1st, mst, nst, pst, rst. — Did'st, .begg's*. laugh'st, fall'st, comb'st, winc'd, rapp'st, burst. 8. Blst, dlst, flst, gist, klst, plst, rlst, tlst, zlst. — Troubl'st, handl'st, trifl'st, mangl'st, wrinkl'st, help'st, hurl'st, settl'st, muzzl'st. 9. Bdst, gdst, Idst, ndst, rdst, vdst, rlst, ntst. — Prob'dst, begg'dst, hurl'dst, send'st; liv'dst, hurl'st, want'st. 10. Rbst, rmst, dnst, knst, mst, rsvt, znst. — Barb'st, warm'st, hard'n'st, black'n'st, burn'st, curv'st, impris'n'st. 11. Bldst, didst, gldst, kldst, rldst, tldst, vldst. — Troubl'dst, fondl'dst, mangl'dst, -(vrinkl'dst, hurl'dst, sell'dst, drivl'dst. 12. Lmdst, rmdst, rndst, dndst, kndst, zndst. — Whelm'dst, ann'dst, burn'dst, hard'n'dst, impris'n'dst. ACCENT. Accent is a stronger impulse of the voice laid on a particular syllable. Every word has its accent, but this is never marked in writing, nor is there any system of rules adequate to guiding the student in placing the accent correctly. This is another defect in our system of notation, which can only be supplied by oral instruction. The importance of accent however, will appear 3 26 PRONUXCIATIdS. from the fact that it is sometimes the only means of distinguish- ing the meaning of the -word. Ex. — 1 present you with a 2}i'isent. I refuse the refuse. They coneert their plan in coneert. I did recbrd th6 record. Sometimes the ordinary accent of the word is changed by a contrast in sense. Ex. — He must increase but I must decrease. I did not say to Export but to import. He that c^escended is the same as lie that ascended. PKONUNCIATION. A correct pronunciation includes the right method of articu- lating the elements of words and placing the proper accent. A good pronunciation is the result merely of a patient and studious mechanical practice of the elements, and can be learned by any one who will subject himself to the necessary labor. But it is absolutely essential to the good reader and speaker ; for without it, all other virtues ^nd powers of expression are covered up under this defect. The chief difficulty consists in the articulation. The follow- ing examples are intended to bring out the utmost force of articulation and pronunciation, and must frequently be resorted to by the student for practice. EXERCISES. He is content in either place. He is content in neither place. They wandered weary over wastes and deserts. They wandered weary over waste, sand, deserts. I saw the prints, without emotion. I saw the Prince, without emotion. Whoever heard of such an ocean ? Whoever heard of such a notion ? That last still night. That lasts till night. His cry moved me. His crime moved me. EXPRESSION. 37 He could pay nobody. He could pain nobody. "When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The lines too labor, and the words mo^'e slow. Thou laid'st down and slept'st. I saw a saw, saw six sleek, slim, saplings. The lonely lion lamely limped along the lane. He was o'erwhelm'd with whirlwinds wild. With cruel crutch, he cracked my croAvn. With. horrid howls, he heaved the heavens above. Round the routjli rocks the rao-o-ed rascal ran. Only think, I thrust three thousand thistles through the thick of my thumb. And there the finest streams through tangled forests stray. The masts stood steadfast through the severest storm. As thou found'st, so thou keep'st me. The wolf's long howl on Ululaska's shore. Each on his rock transfixed, the sport of racking whirlwinds. He authoritatively and peremptorily forbade all intercom- munication between those extraordinarily intractable individuals. N. B. — I would impress it especially upon the teacher, that the best way to secure a distinct and forcible articulation is to give the pupil a daily exercise of spelling by sound, that is, enunciating every elementary sound in a word by itself, and then the word as a whole. OF EXPRESSION. Articulation and Pronunciation treat of the mechanical and material agencies of Elocution ; the soul lies in expression. Of this we shall treat under seven particulars — Emphasis, Inflection, Pitch, Force, Tone, Movement, and Pause. The mechanical part of Elocution, consisting in the proper use and discipline of the material organs for the pronunciation of articulate sounds, requires mere force of will and patient practice ; it is an admirable discipline for both. The more elevated and moral part of Elocution — that eva- nescent and indescribable, but mcst magic power of expression, 28 EXPRESSION. requires the high cultiyation of feeling, the imagination, and tender and powerful sympathies of the soul. It is thus that Elueution becomes a noble means of discipline and cultivation for the whole man. ^J^lie secret here is to sur- render the mind wholly to the impuise of nature, forgetful of self in the feeling and thought of the moment, and truly rellecting in the attitude and gesture, as in a glass, the sentiment and meaning of the language. But here the student of oratory must, for the most part, "minister unto himself;" the teacher can do little else than criticise, and direct him generally in nature's path. I proceed to give a brief analysis of each of the elements of expression. E M P II A S I S . Emphasis is a certain force of utterance expended upon a single word, to call attention thereto, and mark special significanoy. It is indefinite in its nature and amount, varying according to the strength of significanoy and the character of the subject ; but for the sake of clearness we shall mark three degrees, and indicate the lowest by italics, the next by small capitals, and the highest by LARGE CAPITALS. The sigiiificancy and sense of reading depends chiefly upon the emphasis. Take, for instance, the simple phrase. Will you go to town to-morrow ? You may vary the sense in six different ways by emphasis, thus : 1 . Will you go to town to-morrow ? i. e. Will you or not ? 2. Will i/oic go to tovra to-morrow ? !. e. Will you or somebody else ? 3. Will you ffo to town to-morrow ? i. e. Will you go or stay ? 4. Will you go to tovm. to-morrow ? i. e. Will you go to or from ? 6. Will you go to town to-morrow ? i. e. To town or somewhere else ? 6. Will you go to to-\vn to-morrow? i. e. To-morrow or next day ? Emphasis will infallibly result in reading or speaking, if there is a clear apprehension of the sense of what is read or spoken, and a strong desire to produce an impression on the hearer : hence the rule that will supersede all other rule.s in the attain- EXPKESSION. 29 ment of this, as ■well as all other points of expression, is this — ■ strive ever for concentration of thought a7id lively feelings in reading or in speaking. This is the beginning and the end of all instmction. Let any child that can read take up a book that it can feel and understand, and it neither will nor can avoid putting emphasis on words, according to its interest in, and apprehen- sion of, the subject matter. The only way that a teacher can promote these in a pupil is by example. He must be a good reader and speaker himself, else it is "the blind leading the Wind." All emphasis is one of three kinds — Demonstrative, Antithetic, aiid Cumulative. The first points the attention, to some particular thought in preference to all others. The second points out a distinction, opposition or antithesis between two thoughts. The third raises the attention to the highest pitch by accumu- lating power and significancy on a single word by repetition. EXAMPLES IN DEMONSTRATIVE EJIPHASIS. Let kings that /ear forgive ; blows and revenge for me. 'Twas base and poor ; unworthy of a man To forge a scroll, so villainous and loose. But I did not call him to order, why ? because the limited talents of some, render it impossible for them to be severe and parliamentary, at the same time. Let that plebeian talk, it is not iny trade. But here I stand for right, for Rohan right. How came he to the brink of that river ? how dared he cross it ? He should hsbve perished upon the brink e'er he had crossed it. T defy the honorable gentleman, I defy the whole phalanx. EXAMPLES IN ANTITHETIO ElIPHASIS. What is done cannot be undone. There is a material difference between giving and/orgiving. He must increase, but I must cZecrease. This is the main point — not progress everywhere, but some- where. I did not say an elder soldier, but a letter. Homer was the better genius ; Virgil the better artist. 30 EXPRESSION. EXAMPLES IN CU'^irLATITE EMPHASIS. To arms! to arms ! TO AKMS ! My first argument for tlie adoption of this measure is, tKe2^cople demaiul it. Tslj second argument is, the people demand it. My third argument is, THE PEOPLE DEMAND IT. None but the hrave : none but the erave : none But the BRAVE deserve the fair. INFLECTION. Inflection, is the variation of the pitch of the voice from its key-note, or the ordinary governing tone used in speaking or reading on any occasion. All persons have a key-note, or pre- vailing sound in their conversation, vrhich arises chiefly from the character of their voice, as base, treble, alto, soprano, &c. Every subject has also its appropriate key-note or pitch suita- ble to the subject matter, the person speaking, and the occasion. This must bo determined by each for himself In reading or speaking the voice is constantly varied from this prevailing note, and with more or less rapidity changes from the lowest to the highest compass of its toni;s. The life of good speaking depends much upon the compass and variety of inflection. Clear thought and strong feeling put the right inflections in the poTver of the student, as they do every other point of expression ; for then he places himself under the inspiration of nature, the only guide in the noble art of Elocution. Observe that every syllable has its own note, and it is rarely, except in a style called the monotone, or in feeble and monotonous reading, that the same tone ought to occur twice in succession. This gives that charming variety to the voice in good speaking, without which it would pall upon the ear. Every polysyllabic word, every clause, and every sentence, has a highest, and a lowest tone in it ; and the rising to the one and the falling to the other constitutes inflection. Onejs called the rising, the other the falling inflection. In a single word (a polysyllable) the accented syllable commands the highest note in the word. Emjiliasis will run the vowel sound of a monosyllable through several notes of the scale, otherwise it has but one tone. Ex. — ILjiv , dare you say so ! In clauses and sentences the rising and falling inflexion occur according to the sense and character of the sentiment : the degree of it is a matter entirely indefinite, but depends upon the strength of the feeling. eSPEESSION. 31 As a genei-al rule, the voice rises to the highest pitch, in a clause, on the accented syllable of the emphatic word ; but it is at the end of clauses and sentences that the inflection is most marked and can be best described. For this purpose I shall give a few general principles for the guidance of the student in inflexion. The falling inflection occurs — 1 . At the end of a sentence where the sense is complete and affirmative or negative. Ex. — The wind and rain are over'. I say it is not so'. 2. At the end of a clause, in language of Command, Eemon- strance, Denunciation, Eeproach. Terror, Awe, or any vehement emotion accompanied with strong affirmation. Ek. — Down', cried Mar, your lances DOWN', &c. Why' will you act thus" in the King's presence' ? Woe unto you'. Scribes and Pharisees', Hypocrites ! Thou slave", thou wretcfi', thou coward)! Angels and ministers of grace', defend us'. The rising inflection occiu's — 1 . At the end of a sentence interrogative and where it can be answered by yes or no. Ex. — Canst thou minister to a mind diseased' ? 2. At the end of a clause, where the sense is incomplete and where the sentence is not strongly affirmative, when Expect- ation, Concession, Inquiring Wonder, or Indignant Surprise is expressed, or Contemptuous Slight is implied, or where the sub- ject matter is treated as unimportant or trifling. Ey. — Of all the fields fertilized with carnage'. I grant you this may be abused'. What, am I braved' ? Is it possible' ? There is no terror in your threats', Cassius'. I care not if you did'. I do n't care much', it is of no consequence'. In certain styles of expression the voice takes a waving inflection between high and low pitch, wifh a rapid transition. This occurs in Irony, Sarcasm, Scorn, Derision ; and may be given on a single word or a phrase. 32 EXPRESSION. £x. — yes, you are all that is courteous'. He is a rare pattern of humanity'. The same is found in certain kinds of Indecisive Assertions. Ex. — -One may be mse, though he be poor'. I shall go, though I cannot tell when'. PITCH AND FORCE. Pitch refers to the general condition of the tones cf the voice in repeating a passage, and must be distinguished from Inflection, ■which describes the transitions of the voice in a word, clause, or sentence. It refers to the key-note of the voice, and marks out a general degree of elevation or depression in the current tone. Force, on the other hand, is the degree of strength expended in the expulsion of the voice. I treat of them here together, because when combined they make up loudness or softness in the voice, and the combination of diflferent degrees of each, make up a peculiar intonation and expression that must be illustrated by bringing both to bear on the voice at the same time. I mark four degrees of Pitch : Low, Moderate, High, Very High. And four degrees of Force : Gentle, Moderate, Strong, Verv Strong. EXAMPLES IN MTCn AND EOKCE. Moderate \ On the earl's cheek the flush of rage' Pitch and force. ] O'ercame the ashen hue of age' ; Low Fierce'' he broke forth' ; — ■ mgli And darest thou, then'. Rising. ... To beard the lion in his den'? Higher, The Douglas in his hall'? and And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go'? Louder. . . . No', by Saint Bride of Bothwell, NO'. Very high ( JJp draw-bridge', grooms' ! what, warder, ho'' ! and loud. ... | Let the portcullis FALL'. Sometimes the expression requires a high pitch, but a gentle or moderate force, or the reverse. The first is required in very plaintive and sorrowful style, or in very joyous and live- expression. EXAMPLES. High pitch I Ah ! ivoe is me ; whither shall I fly ? and low force. \ Pity the sorrows of a ^wor old man'. Low pitch, but great force in the utterance. EXPEESSION. 33 High pitch j 0, dearest little baby', how sweet becoming tnd gentle force. | Is thy crown of flowers'. Again the expression may require a low pitch in the voice, but great force in the utterance. The distinction must here be noticed. The force is expended, not on the tone of the voice, but on the strength of utterance, i. e. on the articulation and pro- nunciation. This indicates great force siqijiressed. It is used in strong but suppressed Passion — Suspicion, or Fear. EXAMPLES. How like a fawning publican he looks". I hale him, for that he is a Christian''. — If I catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I hear him''. — Had he not resembled My father as he slept' , I had done it''. QUALITY OF TONE. This has reference to the kind of voice used. Five qualities may be noticed. 1. The Pure Tone. 2. The Orotund. 3. The Aspirated. 4. Guttural. 5. The Trembling. 1. The Pure Tone is the ordinary tone of a good and well trained voice, clear, even, smooth, round, flowing, flexible in sound, and producing a moderate resonance in the head. Some are highly gifted in this way by nature, but all may improve indefinitely by diligent practice. It is the tone to be employed in all ordinary reading, where great passion or violent feeling is not expressed. 2. The Orotund is the pure tone deepened, enlarged and intensified for the more earnest and vehement passages of feel- ing or the profounder emotions of the soul. It produces a greater resonance in the head and chest, requires depression in the larynx, opening of the throat, extension of the mouth, and expansion of the whole chest. When used with great force and high pitch, it is something more than loudness of tone. It is a rich volume of trumpet sound, inspiring and quickening life, and filling the whole man with exultation and conscious power. It is an admirable exercise to strengthen the vocal organs, and give life and spirit to the student of oratory ; and even in a physical point of view is important, by strengthening and expand- ing an apparatus so necessarv to the health as the lungs. It is 34 i.A^•ltJ■:^SlON. used in all energetic and vehement forms of expression wliere open courage anil fjroe an_- predominant, as in commanding on the field of battle, or in high and threaUning language, and is always acci ■mpauied with high pitch and great force. EXAMPLES. Hires' ( Strike', till the last armed foe exp. High pitch. I Strike', for your altars and your fires'. Great force. 1 STltIKE\ for the green graves of your sircs\ [ God and your native land\ . j On', on\ you noble English, igian o« . | "wjiogg blood is set from fathers of var proof. J Wave', Munich', all thy banners wave', ( And CHARGE' with all thy chivalry. 3. The Aspirated is used in the absence of the vocal sound, and is an expulsion of the breath more or less strong, the words being spoken in a whisper. It is used in amazement, fear, terror, horror. EXA3IPLES. Low fitch and force. How ill this taper bums ! Aspirate. Ha! loho comes here? Very low j I think it is the weakness of mine eyes' pitch and force. | That shapes this monstrous apjiari.tion'' ! Aspirate. It comes upon me. — Art thou anything ? Aspirate. j Have mercy', Heaven'. Ha! soft, Verylowpitch. | 'Tis but a dream'. But then so terrible'', it shakes my soul'. ^and''for'ce''' \ '^°^^ ^rops of sweat' hang on my trembling flesh' ; Aspirate. ( My blood grows c/iillf, and I freeze with horror^. 4. The Guttural expresses suppressed hatred and concentrated malignity or loathing. N. B. — It occurs always on the emphatic words. EXAMPLES. Low pitch f Q tjjj^t ^jjjg g|j^^.^. ^^^ £qj.j thousand lives . ana great force -!/-,•. \ , 7\ r > in the utterance. .. (One IS too poor , too weak , for my revenffe . Thou slave'', thou wretch'', thou coward" ! Thou cold-blooded slave' ! Thou wear a lion's hide'? Dojf it for shame", and hang A calf-sTcin on those recreant limbs. Guttural High pitch and force. J Guttural The words with the waving line have the trem- bling tone. EXPRESSION. 35 5. The Trembling Tone is used in excessive grief, pity, ten- derness, or great plaintiveness, or in an intense degree of sup- pressed excitement, or satisfaction ; in the expression of passion good or bad, or when th« voice is enfeebled by physical weakness. EXAMPLES. But now will canker -sorrow eat my bud'. And chase the native beauty from his cheek". And he will look as hollow as a ghost', As dim and meagre as an ague fit\ And so he '11 die ; and rising so again', When. I shall meet him in the court of Heaven', I shall not know him\ Therefore, never\ neYer\ must I behold My pretty Arthur more'. Must thou be gone ? It is not yet near day ! It was the nightingale, and not the lark. That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; Nightly she sings in yon pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy. In measure rein thy joy, scant this "excess, 1 feel too much thy blessing. MOVEMENT. Movement refers to the rate of utterance ; and is slow, mode- rate, brisk, or rapid. It should never be so rapid as to be inconsistent with perfect distinctness of articulation. The Slow movement belongs to Pathos, Solemnity, Adoration, Horror, and Consternation ; to expression of Grandeur, Vast- ness, and the like. The Moderate or Common movement is used in didactic thought and simple narration or description. The Brisk or Lively, is used in a style cheerful, gay, joyous, and witty, and in all the gentler forms of the vivid emotions. The Kapid, is used in expression of hurry, confu.sion, violent anger, sudden fear, &c. 86 EXPRESSION. EXAMPLES OF SLOW MOVEMENT. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; The lowing' herd winds slowly o'er the lea; The plowman homeward plods his weary "way. And leaves the world to darkness and to me. On horror's head, horrors accumulate. High on a throne of royal state, which far outshone The wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Satan exalted sat.' EXAMPLES OF MODEHATB MOVEMKST. Who has e'er been in London, that ovei'grown place. Has seen " lodgings to let," stare him full in the face. A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright Conversed as they sat on the green. I was ever of opinion, that the honest man who married and brought up a family, did more service than he who continued single and only talked of population. EXAMPLES OP THE BKISK OR LIVELY MOVEMENT. The wind one morning sprung up from sleep, Crying, "Now for a frolic, now for a leap !" Forth from the passing tumult driven. Like chaff before the wind of heaven. The archery appear. Come, thou goddess, fair and free. In heav'n yclep'd Euphrosyne ; Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jests and youthful jollity. EXAMPLES OP THE EAPID MOVEMENT. And there was mounting in hot haste, The steed, the must'ring squadron, and the clatt'ring car. When pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war. Up draw-bridge, gi-ooms ! what, warder, ho ! Let the portcullis fall ! PAUSE. The pause I shall treat of here is the rhetorical pause, and not the ordinary pauses marked by the different punctuations. GESTUKE. 37 It is a striking suspension of the voice, to give effect to strong meaning and expression, or to mark expectation and uncertainty. A pause is often more eloquent than words. Tlie disregard of the common pauses of punctuation is one of the most common faults in reading, and none is more fatal to proper expression ; but tlie management of the rhetorical pause is a matter of far greater delicacy, though it is rather rare in occurrence. The length of the pause depends upon the rate of movement, the degree of emphasis, and the significancy intended ; hence it is a matter entirely relative. EXAMPLES OP THE KHETOKICAL PAUSE. But hush ! . . . harh ! . . . that deep sound breaks in once more, And nearer ! . . . clearer ! . . . deadlier than before. Arm, ARM ! ... it is ... it is the cannon's opening roar ! Traitor! ... I go, but . . . I return! GESTURE. AN ANALYSIS OF GESTUEE. The elements of aU gesture, oratorical and dramatic, are few and well defined. I know not why they have escaped being clearly pointed out, by those who have treated of the subject of Elocution. They consist of a few definite positions of the arm, hand, and foot ; which, in combination, make an endless variety, but taken singly, are rediicible to a small number. These are of two kinds. Oratorical and Dramatic. I proceed first to the analysis of oratorical gestures. ACTION OE THE PEET. Each foot is susceptible of or y four positions.* These are illustrated for the right foot, ii Figures 1, 3, 5, 6. The left foot is susceptible of exactly th*-, same corresponding positions. In Fig. 1, the right foot is in poise, ready for motion : the heel points to the hollow of ihe left foot, and is two or three » Of course, I speak generally, and overlook slight variations. 38 GBSTURE. iaclies from it ; the knee is slightly bent ; the body rests chiefly on the left foot, and the leg stands stiff in support. This also is the posilion in Figs. 2 and 4. This is position No. 1. In Fi '•. 3, the right foot has been advanced straight forward one step ; the left, having been brought forward two or three inches from ils previous position, rests with the heel lifted about one inch. The relative position of the feet rendain as before ; but the i^cight of the body rests on the right foot. This is position No. 2. ' In Fig. 6, the righl; foot is moved laterally forward one step ; the loft foot, slightly following as before, rests with the heel lifted. The weight of the body rests on the right foot. This is petition No. 3. In Fig. 6, the right foot is tlirown back of the left, one step, and at right angles to it ; the body is slightly inclined back, and rests chiefly upon the right foot. This is position No. 4. Through these four positions, the left foot may also be passed ; and this completes the action of the feet. ACTION OF THE ARMS. Each arm is susceptible of being put in six positions, which are illustrated for the right arm in the six Figures. In the first Figure, the arm is brought forwanl, half way between the perpendicular and the horizontal position, before the right leg. In Fig. 2, the arm is brought forward in a horizontal position on a level with the lower part of the chest. In Fig. 3, the arm is raised in front above the level of the head. In Fig. 4, the arm is brought out laterally at the same angle as in Fig. 1. In Fig. 5, the arm is brought up at the side, at the same angle as in Fig. 2. In Fig. 6, the arm is brought up at the side, in the same angle as in Fig. 3. Each of these positions may be designated by its Number 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, or 6. The j.eft arm, as well as both arms simultaneously, may be carried through the same six positions. Eemarks on the Gesture of the Arms. — 1 . The manner of bringing up the arm is a matter of great significanoy, and sus- ceptible of considerable variety; but, in general, the arm is always lifted above the place where it is designed to rest, and GiSSTURE. 39 then brought down to it, with more or less emphasis, according to the occasion. 2. The motion of the arm precedes, and is brought to an emphatic rtst, precisely on the emphatic word. 3. In styles of speaking not very im])assioned, the arm and hand move in curves ; but in invective and powerful emotion they move in straight lines. THE POSITION OF THE HANDS. There are four positions of the hands, illustrated in Figs. 1, 3, 5, 6. In Fig. 1 , the palm is open and supine, the thumb turned out, and the fingers slightly relaxed. In Fig. 3, the palm is open and prone-. In Fig. 5, the hand is clenched. In Fig. 6, the hand points. Each of these positions must be associated in the pupil's mind with its Number, 1, 2, 3, or 4. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE GESTURE. Of these we shall distinguish and illustrate six, as being the most conspicuous and important, and embracing the general range of this class of gesture and attitude. Fig. 1, is expressive of grief, remorse, despair : the hands are clasped and brought to the breast with a convulsive move- ment ; the face looking down ; the feet may be in either the first, second, or third attitude before described. Fig. 2, is expressive of earnest entreaty, agonizing prayer, rapture : the hands are clasped and brought convulsively to the breast near the chin ; the face raised toward heaven ; the feet may be in the first, second, third or fourth attitude. Fig. 3, is expressive of fear, terror: the palms bent upon the wrist and turned outward as if to repel ; the arms, partly and unequally flexed, stretch before the body ; the face look- ing toward the object ; the feet in the fourth position. Fig 4, expresses disgust, aversion, horror : the arms placed before the body nearly as before ; the face averted, the body somewhat thrown back ; the feet in the fourth position. Fig 5, expresses reference to self, to the heart, the feelings : the hand is brought to the region of the heart, in one of these positions — 1st, the palm open, the fingers somewhat apart; 2d, the hands shut and brought so that the back of the thumb 40 GESTUnE. touches the region of the heart ; 3d, the hand shut, but tho thumb, open nnd recurved, points to the heart. FicT 6, expresses dignity, composure, self-confidence, pride : the ai-ms are folded upon the breast ; one hand above, the other below the forearm. E:ieh of these dramatic positions may be called for from the pupil by the several numbers, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. It would be needless to attempt to mention or portray all the infinite A'arieties and shades of expression that may be conveyed by the motions and attitudes of the body. The above embraces all that is useful to which to direct the special attention of the student. Nature will do the rest when the occasion and the feeling call for it. Such natural gestures as the following need only to be mentioned to strike the intelligence at once : to clench the hair indicates desperation ; to touch the forehead, reflection ; to touch the nose, intelligence, cunning ; to touch the chin, deliberation ; to strike the breast, feeling, daring, &c. ; to touch the pocket, self-interest ; to slap the thigh, impatience ; to shake the finger or fist, menace, anger, &c. But the great mirror of expression is the face. There, in ever- changing shades, thought, feeling, passion, are portrayed with a power beyond the reach of language : wrath storms in the corrugated brow and flashes lightning from the eye ; love and tenderness thrill in the melting glance ; suppressed passion labors in the expanded nostrils ; scorn and disdain ride on the curled lip : — but what, but the pencil of the skillful painter, can do justice in describing these things ? Let the student of oratory throw himself under the guidance of nature, in all the self-abandonment of genuine feeUng, and all other tutelage will be superseded. Note to TEAcnERS. — The subject of Gesture is of ten much neglected even by professed teachers of Elocution. This arises chietly from the want of some simple and intelligible system of instruction. I will give therefore, for the benefit of teachers, that mode of instruction which I hare found most successful in impressing the elements of gesture on the minds of pupils. The whole secret lies in this — io analyse gesture into its elements, and teach these firsl; then call attention to the various combinations. This has been done in the present work. It will bo observed that each elementary gesture of the foot, arm and hand, has been designated by a number: thus the arm has 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, positions; the hand, 1, 2, 3, i; the foot, 1,2,3,4, Let the pupils become familiar with these first. Then calling up an individual, or a class, the teacher can produce an endless variety of attitude and gesture, by designat- ing these numbers in various orders. My habit is to designate by the first number i'tio position of the foot, (premising right or left) ; by the second number, the position of Aq arm (right or left) ; and by the third, the hand. Thus in the illustrations or oratorical gesture given in the plates, the first figure may be described by the I^os. 1, 1, 1 ; the second, 1, 2, 1; the third, 2, 3, 2 ; the fourth, 1, 4 1; filth, 3, 0, 3 ; sixth, 4, 0, 4. With regard to tlie dramatic gestures and attitudes, as there are only six principal ones, varied chiefly by the attitude of the feet, I call out iirst the number that marks tht position of the feet, and then the Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, or 6, which designate the dramatia gestures in the order in which they are given in the plates. THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, EARNEST DECLAMATION. CHARACTER OF TRUE ELOQUENCE When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa- sions, wben great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, notbing is valuable, in speech, farther than it is con- nected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clear- ness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be mar- shaled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. AiSFected pas- sion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it — they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments, and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their o'lvn lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and sub- dued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriot- ism is eloquent ; t^en, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object — this, this is eloquence ; or rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence, --it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action. WBBSTEK, 4 42 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. PHILLIPS ON TII15-^'0LICY OF ENGLAND. BuT\\hal has '.Miylnnd done (nr Europe? flhat bus she ai'hicvfJ. for man ? Have morals hvrn amrlioraled ? Has librrty berii struiiLjihened ? Has any one impruvument in politics or philosophy been produced '? Let us see bow. You have restored to Portugal a prince of >vhom we know nothing, except that, when his dominions W(,'re invaded, his people dis- tracted, his crown in danger, and all that could interest the highest energies of man at issue, he left his cause to be com- bated by foreign bayonels, and lied vnth a dastard precipita- tion to the shameful security of a distant hemisphere ! You ha^'c restored to Spain a wretch of even worse than proverbial princely ini^'ratitude ; who filled his dungeons, and fed his rack with the heroic remnant that braved war, and famine, and mas- sacre beneath his banners ; who rewarded patriotism with the prison, fidelity with the torture, heroism with the scaffold, and piety with the inquisition ; whose royalty was published by the signature of his death-warrants, and whose religion evaporated in the cmhruidcriitg of petticoats for the Blessed Virgin! You have forced upon France a family to whom misfortune could teach no mercy, or experience wisdom ; ^-indictive in prosperity, servile in defeat, timid in the field, vacillating in the cabinet : suspicion amongst themselves, discontent amongst their followers ; their memories tenacious but of the punishments they had pro- voked, their piety active but in subserviency to their priesthood, and their power passive but in the subjugation of their people ! Such aie the dynasties you have conferred on Europe. In the very act, that of enthroning three individuals of the same family, you ha\-e committed in politics a capital error ; but Providence has countermined the ruin you were preparing, and whilst the impolicy presents the chance, their impotency precludes the dan- ger of a coalition. As to the rest of Europe, how has it been ameliorated ? What solitary benefit have the deliverers conferred ? They have partitioned the states of the feeble to feed the rapacity of the powerful ; and after having alternately adored and deserted Napoleon, they have wreaked their vengeance on the noble, but unfortunate fidelity that spurned their example. Do you want proofs ? look to Saxony, look to Genoa, look to Norway, but, abo^e all, to Poland ! that speaking monument of regal murder and legitimate robbery — " Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of time — Sai-matja fell — unwept — without a crime!" EARNEST DECLAMATION. 43 Here ■was an opportunity to recompense that brave, lieroic, gen- erous, martyred, and devoted people ; here was an opportunity to convince Jacobinism that crowns and crimes were not, o. course, coexistent, and that the highway rapacity of one gene- ration might be atoned by the penitential retribution of another ! Looli to Italy — parceled out to temporizing Austria ; the land of the muse, the historian, and the hero ; the scene of every classic recollection ; the sacred fane of antiquity, where the genius of the world weeps and worships, and the spirits of the past start into hfe at the inspiring pilgrimage of some kindred Eoscoe. Look to Prussia, after fruitless toil and wi-eathless triumphs, mocked with the promise of a visionary constitution. Look to France, chained and plundered, weeping over the tomb of her hopes and her heroes. Look to England, eaten by the canker of an incurable debt, exhausted by poor-rates, support- ing a civil list of near a million and a half, annual amount ; guarded by a standing army of 149,000 men ; misrepresented by a House of Commons, ninety of whose members in places and pensions derive £200,000 in yearly emoluments from the minister ; mocked with a miUtary peace, and girt with the forti- fications of a war-establishment ! Shades of heroic millions, these are thy achievements ! Monster or legitimacy, this is thy consummation ! ! Can any man of sense say that the pres- ent system should continue ? What ! when war and peace have alternately thrown every family in the empire into mourn- ing and poverty, shall the fattened tax-gatherer extort the starving manufacturer's last shilling, to swell the unmerited and enormous sinecure of some wealthy pauper ? IRELAND. Ireland, with her imperial crown, now stands before you. Tou have taken her parliament from her, and she appears in her own person, at your bar. Will you dismiss a kingdom without a hearing ? Is this your answer to her zeal, to her faith, to the blood that has so profusely graced your march to victory — to the treasures that have decked your strength in peace ? Is her name nothing — her fate indifferent ? are her contributions in- significant — her six millions revenue — her ten millions trade — her two millions absentee — her four miUions loan? Is such a country not worth a hearing ? Will you, can you dismiss her 14 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKJIR. abruptly from your bar? You cannot do it — the instinct of .England is against it. V.'e may be outniimbcved now and again; but in calculating the amount of the real sentiments of the people, the ciphers that s'>yell the evanescent majorities of an evanescent minisler go for nothing. Can Ireland forget the memorable era of 17C8 ? Can others forget the munificent hospitalily with which she then freely ga\ e to her choscu hope all that she had to give ? Can Irehind forget (he spontaneous and glowing cordiality with which her fa-4'(jrs weie then received ? Xever ! Never! Irishmen grew justly proud in the consciousness of being subjects of a gracious pi-edi- lection — a predilection that required no apology, and called for no renunciation — a predilection that did eijual honor to him who felt it, and to those who were the objects of it. It laid (he grounds of a great and fervent hope — all a nation's wishes crowding to a point, and looking forward to one event, as the great coming, at which every wound was to be healed, e\'ery tear to be wiped away. The hope of that hour beamed with a cheering warmth and a seductive brilliancy. Ireland followed it with all her heart' — a leading light through the wilderness, and brighter in its gloom. She followed it over a wide and barren waste : it has charmed her through the desert; and now, that it has led her to the confines of light and darkness — now, that she is on the borders of the promised land, is the prospect to be suddenly obscured, and the fair vision of 'princely faith to vanish forever ! — I will not believe it — I require an act of par- liament to vouch its credibility — nay more, I demand a miracle to convince me that it is possible ! gbattan WASHINGTON, A MAN OF GENIUS. How many times have we been told that Washington was not a man of genius, but a person of excellent common sense, of admi- rable judgment, of rare virtues ! He had no genius, it seems. no ! genius, we must siippose, is the peculiar and shining attribute of some orator, whose tongue can spout patriodo speeches ; or some versifier, whose muse can Hail Columbia ; but not of the man who supported states on his arm, and carried America in his brain. What is genius ? Is it worth anything? Is splendid folly the measure of its inspiration ? Is wisdom its base and summit — that which it recedes from, or tends toward ? And by what definition do you award the name to the creator EARKEST DECLAMATION. 45 of an epic, and deny it to the creator of a country ? On what principle is it to be lavished on him who sculptures in perishing marble the image of possible excellence, and withheld from him who built up in himself a transcendent character, indestructible as the obligations of duty, and beautiful as her rewards ? Indeed, if by the genius of action, you mean will enlightened by intelligence, and intelhgence energized by will, — if force and insight be its characteristics, and influence its test, and if great effects suppose a cause proportionally groat, a vital, causa- tive mind, — then was Washington most assuredly a man of genius, and one whom no other American has equaled in the power of working morally and mentally on other minds. His genius was of a pecuhar kind, the genius of character, of thought, and the objects of thought solidified and concentrated into active faculty. He belongs to that rare class of men, — rare as Homers and Miltons, rare as Platos and Newtons, — who have impressed their characters upon nations without pampering national vices. Such men have natures broad enough to include all the facts of a people's practical life, and deep enough to discern the spiritual laws which underlie, animate, and govern those facts. EDWIN p. WHIPPLE. CHALMERS ON WAR. I AVOW it. On every side of me I see causes at work, which go to spread a most delusive coloring over war, and to remove its shocking barbarities to the background of our contemplations altogether. I see it in the history which tells me of the superb appearance of the troops, and the brilliancy of their successive charges. I see it in the poetry which lends the magic of its numbers to the narrative of blood, and transports its many admirers, as by its images, and its figures, and its nodding plumes of chivalry, it throws its treacherous embellishments over a scenes of legahzed slaughter. I see it in the music which represents the progress of the battle ; and where, after being inspired by the trumpet-notes of preparation, the whole beauty and tenderness of a drawing-room are seen to bend over the sentimental entertainment ; nor do I hear the utterance of a single sigh to interrupt the death-tones of the thickening coBtest, and the moans of the wounded men, as they fade away upon the ear, and sink into lifeless silence. All, all goes to prove what strange and half-sighted creatures we are. Were it not so, war could never have been seen in any 46 TirS KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. other aspect than that of unmingled hatefulness ; and I can look to nothing but to the progress of Christian sentiment upon earth, to arrest^the strong current of its popular and prevailing par- tiality for war. Tlien only will an imperious sense of duty lay the check of severe principle on all the subordinate tastes and faculties of our nature. Then will glory be reduced to its right estimate, and the wakeful benevolence of the gospel, chasing away every spell, ■vvill be turned by the treachery o( no delusion whatever, from its simple but sublime enterprises for the good of the species. Tlicn the reign of truth and quietness will be ushered into the world, and war, cruel, atrocious, unrelenting war, will be stripped of its many and its bewildering fascinations. THE FAMINE IN IRELAND. There lies upon the other side of the wide Atlantic a beauti- ful island, famous in story and in song. It has given to the world more than its share of genius and of greatness. It has been prohfic in statesmen, warriors, and poets. Its brave 'and gener- ous sons have fought successfully in all battles but its own. In wit and humor it has no equal ; while its harp, like its history, moves to tears by its sweet but melancholy patlios. In this fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those fear- ful ministers who fulfill his inscrutable decrees. The earth has failed to give her increase ; the common mother lias forgotten her offspring, and her breast no longer affords them their accus- tomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly famine, has seized a nation with its strangling grasp ; and tmhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, for a moment, the gloomy history of the past. In battle, in the fullness of his pride and strength, little recks the soldier whether the hissing bullet sing his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel. But he who dies of hunger, wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and unrelenting enemy. He has no friends to cheer him in the ter- rible conflict ; for if ho had friends, how could he die of hunger ? He has not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain him ; for his foe, vampire-hke, has exhausted his veins." Who will hesitate to give his mite, to avert such awful results ? Give, then, generously and freely. EecoUect, that in so doing, you are exercising one of the most a'odlike qualities of youi' EARNEST DECLAMATIOK. 47 nature, and at the same time enjoying one of the greatest luxuries of life. We ought to thank our Maker that he has permitted us to exercise equally with himself that noblest of even the Divine attributes, benevolence. Go home and look at your families, smiling in rosy health, and then think of the pale, fam- ine-pinched cheeks of the poor childi-en of Ireland ; and you will give, according to your store, even as a bountiful Providence has given to you — not grudgingly, but with an open hand ; for the quality of benevolence, like that of morcy, " Is not strained ; It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven. Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed ; It blesses him that gives, and him that takes." S. S. PRENTISS. CICERO FOR MILO. But if, my lords, you are not yet convinced, though the thing shines out with such strong and full evidence, that Milo returned to Eome with an innocent mind, unstained with guilt, undisturbed by fear, and free from the accusations of conscience ; call to mind, I beseech you by the immortal gods, the expedition with which he came back, his entrance into the forum while the sen- ate-house was in flames, the greatness of , soul he discovered, the look he assumed, the speech he made on the occasion. He deUv- ered himself up, not only to the people, but even to the senate ; nor to the senate alone, but even to g-uards appointed for the public security ; nor merely to them, but even to the authority of him whom the senate had intrusted with the care of the whole repubhc ; to whom he would never have delivered himself, if he had not been confident of the goodness of his cause. What now remains, but to beseech and -adjure you, my lords, to extend that compassion to a brave man, which he disdains to implore, but which I, even against his consent, implore and earnestly intreat. Though you have not seen him shed a single tear while all are weeping around him ; though he has preserved the same steady countenance, the same firmness of voice and' language ; do not on this account withhold it from him. On you, on you I call, ye heroes, who have lost so much blood in the service of your country ! to you, ye centurions, ye soldiers, I appeal in this hour of danger to the best of men, and bravest of citizens ? WhUe you are looking on, while you stand here with 48 TUE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. arms in your hands, and guard this tiibunal, sliall virtue lilie tliis be expt'llfd, exterminated, cast out with dishonor ? B3' the im- mortal gods, I wish (pardon me, my country ! for 1 fear what I shall say out of a pious regard for Milo may be deemed impiety against tlice) that Clodius not only Ii\ed, but were prffitor, con- sul, dictator, rather than be witness to such a scene as this. Shall this man, then, who was born to sa-\'e his country, die any where but in his country ? Shall he not at least die in the serv- ice of his country ? Will you retain the memorials of his gal- lant soul, and deny his body a grave in Italy ? Will any person give his voice for banishing a man from this city, whom every city on earth would be proud to receive within its walls ? Happy the country that shall receive him ! ungrateful this if it shall banish him ! wretched, if it should lose him ! But I must con- clude : my tears will not allow me to proceed, and Milo forbids tears to be employed in his defense. You, my lords, I beseech and adjure, that, in your decision, you would dare to act as you think. Trust me, your fortitude, your justice, your fidelity, wiU more especially be approved of by him, (Pompey), who in his choice of judges has raised to the bench the bravest, the wisest, and the best of men. DEMOSTHENES TO THE ATHENIANS. Such, men of Athens ! were your ancestors : so glorious m the eye of the world ; so bountiful and munificent to their coun- try; so sparing, so modest, so self-denying to themselves. What resemblance can we find, in the present generation, of these great men. At a time when your ancient competitors, have left you a clear stage ; when the Lacedemonians are disabled, the Thebans employed in troubles of their own ; when no other state whatever is in a condition to rival or molest you ; in short, when you are at full hberty ; when you have the opportunity and the power to become once more the sole arbiters of Greece ; you permit, patiently, whole provinces to be wrested from you ; you lavish the public money in scandalous and obscure uses ; you suffer your allies to perish in time of peace, whom you pre- served in time of war ; and, to sum up all, you yourselves, by your mercenary court, and servile resignation to the will and pleasure of designing, insidious leaders, abet, encourage, and strengthen the most dangerous and formidable of your enemies. Yes, Athenians, I repeat it, you yourselves are the contrivers of EAKKEST DBCLAMATION. 49 your own ruin. Lives there a man who has confidence enough to deny it ? Let him arise, and assign, if he can, any other cause of the success and prosperity of Philip. " But," you reply, "what Athens may have lost in reputation abroad, she has gained in splen- dor at home. Was there ever a greater appearance of prosperity ; a greater face of plenty ? Is not the city enlarged ? Are not the streets better paved, houses repaired and beautified ?" Away with such trifles ! Shall I be paid with counters ? An old square new-vamped up ! a fountain ! an aqueduct ! are these acquisitions to brag of ? Cast your eyes upon the' magistrate under whose ministry you boast these precious improvements. Behold the despicable creature, raised, all at once, from dirt to opulence ; from the lowest obscurity to the highest honors. Have not some of these upstarts built private houses and seats vieing with the most sumptuous of our public palaces ? And how have their fortunes and their power increased, but as the commonwealth has been ruined and impoverished. To what are we to impute these disorders ; and to what cause assign the decay of a state so powerful and flourishing in past times ? The reason is plain. The servant is now become the master. The magistrate was then subservient to the people ; punishments and rewards were properties of the people ; all- honors, dignities, and preferments, were disposed by the voice and favor of the people ; but, the magistrate now has usurped the right of the people, and exercises an arbitrary authority over his ancient and natural lord. You, miserable people ! (the meanwhile, without money, without friends,) from being niler, are become the servant ; from being the master, the dependent ; happy that these governors, into whose hands you have thus resigned your own power, are so good and so gracious as te continue your allowance to see plays. SALATHIEL TO TITUS. SoK of Vespasian, I am at this hour a poor man, as I may m the next be an exile or a slave : I have ties to life as strong as ever were bound round the heart of man : I stand here a sup- pliant for the life of one whose loss would imbitter mine ! Yet, not for wealth unlimited, for the safety of my family, for the life of the noble victim that is now standing at the place of torture, dare I abandon, dare I think the impious thought of abandoning the cause of the City of Holiness. 5 50 THE iNETT AMERICAN SPEAKER. Titus ! in the name of that Beinjj, to whom tlie wisdom of the earth is folly, I adjvire you to btware. Jerusalem is sacred. Her crimes ha^■o often wrought her misery — ofieii has she beeu trampled by the armies of the stranger. But she is still the Ci.y of the Omnipotent ; and never was blow inllicleJ on her by man, that was not terribly repaid. The Assyrian came, the miLjhtiest power of' the world; he plundered her temple, and led her people into captivity. How long was it before his empire was a dream, his dynasty extin- guished in blood, and an enemy on his throne ? — The Persian came : from her protector, he turned into her oppressor ; and his empire was swept away like the dust of the desert ! — The Syrian smote her : the smiter died in agonies of remorse ; and where is his kingdom now ? — ^The Egyptian smote her : and who now sits on the throne of the Ptolemies ? Pompey came : the invincible, the conqueror of a thousand cities, the light of Rome ; the lord of Asia, riding on the very wings of victory. But he profaned her temple ; and from tliat hour he went down — down, like a millstone plunged into the ocean ! Blind counsel, rash ambition, womanish fears, were upon the great statesman and warrior of Rome. Where does he sleep ? What sands were colored with his blood ? The uni- versal conqueror died a slave, by the hand of a slave ! Crassus came at the head of the legions : he plundered the sacred vessels of the sanctuary. Vengeance followed him, and he was cursed by the curse of God. Where are the bones of the robber and his host ? Go, tear them from the jaws of the lion and the wolf of Parthia, — their fitting tomb ! You, too, son of Vespasian, may be commissioned for the punishment of a stiff-necked and rebellious people. You may scourge our naked vice by force of arms ; and then you may return to your own land exulting in the conquest of the fiercest enemy of Rome. But shall you escape the common fate of the instrument of evil ? Shall you see a peaceful old age ? Shall a son of yours ever sit upon the throne ? Shall not rather some monster of your blood efface the memory of your virtues, and make Rome, in bitterness of soul, curse the Flavian name ? CKoir. EARNEST DECLAMATION. 51 PHILLIPS ON THE WRONGS OF IRELAND You traverse the ocean to emancipate the African ; you cross the line to convert the Hindoo ; you hurl your thunder against the savage Algerine ; but your ovm brethren at liome, who speak the same tongue, acknowledge the same king, and kneel to the same God, cannot get one \ isit from your itinerant hu- manity ! Oh, such a system is almost too abominable for a name ; it is a monster of impiety, impohcy, ingratitude, and injustice ! The pagan nations of antiquity scarcely acted on such barbarous principles. Look to ancient Rome, with her sword in one hand, and her constitution in the other, healing the injuries of conquest with the embrace of brotherhood, and wisely con- verting the captive into the citizen. Look to her great enemy, the glorious Carthagenian, at the foot of the Alps, ranging his prisoners round him, and by the politic option of captivity or arms, recruiting his legions -ttnth the very men whom he had literally conquei-ed into gratitude ? They laid their foundations deep in the human heart, and their succcess was porportionate to their policy. You complain of the violence of the Irish Catholic : can you wonder he is violent ? It is the consequence of your own infliction — • " The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear, The blood will follow where the knife is driven." Your friendship has been to him- worse than hostiUty ; he feels its embrace but by the pressure of his fetters ! I am only amazed he is sot more violent. He fill? your exchequer, he fights your battles, he feeds your clergy from whom he derives no benefit, he shares your burdens, he shares your perils, he shares everything except your privileges — can you, xoonder he is violent ? No matter w;hat his merit, no matter what his claims, no matter what his services : he sees himself a nominal subject, and a' real slave ; and his children, the heirs, perhaps of his toils, perhaps of his talents, certainly of his disqualifications — ■ can you wonder he is violent? He sees every pretended obstacle to his emancipation vanished ; Catholic Europe your ally, the Bourbon on the throne, the emperor a captive, the pope a friend ; the aspersions on his faith disproved by his allegiance to you against, alternately, every Catholic potentate in Christendom, and he feels himself branded with hereditary degradation — ■ can ycM ivonder, then, that lie is viole7it? He petitioned humbly ; his tamencss was construed into a proof of apathy. He petitioned boldly ; his remonstrance was considered as an impudent au' dacity. He petitioned in peace; ha was told it was not the time. 52 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. He petitioned in war ; be was told it was not the time. A strange interval, a prodigy in politics, a pausu b(.-iween peace and war, which appealed to be just made for him, aro-^e ; I allude to tlie period hctween the reircat of Louis and Lhe rcNldia- tion of Bonapavle : he petitioned then, and was tnld it was nut i/ie time. Oh, shame ! shame 1 shame ! 1 hope he will pelilion no more to a parhament so equivocating. However, I am not sorry they did so equivocate, because I think they have sug- gested one common remedy for the grievances of both countries, and that remedy is, a reform of that parliament. THE PRICE OF ELOQUENCE. More than twenty centuries ago, the orphan son of an Athenian sword-cutler, neglected by his guardians, and regarded as a youth of feeble promi-e, became, at the age of sixteen, enamored of eloquence. He resolved, with a strength of will and an ardor of enthusiasm to which nothing is insuperable, to be himself elo- quent. This youth becomes successively the docile pupil of Callistratus, Isajus, Isocrates, and Plato. But his studies, though embracing a liberal and wide range of letters, philosophy and science, are not confined to the academy or the public grove. We see him daily ascending the Acropolis, and panting for breath as he gains the summit. Again he is seen laboriously cUmbing Olympus, the Hymettus, and every eminence where genius or the muses have breathed their inspiration. His object, which he pursues with an ardor that ne^^er flags, and a diligence that never tires, is twofold, viz : to drink in the free and fresh inspirations of nature and art, and, by unremitting daily exercise, to give expansion to his chest, and strength and freedom of play t© his lungs. We see him again, when the tempest comes on, hurrying to the least frequented parts of the Pireeiis or Phalerus, and while the deafening thunders roar around him, and the deep and stir- ring eloquenci of many waters expands and fills his soul, liftino- his feeble and stammering voice, and essaying to give it compass, and flexibility, and power, while he "talis with the thunder as friend to friend, and weaves his garland of the lightning's wino-." We see this ardent Athenian youth again, amidst the profound- est solitudes of nature, holding communion with high and enno- bhng thoughts stirred within his bosom by the spirit of the great and godlike, the subhme and beautiful, from every object of nature and of plastic art around him. EARNEST DECLAMATION. 53 At length, day after day and night after night, for months, he is seen entering a solitary cave. How is he busied in that sub- terranean chamber ? With his head half shaven, that he may not be tempted to appear too early in society or in public, we find him poring over the tomes of rhetoricians, historians, philosophers and poets ; with his pen, also, eight times transcribing Thucydides, that he may make his own, some portion of the terseness, energy and fire of that historian. After all this educational training of the greatest and best masters, hving and dead — after aU this self-imposed discipfine of intellect and spirit, and when he has reached the age of ripe manhood, we go to witness his first effoi't in forensic eloquence. The hisses of his fastidious auditory stifle and repress for a time the kindling energy and fervor of his soul, and his still embar- rassed and stammering enunciation seems to jeopardize the cause he is pleading. At length he rises in a conscious mastery of his subject and of himself, and with the self-sustained dig-nity of the true orator, conciliates, convinces, moves, persuades, by the clearness,' fitness and force of his arguments, and the thrilling ■ pathos and pungency of his appeals. This is eloquence — the eloquence of the Athenian Demos- thenes — the triumph of educational skill and self-discipline, rmited, indeed, with gTeat powers, and with a lofty and indomi- table force of will. The meed which the concurrent suflFrages of more than two thousand years-, in every civilized nation of the globe, have awarded to this gTeat orator, we readily concede to him. But in our admii-ation of the power of his eloquence, we are too willing to forget the laborious and pains-taking efforts of study and di^j- cipline by which he attained his unrivaled eminence in oratorical power. CHATJNCBy colton, d. d. A POLITICAL PAUSE. " But we must pause 1 " says the honorable gentleman. What ! must the bowels of Great Britain be torn out — her best blood be spilt — her treasures wasted — that you may make an experiment ? Put yourselves, ! that you would put yourselves on the field of battle, and learn to judge of the sort of horrors that you excite. In former wars a man might, at least, have some feeling, some interest, that served to balance in his mind the impressions which a scene of carnage and of death must inflict. 54 THE NEW AlIERICAN SPEAKER. But if a man were present now at the field of slaughter, and were to mq\iu-e for what they were fighting, — " Fighting ! " would bt; tlie answer ; " they are not fi'^liling ; they are paus- mg." " Why is that man (.'xpiring ? ^VIly i.s that other writh- ing; with agony? What means this implacable fury?" The answer must be, — "You are quite wrong, sir, you deceive your^elf — they are not fighting — do not disturb them — they are nn-rely pausing ! This man is not expiring with agony — that man is not dead — he is only pausing ! Lord help you, sir ! they are not angry with one another : they have now no cause of quarrel ; but their country thinks that there should be a pause. All that you see, sir, is nothing like fighting — there is no harm, nor cruelty, nor btoodshed in it, whatever ; it is nothing more than a political pause ! It is merely to try an experiment — to see whether Bonaparte will not behave himself better than here- tofore ; and in the meantime we have agreed to a pause, in pure friendship !" And is this the way, sir, that you are to show ]'0urselves the advocates of order ? You take up a system calculated to unciv- ilize the world — to destroy order — to trample on religion — to stifle in the heart, not merely the generosity of noble sentiment, but the affections of social nature ; and in the prosecution of this system, you spread terror and devastation all around you. FOX. / PREVALENCE OF WAR. War is the law of violence. Peace the law of love. That law of violence prevailed without mitigation from the murder of Abel to the advent of the Prince of Peace. We might have imagined, if history had not attested the reverse, that an experiment of four thousand years would have sufficed to prove, that the rational and valuable ends of society can never be attained, by constructing its institutions in conform- ity with the standard of war. But the sword and the torch had been eloquent in vain. A thousand battle-fields, white with the bones of brothers, were counted as idle advocates in the cause of justice and humanity. Ten thousand cities, abandoned to the cruelty and licentiousness of the soldiery, and burnt, or disman- tled, or razed to the ground, pleaded in vain against the law of violence. The river, the lake, the sea, crimsoned with the blood of fellow-citizens, and neighbors, and strangers, had lifted up their voices in vain to denounce the folly and wickedness of war. EARNEST DECLAMATION. 55 The shrieks and agonies, the rage and hatred, the wounds and curses of the battle-field, and the storm and the sack, had scat- tered in vain their terrible warnings throughout all lands. In vain had the insolent Lysander destroyed the walls and burnt the fleets of Athens, to the music of her own female flute-players. In vain had Scipio, amid the ruins of Carthage, in the spirit of a gloomy seer, apphed to Rome herself the prophecy of Agamem- non — " The day shall come, the great avenging day, Which Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay ; When Priam's power, and Priam's self shall fall. And one prodigious ruin swallow all." gkimke. NEW ENGLAND AND THE UNION Glorious New England ! thou art still true to thy" ancient fame, and worthy of thy ancestral honors. On thy pleasant val- leys rest, like sweet dews of moi'ning, the gentle recollections of our early life ; around thy hills and mountains chng, hke gather- ing mibts, the mighty memories uf the revolution ; and far away in the hoiizon of thy past, gleam, like thy own bright northern hghts, the awful virtues of our PDgrim sires ! But while we devote this day to the remembrance of our native land, we forget not that in which our happy lot is cast. We exult in the reflec- tion, that though we count by thousands the miles which sepa- rate us from our birthplace, still., our country is the same. We are no exiles meeting upon, the banks of a foreign river, to swell its waters with our homesick tears. Here floats the same banner which rustled above our boyish heads, except that its mighty folds are wider, and its glittering stars increased in number. The sons of New England are found in every State of the broad republic ! In the East, the South, and the unbounded West, their blood mingles freely with every kindred current. We have but changed our chamber in the paternal mansion ; in all its rooms we are at»piome, and all who inhabit it are our brothers. T^o us the Union has 'but one domestic hearth ; its household gods are all the same. Upon us, then, peculiarly devolves the duty of feeding the fires upon that kindly hearth ; of guarding with pious care those sacred household gods. We c.innot do with less than the whole Union ; to us it admits of no division. In the veins of our children flows Northern and Southern blood : how shall it be separated ? — who shall put asunder the best affections of the heart, the noblest instincts of 56 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. our nature ? We love the land of our adoption ; so do we that of our birth. Let us ever be true to both ; and always exert ourselves in maintaining the unity of our country, the integrily of the republic. Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden cord of union ! thrice accursed the traitorous lips which shaE propose its severance ! s. b. peekxiss. CHRISTIANITY THE BASIS OF LIBERTY. Twice, in France, the physical power has gained the acend- ancy over law; and by the last victory, the discovery has been made, that to patriots, cities are fortresses, and pavements, mimitions. This is one of the most glorious and dreadful dis- coveries of modem days — glorious in its ultimate results, in the emancipation of the world, but dreadful in those intervening ■ revolutions which power may achieve in the conquest of liberty, without corresponding intelligence and virtue for its permanent preservation. The conquest of liberty is not difficult — the question is, where to put it — with whom to intrust it. If to the multitude who achieved it, it be committed, it will perish by anarchy. If national guards are employed for its defense, the-bayonets which protect it, are at any moment able to destroy it for a military despotism. If to a repubUcan king it be intrusted, it will have to be regulated by state policy, and fed on bread and water, until the action of her heart, and the movement of her tong'ue, and the power of her arm, as under the deadly incubus, shall cease. Tliere is not in this mde world a safe dei^osil for liberty, hut the hearts of 'ijatriots, so enligldened, as to be able to judge of correct legislation, and so 2Jatie7it and disinterested, as to jiractice self-denial, a?id self -government, for the public good. But can such a state of society be founded and maintained with- out the Bible, and the institutions of Christianity ? Did a condition of unperverted liberty, uninspired by Christianity, ever bless the world through any considerable period of duration ? The power of a favoring chme, and the force of genius, did thrust up from the dead level of monotonous despotism, the republics of Greece to a temporary liberty : but it was a patent model only, com- pared with such a nation as this ; and it wa^ partial, and capri- cious, and of short duration, and rendered illustrious rather by the darkness which preceded and followed, than by the benign influence of its own beams. beeciikb. EARNEST DECLAMATION. 57 PHILLIPS ON WASHINGTON. 'Such, sir, is the natural progress of human operations, and such the unsubstantial mockery of human pride. But I should, perhaps, apologize for this digression. Th^ tombs are at best a sad, although an instructive subject. At all events, they are ill suited to such an hour as this. I shall endeavor to atone for it, by turning to a theme, which tombs cannot inurn, or revolu- tion alter. It is the custom of your board, and a noble one it is, to deck the cup of the gay with the garland of the great : and surely, even in the eyes of its deity, his grape is not the less lovely when glowing beneath the foliage of the palm tree and the myrtle. AUow me to add one flower to the chaplet, which, though it sprung in America, is no exotic. Virtue planted it, and it is natui'ahzed everywhere. I see you anticipate me — I see you concur with me, that it matters very httle what immediate spot may be the birthplace of such a man as Washington. No peo- ple can claim, no country can appropriate him ; the boon of Provi- dence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the dis- grace of our pohoy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ; how bright in the brow of the firmament was the planet which it revealed to us V In the production of Washington it does really appear as if nature was endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual instances no doubt there were — splendid exemplifications of some single qualification : Caesar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient ; but . it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and like the lovely chef d'osuvre of the Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshaled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; as a statesman, he en- larged the pohcy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage ; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that to the soldier and the statesman, he almost added the character of the sage ! A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood ; a revo- lutionist, he was free from any stain' of treason ; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the com- mand. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory 58 THE NEW AMERICAN BPEAKLU. returned it. If lie had paused liere, liistoiy might have doubted what staiion to assign hira : whether al llie hev.l ot' her citiztiis or her soldiers — her heroes or her palriots. But tlie last glori- ous act crowns his career, and banishes all hesiialioii. UTio, like Washington, alter having emancipated a hemispheiv, lesigned its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the adnration of a land he mi"ht be almost said to have created ! " How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, Thou more than soldier and just less than sage ; All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, Far less, than all thou hast forborne to be ! " Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of partiahty in his estimate of America. Happy, proiid America ! the. light- nings of heaven yielded to your philosophy ! The temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism ! ROLLA TO THE PERUVIANS. Mr brave associates — partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame ! — can RoUa's words add vigor to the virtuous ener- gies which inspire your hearts ? — No ! — ■ You have judged as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea, by which these bold inva- ders would delude you. — Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours. They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rale; — we, for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate ; — we serve a monarch whom we love — a God whom we adore. Where'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress ! Where'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error ! — • Yes : — they will give enhghtened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride. They offer us their protection ! — Yes, such protection as vultures give to lambs — covering and devouring them ! They call on us to barter all the good we have inherited and proved, for the desperate chance of something better, which they promise. Be our plain answer this : — The throne we honor is the people's choice — the laws EARNEST DECLAMATION. we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy — the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this, and tell them, too, we seek no change ; and least of all, such change as they would, bring us. " shbkidan. SPEECH OF BELIAL, DISSUADING WAR. Wherefore cease ye then ? Say they, who counsel war — "We are decreed. Reserved, and destined to eternal woe : Whatever doing, what can we suffer more. What can we suffer worse ? " Is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in aims ? What when we fled amain, pursued and struck With heaven's afffioting thunder, and besought , The deep to shelter us ? this hell then seemed A refuge from those wounds ! or when we lay Chained on the burning lake ? that sure was worse. What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, Awated, should blow them into sevenfold rage, And plunge us in the flames ? or, from above. Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague ? what if all Her stores were opened, and this firmament Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire, Impending horrors, threatening hideous fall One day upon our heads ; while we, perhapS, Designing or exhorting glorious war. Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled. Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey Of racking whirlwinds ; or forever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, impitied, unreprieved. Ages of hopeless end ? — this would be worse War, therefore, open and concealed, alike My voice dissuades. milton. 60 THE NEW AMERICAN SPBAKES. POPULAR ELECTIONS. Sib, if there is any spectacle from the contemplation of which I would slirink with peculiar horror, it would be that of the great mass of the American people sunk into a profound apathy on the subject of their highest political interests. Such a spectacle would be more pretentious to the eye of intelligent patriotism, than all the monsters of the earth, and fiery signs of the heavens, to the eye of trembUng superstition. If the people could be indifferent to the fate of a contest for the presidency, they would be unworthy of freedom. If I were to perceive them sinking into this apathy, I would even apply the power of pohtical gal- vanism, if such a power could be found, to rouse them from their fatal lethargy. Keep the people quiet ! Peace ! peace ! Such are the whispers by which the people are to be lulled to sleep, in the very crisis of their highest concerns. Sir, " you make a sohtude, and call it peace ! " Peace ? 'Tis death ! Take away all interest from the people, in the election of their chief ruler, and liberty is no more. What, sir, is to be th« consequence ? If the people do not elect the president, somebody must. There is no special providence to decide the question. Who, then, is to make the election, and how will it operate ? You throw a general paralysis over the body politic, and excite a morbid action in particular members. The general patriotic excitement of the people, in relation to the election of the president, is as essen- tial to the health and energy of the political system, as circula- tion of the blood is to the health and energy of the natural body. Check that circulation, and you inevitably produce local inflam- mation, gangi-ene, and ultimately death. Make the people indif- ferent, destroy their legitimate influence, and you communicate a morbid violence to "the efforts of those who are ever ready to assume the control of such affairs — the mercenary intriguers and interested oflice-hunters of the country. Tell me not, sir, of popular violence ! Show me a hundred political factionists — • men who look to the election of a president as the means of gratifying their high or their low ambition — and I will .sliow 3'ou the vt-ry materials for a mob; reaJy for any desperate adveni.ure connccied with their common fortunes. The reason of this extra- ordinary excitement is obvious. It is a matter of self-interest, of personal ambition. The people can have no such motives. They 'ook only to the interest and glory of the country. GEoa'iE m'duffie. EARNEST DEGLAMATION. 81 THE MEXICAN WAR. I ASK, Mr. President, what has Mexico got from you for parting- with two-thirds of her domain ? She has given you ample redress for every injury of which you have complained. She has submitted to the award of your commissioners, and up to the time of the rupture with Texas, faithfully paid it. And for all that she has lost (not through or by you, but which loss has been your gain,) what requital do we, her strong, rich, robust neighbor, make ? Do we send our missionaries there, "to point the way to heaven?" Or do we send the school- masters to pour dayhght into her dark places, to aid her infant strength to conquer freedom, and reap the fruit of the independ- ence herself alone had won ? No, no ; none of this do we. But ■vje send regiments, storm towns, and our colonels prate of hberty in the midst of the sohtudes their ravages have made. They proclaim the empty forms of social compact to a people bleeding and maimed with woimds received in defending their hearth-stones against the invasion of these very men who shoot them down, and then exhort them to be free. Your chaplain of the navy throws aside the New Testament and seizes a bQl of rights. He takes military possession of some town in Califor- nia, and instead of teaching the plan of the atonement and the way of salvation to the poor,ig'nc«'ant Celt, he presents Colt's pistol to his ear, and calls on hun to take " trial by jury and habeas corpus," or nine bullets in his head. Oh ! Mr. Presi- dent, ate you not the hghts of the earth, if not its salt ? What is the territory, Mr. President, which you propose to wrest from Mexico ? It is consecrated to the heart of the Mexi- can by many a well-fought battle with his old Castilian master. His Bunker HDls, and Saratogas, and Yorktowns are there ! The Mexican can say, " There 1 bled for liberty ! and shall I sur- render that consecrated home of my affections to the Anglo- Saxon invaders? What do they want with it? They have Texas already. They have possessed thenjselves of the territory between the Nueces and the Rio Grande. What else do they want ? To what shall I ,point my children as memorials of that independence which I bequeath to them, when those battle-fields shall have passed from my possession ? " Sir, had one come and demanded Bunker Hill of the people of Massachusetts — had England's lion ever showed himself there, is there a man over tliirteen and under ninety who would not have been ready to meet him ? — is there a river on this con- tinent that would not have run red with blood ? — is there a field 62 THE NEW AMERICAN SFEAKEB. but would have been piled hi;i-li with the unburied Ijoir-s of .shmu'litered Amci'icaii.s, before lliese consecrated bui;l<'-tieLls of liber. V should hine been w res Led from us ? thomas ookwik. PHILLIPS ON AMERICA. If, as a man, I venerate the mention of America, what must be my feidings towartl iier as an Irisliman. Never, oh, never, while memory remains, can Ireland forget the home . women, and the -warriors, "few and faint, yet fearless stili." The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no iongxr curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels, for terror or dispatch ; but they heed him not. They t\im to take a last look of their deserted villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears ; they utter jio cries ; they heave no groans. There is something in their hearts 'which passes speech. There is some- thing in their looks, hot of vengeance or submission ; but of hard necessity, which stifles- both ; which choaks all utterance ; which has no aim or method. It is courage absorbed in despair. They linger but for a moment'. Their look is onward. They have passed the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them, — no, never. Yet there lies not between us and them an impass- able gulf. They know, and feel, that there is for them still one remove farther, not distant, nor unseen. It is the general burial- ground of their race. stort. AMES' SPEECH ON TflE BRITISH TREATY. On this theme my emotions are unutterable. If I could find words for them, if my powers bore any proportion to my zeal, I would swell my voice to such a note of remonstrance, it should reach every log-house beyond the mountains. I would say to the inhabitants, wake from your false security. Your cruel dan- gers, your more cruel apprehensions, are soon to be renewed. The wounds yet unhealed are to be torn open again. In the day-time, your path through the woods will be ambushed. The darkness of midnight will glitter with the blaze of your dwell- ings. You are a father — the blood of your sons shall fatten your corn-field. You are a mother — the war-whoop shall wake the sleep of the cradle. On this subject you need not suspect any deception on your feelings. It is a spectacle of horror which cannot be overdrawn. If you have nature in your hearts, they will speak a language compared with which all I have said or can say will be poor and frigid. Who will accuse me of wandering out of the subject ? Who will say that I exaggerate the tendencies of our measures ? Will any one answer by a sneer, that all this is idle preaching? Would any one deny that we are bound, and I would hope, to 7 74 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. good purpose, by the most solemn sanclions of duly foi the vote we give V Are despols alone to be reproached for unfeeling indifference to the tears and blood of their subjects ? Are repub- licans unrcspunsible ? Have the principles on which j'ou ground the reproach upon cabinets and kings no practical influence, no binding force ? Are they merely themes of idle declamation, introduced to decorate the morality of a newspaper essay, or to furnish pretty topics of harangue from the windows of that state house ! I trust it is neither too presumptuous nor too late to ask. Can you put the dearest interest of society at risk, without guilt and without remorse ? By rejecting the posts, we light the savage fires, we bind the victims. This day we undertake to render account to the widows and orphans whom our decision will make, to the wretches that will be roasted at the stake, to our country, and I do not deem it too serious to say, to conscience and to Clod. We are answer- able ; and if duty be anything more than a word of imposture, if conscience be not a bugbear, we are preparing to make our- selves as wretched as our country. THE RIGHT OF ENGLAND TO TAX AMERICA. " But, Mr. Speaker, we have a right to tax America. " Oh, inestimable right 1 Oh, wonderful, transcendent right ! the asser- tion of which has cost this country thirteen provinces, six islands, one hundred thousand hves, and seventy millions of money. Oh, invaluable right ! for the sake of which we have sacrificed our rank among nations, our importance abroad, and our happiness at home ! Oh, right I more dear to us than our existence, which ias already cost us so much, and which seems hkely to cost us aur all. Infatuated man ! miserable and undone country ! not to know that the claim of right, without the power of enforcing it, is nugatory and idle. "VVe have a right to tax America, the noble lord tells us, therefore we ought to tax America. This is the profound logic which comprises the whole chain of his rea- soning. Not inferior to this was the wisdom of him who resolved to shear the wolf. What, shear a wolf ! Have you considered the resist- ance, the difficulty, the danger of the attempt ? No, says the madman, I have considered nothing but the right. Man has a right of dominion over the beasts of the forest ; and therefore I will shear the wolf. How wonderful that a nation could be thus EARNEST DECLAMATION. 75 deluded. But the noble lord deals in cheats and delusions. They are the daily traffic of his invention ; and he will continue to play off his cheats on this house, so long as he thinks them necessary to his purpose, and so long as he has money enough at command to bribe gentlemen to pretend that they believe him. But a black and bitter day of reckoning will surely come ; and whenever that day comes, I trust I shall be able, by a parlia- mentary impeachment, to bring upon the heads of the authors of our calamities the punishment they deserve. burke. SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS. The eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her revolu- tionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge that the honorable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent, or distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Marions — Americans all — whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and honored the country, and the whole country, and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him, whose honored name the gentleman himself bears ■ — -does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright, as to produce envy in my bosom ? No, SU-, — increased gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I thank God, that if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, sir, in my place here in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at pxiblic merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own state or neighborhood ; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion 76 TUB NEW AMKBICAN SPEAKER. to liberty and the country ; or if I see an uncommon endow- ment of heaven — if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the iSouth — and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by slate jealousy, I get wp here to abate the tithe of a hau- from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth 1 Webster. THE SAME, CONTINUED. Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massa- chusetts — she needs none. There she is — behold her and judge for yourselves. There is her history — the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill ; and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every state, from New England to Georgia ; and there they will lie forever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it — if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it ; if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is made sure, it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it ; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amid the proud- est monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its OrigUl. WEBSTER. LORD STANHOPE ON NEUTRAL RIGHTS. The right honorable members of this house must recollect, that in times of scarcity, our principal relief was derived, first from Poland, next from America. Poland is now shut against us by the influence of our enemy, and shall we also shut ao-ainsl us the ports of America, by our own folly ! If, my lords, the EAKMEHT DECLAMATION. 77 ministers are bent on this dreadful alternative, it needs not the spirit of propliecy, neither need we turn over the leaves of fate's eventful volume, to know what will be the consequence. If the Baltic is closed against you, if by the frantic and transient energy of intoxicated rage, you should shut the ports of America on your commerce, whence are you to derive materials and stores for your naval arsenals, if the north of Europe and North America are to refuse us these supplies. Do you not, my lords, phiinly discover, for I trust you have not yet to learn, that your enemy has been carrying on a war against your finances and resources. To what seas will you waft your commerce ; from whence will your resources be derived, what will become of the greatness and security of England, when our navy, the source of our pride, the source of our strength and wealth, is gone ? Are not these serious considerations ? Do they not demand your most serious attention? Do they not require your cool and candid discussion ? Where is the minister — who is the minister that will dare to pollute the ear of majesty Avith the name of war with America ? Why are they not here this day to answer for themselves ; to point out to us their future resources ? I will now only remark, that as all individuals, whether high or low, poor or rich, are the same in the eye of Almighty God ; so nations, whether extremely powerful or weak, whether opulent or poor, should be the same in the contemplation of the law of nations. This, then, my lords, is the priiiciple upon which my mind rests, and upon which I ground the resolution I have now to move, and as I have the pleasing satisfaction to see every attention paid to the few serious and searching remarks that I have just made — I move, my lords, that this day, in the presence of God and man, it be resolved that the principle upon which we shall act toward independent nations at peace with the British government, shall be a principle of perfect equality and complete reciprocity. CHATHAM OjNT THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. I CANNOT, my lords, I will not join in congi-atulation on mis- fortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tremen- dous moment : it is not a time for adulation : the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne, in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelop it ; and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin ■J 8 1RX, >.EW AMERICAN SPEAKEK. which is brought to our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation ? Can parliament be so dead to its dignilT and duty as to give tlieir support to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them- — measures, my lords, which lun'e reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and con- tempt. But yesterday, " and England might have stood against the world — kow, none so poor to do her reverence." The peo- ple we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against you, supplied with every militaiy store, their interests consulted, and their embassadors entertained by your inveterate enemy ; and our ministers do not, and dare not, interpose with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honors the English troops than I do : I know their virtue and their valor : I know they can achieve anything except unpossibilities ; and I know that the conquest of English America is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you can- not conquer America. What is your present situation there ? We do not know the u'orst, but we know that in three cam- paigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, and strain every effort, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every Oerman despot ; your attempts forever will be vain and impo- tent ; doubly so indeed from this mercenary aid on which you rely ; for it irritates to an incurable resentment the minds of your adversaries to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Enghshman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms — nbver ! never ! kever ! THE SAME, CONTINUED. Mt lords, who is the man, that in addition to the disgraces and mischiefs of war, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms the tomahaiok and scalping knife of the savage — to call into civihzed alhance the wild and inhuman inhabitant of the woods ? — to delegate to the merciless Indian the defense of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren ? My lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment. Familiarized to the horrid scenes of savage cruelty, our army can no longer boast of the noble and generous princi- EARNEST DEOLAMATION. 79 pies which dignify a soldier. No longer are their feelings awake to "the pride, pomp and circumstance of ciLOR[ons war;" — but the sense of honor is degraded into a vile spirit of plunder, and the systematic practice of murder. From the ancient con- nection between Great Britain and her colonies, both parties derived the most important advantage. While the shield of our protection was extended over America, she was the fountain of our wealth, the nerve of our strength, the basis of oiir power. It is not, my lords, a wild and lawless bantitti whom we oppose ; the resistance of America is the struggle of free and virtuous patriots. Let us then seize with eagerness the present moment of reconciliation. America has not yet finally given herself up to France ; there yet remains a possibihty of escape from the fatal effect of our delusions. In this complicated crisis of dan- ger, weakness, and calamity, terrified and insulted by the neighboring powers, unable to act in America, or acting only to be destroyed, where is the man who will venture to flatter us with the hope of success from the perseverance in measures pro- ductive of these dire effects ? Who has the effrontery to attempt it ? Where is that man ? Let him, if be dark, stand forward and show his face. You cannot conciliate America by your present measures : you cannot subdue her by your present or any measures. What then can you do ? You cannot con- quer, you cannot gain ; but you can address the king. Yes, my lords, since they have neither sagacity to foresee, nor jus- tice, nor humanity to shun those calamities — since not even bitter experience can make them feel, nor the imminent ruin of their country awaken them from their stupefaction, the guardian care of parliament must interpose. THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL. I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this house ; I do not rise to supplicate you to be merciful toward the nation to which I be- long — toward a nation which, though subject to England, yet is distinct from it. It is a distinct nation : it has been treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by sev-en hundred years of tyranny. I call upon this house, as you value the liberty of England, not to allow the present nefarious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of England, the liberty of the press, and of every other institution dear to Englishmen. 80 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Against the bill I protest in the name of the Iri^h people, and in the face of heaven. I treat with .scorn the puny and pitiful assertions that grievances are not to be complained of, that our redress is not to be agitated ; for, in .such cases, remonstances cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what t3'ranny the people suffer. There are two frightful clauses in this bill. The one which does away with trial by jury, and 'svhich I have called upon you to baptize : you call it a court-martial, — a mere nickname; I stigmatize it as a revolutionary tribunal. What, in the name of heaven, is it, if it is not a revolutionary tribunal ? It annihi- lates the trial by jury ; it drives the judge from his bench, — the man who, frym experience, could weigh the nice and deli- cate points of a case, — who could discriminate between the straightforward testimony and tlie suborned evidence, — who could see, plainly and readily, the justice or injustice of the accusation. It turns out this man who is free, unshackled, unprejudiced, — who has no previous opinions to control the clear exercise of his duty. You do away with that which is more sacred than the throne itself; that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your commons assemble. If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for repeal, this biU, this infamous bill, the way in which it has been received by the house, the manner in which its opponents have been treated, the personalities to which they have been sub- jected, the yells with which one of them has this night been greeted, — - all these things dissipate my douljts, and tell me of its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will be forgotten ? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country ; that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty hills ? Oh ! they will be heard there : yes, and they will not be forgotten. The youth of Ireland will bound with indigna- tion ; they will say, "We are eight millions ; and you treat us thus, as though we were no more to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey !" I have done my duty ; I stand acquitted to my conscience and my country ; I have opposed this measure throughout ; and I now protest against it as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust ; as establishing an infamous precedent by retaliating crime against crime ; as tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively tyrannous. daniel o'coiiNELU EARNEST DECLAMATION. BRITISH INFLUENCE. 81 Against ■whom are these charges of British predilection brought ? Against men who, in the war of the revolution, were in the councils of the nation, or fighting- the battles of your country. Strange, that we should have no objection to any other people or government, civilized or savage, in the whole world ! The great autocrat of all the Kussias receives the homage of our high consideration. The dey of Algiers and his divan of pirates are a very civil, good sort of people, with whom we find no difficulty in maintaining the relations of peace and amity. " Turks, Jews, and Infidels," or the barbarians and savages of every clime and color, are welcome to our arms. With chiefs of banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat and can trade. Name, however, but England, and all our antipathies are up in arms against her. Against whom ? Against those whose blood runs in our veins ; in common with whom, we claim Shakspeare, and Newton, and Chatham, for our countrymen ; whose govern- ment is the freest on earth, our ovra only excepted ; from whom every valuable principle of our own institutions has been bor- rowed — ^representation, trial by jury, voting the supplies, writ of habeas corpus — our whole civil and criminal jurisprudence. In what school did the worthies of our land, the Washingtons, Henries, Hancocks, FrankUns, Rutledges, of America, learn those principles of civil liberty which were so nobly asserted by their wisdom and valor ? American resistance to British usurpation has not been more warmly cherished by these great men and their compatriots — not more by Washington, Hancock, and Henry — than by Chatham and his illustrious associates in the British parliament. It ought to be remembered, too, that the heart of the English people was with us. It was a selfish and corrupt ministry, and their servile tools, to whom we were not more opposed than they were. I trust that none such may ever exist among us ; for tools will never be wanting to subsei-ve the purposes, however ruinous or wicked, of kings and ministers of state. I acknowl- edge the influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton upon my imag- ination, of a Locke upon my understanding, of a Sidney upon my political principles, of a Chatham upon qualities which, would to God, I possessed in common with that illustrious man ! This is a British influence which I can. never shake off. JOHN BANDOLPH, 82 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. WEBSTER'S REPLY TO HAYNE. I AM not one of those, sir, who esteem any tribut-j of regard, wliether lii>-ht and occasional, or more serious and dehberalc, wliich may be bestowed on others, as so much unjustly with- holden from themselves. But the tone and manner of the gen- tleman's question forbid me that I thus inlei-pret it. I am not at liberty to consider it as nothing more than a civility to his friend. It had an air of taunt and disparagement, a little of the loftiness of asserted superiority, which does not allow me to pass it over without notice. It was put as a question for me to answer, and so put, as if it were difficult for me to answer, whether I deemed the member from Missouri an overmatch for myself in debate here. It seems to me, sir, that this is extra- ordinary language, and an extraordinary tone, for the discus- sions of this body. Matches and overmatches ! Those terms are more applica- ble elsewhere than here, and fitter for other assemblies than this. Sir, the gentleman seems to forget where and what we are. This is a senate : a senate of equals : of men of individual honor and personal character, and of absolute independence. We know no masters ; we acknowledge no dictators. This is a hall of mu- tual consultation and discussion ; not an arena for the exhibition of champions. I offer myself, sir, as a match for no man ; I throw the challenge of debate at no man's feet. But then, sir, since the honorable member has put the question, in a manner that calls for an answer, I will give him an answer ; and I tell him, that holding myself to be the humblest of the members here, I yet know nothing in the ann of his friend from Missouri, either alone, or when aided by the arm of his friend from South Car- olina, that need deter even me from espousing whatever opinions I may choose to espouse, from debating whenever I may choose to debate, or from speaking whatever I may see fit to say, on the floor of the senate. Sir, when uttered as matter of commenda- tion or compliment, I should dissent from nothing which the honorable member might say of his friend. Still less do I put forth any pretensions of my own. But, when put to me as a matter of taunt, I throw it back, and say to the gentleman thai he could possibly say nothing less likely than such a compaiisoi) to wound my pride of personal character. The anger of its tone rescued the remark from intentional irony, which otherwise, probably, would have been its general acceptation. But, sir, if it be imagined that by this mutual quotation and commendation ; if it be supposed, that by castmg the characters of the drama, JiARNEST DECLAMATION. 83 afrsigning to eacli his part ; to one the attack, to another the cry of onset : or if it be thought that by a loud and empty vaunt of anticipated rictory, any laurels are to be won here ; if it be imagined, especially, that any or all of these things will shake any purpose of mine, I can tell the honorable member, once for all, that he is greatly mistaken, and that he is dealing with one of whose temper and character he has yet much to learn. Sir, I shall not allow myself, on this occasion, to be betrayed into any loss of temper ; but if provoked, as I trust I never shall allow myself to be, into crimination and recrimination, the hon- orable member may perhaps find, that, in that contest, there will be blows to take as well as blows to give ; that others can state comparisons as sig-nificant at least as his own, and that his impu- nity may, perhaps, demand of him whatever powers of taunt and sarcasm he may possess. I commend him to a prudent hus- bandry of his resources. EEPLY TO MR. WEBSTER, IN SENATE, 1830. When I took occasion, Mr. President, two days ago, to throw out some ideas with respect to the policy of the government in relation to the public lands, nothing certainly could have been farther from my thoughts, than that I should be compelled again to throw myself upon the indulgence of the senate. Little did I expect to be called upon to meet such an argument as was yes- terday urged by the gentleman from Massachusetts. Sir, I ques- tioned no man's opinions — I impeached no man's motives — 1 charged no party or state, or section of country, with hostility to any other ; but ventured, I thought, in a becoming spirit to put forth my own sentiments in relation to a great question of pub- lic policy. Such was my course. The gentleman from Missouri, it is true, had charged upon the eastern states an early and con- tinued hostihty toward the West, and referred to a number of historical facts and documents in support of that charge. Now, Bir, how have these different arguments been met ? The honor- able gentleman from Massachusetts, after deliberating a whole night upon his course, comes into this chamber to vindicate New England ; and instead of making up his issue with the gentle- man from Missouri, on the charges which he had preferred, chooses to consider me as the author of those charges, and 'os- ing sight entirely of that gentleman, selects me as his adversary, and pours out all the vials of his mighty wrath upon my devoted 84 THE NEW AilEKICAi) SPEAKER. head. Nor is lie willing to stop there. He goes on to assail the institutions and policy of the South, and calls in (lucsLion the principles and conduct of the state which I have the honor, in part, to represent. When I find a gentleman of mature age and experience, of acknowledged talents and profound sagacity, pur- suino- a course like this, declining the conlest ofl'cred him from the West, and making war upon the unoffending South, I must beUeve — I am bound to believe — he has some object in view that he has not ventured to disclose. Mr. President, why is this ? Has the gentleman discovered in former controversies with the gentleman from Missouri, that he is overmatched by that sena- tor ? And does he hope for an easy victory o\ er a more feeble adversary ? Has the gentleman's distempered fancy been dis- turbed by gloomy forebodings of "new alliances to be formed, " at which he hinted ? Has the ghost of the murdered coalition come back, like the ghost of Banquo, to " sear the eyeballs " of the gentleman, and will it not "down at his bidding?" Are dark visions of broken hopes, and honors lost foievcr, still float- ing before his heated imagination ? Sir, if it be his object to thrust me between the gentleman from Missouri and himself, in order to rescue the East from the contest which it has provoked with the West, he shall not be gratified. Sir, I will not be drag- ged into the defense of my friend from Missouri ! Tlie South shall not be forced into a conflict not its own. The gentleman from Missouri is able to fight his oivn battles. The gallant West needs no aid from the South, to repel any attack which may be made on it from any qurtrter. Let the gentleman from Massa- chusetts controvert the facts and arguments of the gentleman from Missouri, if he can ; and if he win the victory, let him wear his honors ; I shall not deprive him of his laurels. HATNE. SPECIMEN OF THE ELOaUENCE OF JAMES OTIS. England may as well dam up the Vr'aters of the Nile with bul- rushes, as to fetter tl:e step of freedom, more proud and firm in this youthful land, than where she treads the sequestered glens of Scotland, or couches herself among the magnificent mount- ains of Switzerland. Arbitrary principles, like those against which we now contend, have cost one Idng of EntJ-land his life — another his crown — and they may yet cost a third his most flourishing colonies. EAENEST DECLAMATION. 85 We are two millions — one-fifth fighting men. We are bold and vigorous, and we call no man master. To the nation, from whom we are proud to derive our origin, we were ever, and we ever will be, ready to yield unforced assistance ; but it must not, and it never can be extorted. Some have sneeringly asked, "Are the Americans too poor to pay a few pounds on stamped paper ? " No ! America, thanks to God and herself, is rich. But the right to take ten pounds, implies the right to take a thousand ; and what must be the wealth, that avarice, aided by power, cannot exhaust. True, the specter is now small ; but the shadow he casts before him is huge enough to darken all this fair land. Others, in sentimental style, talk of the immense debt of gratitude which we owe to England. And what is the amount of this debt ? Why, truly, it is the same that the young lion owes to the dam, which has brought it forth on the sohtude of the mountain, or left it amid the winds and storms of the desert. We plunged into the wave, with the great charter of freedom in our teeth, because the faggot and torch were behind us. We have waked this new world from its savage lethargy ; forests have been prostrated in our path ; towns and cities have grown up suddenly as the flowers of the tropics ; and the fires in our autumnal woods are scarcely more rapid than the increase of our wealth and population. And do we owe all this to the kind suc- cor of the mother country ? No ! we owe it to the tyranny that drove us from her — to the pelting storms which invigorated our helpless infancy. But perhaps others will say, " We ask no money from your gratitude — we only demand that you should pay your own expenses." And who, I pray, is to judge of their necessity ? Why, the king — (and with all due reverence to his sacred majesty, he understands the real wants of his distant subjects as little as he does the language of the Choctaws.) Who is to judge concerning the frequency of these demands ? The ministry. Who is to judge whether the money is properly expended ? The cabinet behind the throne. In every instance, those who take are to judge for those who pay. If this system is suffered to go into operation, we shall have reason to esteem it a great privi- lege, that rain and dew do not depend upon parliament ; other- wise they would soon be taxed and dried. But thanks to God, there is freedom enough left upon earth to resist such monstrous injustice. The flame of liberty is extm- guished in Greece and Rome, but the light of its glowing embers is still bright and strong on the shores of America. Actuated by its sacred influence, we will resist unto death. But we will 86 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. not countenance anarchy and misrule. The «Tungs, that a des- perate community li.ive heaped upon their enemies, shall be amply and .speedilj' I'epaired. fS.ill, it may bo ivell for some proui men to remember, that a fire is lighted in these colonics, which one breath of their king may kindle into such fury, that 'he blood of all En"'land cannot extinguish it. GOD'S REBUKE TO JOB. Then the Lord ansAvered Job out of the Tv-hirlwiod, and said, Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knovrl- edj-e ? Gird up now thy loins like a man ; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me. Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth ? declare, if thou hast understanding. Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest ? or who hath stretched the line upon it ? Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened ? or who laid the corner-stone thereof? When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy ? Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it break forth, as if it had issued out of the womb ? When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick dark- ness a swaddhng band for it. And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors. And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther : and here shall thy proud waves be stayed ? Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion ? Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season ? or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons ? Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven ? canst thou set the dominion thereof in the earth ? Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, that abundance of waters may cover thee ? Canst thou send lightnings that they may go, and say unto thee, Here we are ? Who hath sent out the wild ass free ? or who hath loosed the bands of thn wild ass ? EAftKEST DECLAMATION. 87 Whose house I have made the wilderness, and the barren land his dwelHnys. Ho scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver. The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth after every gr(.-en thing. Hast thou given the horse strength ? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder ? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper ? the glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, "and rejoicetli in his strength : he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither tumeth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage : neither ')eheveth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha ; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting. Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south ? Doth the eagle moimt up at thy command, and make her nest on high ? She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place. From thence she seeketh the prey, and her eyes behold afar off. Her young ones also suck up blood : and where the slain are, there is she. CHATHAM'S REPLY TO HILLSBOROUGH. This is the second time that I have been interrapted. I sub- mit it to your lordships whether this be fair and candid treatment. I am sure it is contrary to the orders of the house, and a gross violation of decency and politeness. I listen to every noble lord in this house with attention and respect. The nctole lord's desig-n in interrupting me,, is as mean and unworthy, as the man- ner in which he has done it is irregular and disorderly. He flatters himself that, by breaking the thread of my discourse, he shall confuse me in my argniment. But, my lords, I will not submit to this treatment. I will not be interrupted. When I 88 niE NEW AJIEKICAN' SPBAKBK. have concluded, let him answer me if he can. As to the word which he has denied, I still affirm that it was the word he made use of ; but if he had used any other, I am sure every noble lord will a"ree with me that his meaning was exactly what I had expressed it. Whether he said course or train is indifferent. He told your lordships that the negotiation was in a way that promised a happy and honorable conclusion. His distinctions are mean, frivolous, and puerile. My lords, I do not understand the exalted tone assumed by that noble lord. In the distress and weakness of this country, my lords, and conscious as the ministry ought to be how much they have contributed to that distress and weakness, I think a tone of modesty, of submission, of humility, would become them better ; quaidam causcc modesiiam desiderant. Before this country they stand as the greatest crim- inals. Such I shall prove them to be : for I do not doubt of proving to your lordships' satisfaction, that since they have been intrusted with the conduct of the king's affairs, they have done everything that they ought not to have done, and hardly anything that they ought to have done. THE FEDERAL UNION. I PROFESS, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and the honor of the whole country, and the preservation of the Federal Union. I have not allowed my- self to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the. bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depths of the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union should be preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying pros- pects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the vail. God grant, that, in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise ! God grant, that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind 1 When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven., may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored frag- EARNEST DECLAMATIONS. 89 ments of a once glorioiis Union ; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent witli civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble apd hngering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the repubhc, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for ita motto, no such miserable interrogatory as, What is all this worth ? — nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty first, and Union afterward ; but everywhere spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds as they float over the sea, and opir the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart: — Libebtt and Union, now and eobeVbr, one and INSEPARABLE. WEBSTER. NECESSITY OF A PURE NATIONAL MORALITY. The crisis has come. By the people of this generation, by oul'selves, probably, the amazing question is to be decided, ■ — whether the inheritance of our fathers shall be preserved or thrown away ; whether our sabbaths shall be a deUght or a loathing ; whether the taverns, on that holy day, shall be crowded with drunkards, or the sanctuary of God with humble worship- ers ; whether riot and profaneness shall fill our streets and poverty our dwellings, and convicts our jails, and violence our land ; or whether industry, and temperance, and righteousness, shall be the stability of our times ; whether mQd laws shall re- ceive the cheerful submission of freemen, or the iron rod of a tyrant compel the trembling homage of slaves. Be not deceived. The rocks and hills of New England will remain till the last con- flagration. But let the sabbath be profaned with impunity, the worship of God be abandoned, the government and religious in- struction of children neglected, and the streams of intemperance be permitted to flow, and her glory will depart. The wall of fire will no longer surround her, and the munition of rocks will no longer be her defense. The hand that overturns our doors and temples, is the hand of death unbarring the gate of pande- monium, and letting loose upon our land the crimes and miseries of hell. If the Most High should stand aloof and cast not a single ingredient into our cup of tembling, it would seem to be full of superlative woe. But he will not stand aloof. As we shall 8 00 THE XEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. have begun an op.?n controve]-sy with him, he will contend openly with us. And, never, since llie earlh stool, has it been so fear- ful a thinn' for nations to fall into the liands of the living CmiiI. Tiie day of ven-^vance is at hand ; the day of judgment has come ; ihe great eartlnjuake which sinks Babylon is shaking the nalions, and the waves of the mighty commotion are dashing upon every shore. Is this, then, a time to remove the founda- tions, when the earth itself is shaken ? Is this a time to forfeit the protection of God, when the hearts of men are failing them for fear, and for lookinu- after th(jse thinus which are to come upon the earth ? Is this a time to i-un upon his neck and the thick bosses of his buckler, when the nations are.:drinking blood, and fainting, and passing away in his wrath ? Is this a time to throw away the shield of faith, Avhen his arrows are drunk with the blood of the slain ? — ^to cut from the anchor of hope, when the clouds are collecting, and the sea and the waves arc roaring, and thunders are uttering their voices, and lightnings blazing in the heavens, and the great hail is fahing from heaven upon men, and every mountain, sea, and island, is fleeing in dismay from the face of an mcensed God ! beeciiee. SELF-VINDICATION. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis- honor ! let no man attaint my memory, by believing that I could have engaged in any cause, but that of my country's liberty and independence ; or that I could have become the pliant minion of power, in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the provisional government speaks for our views ; no inference can be tortured from it to countenance bar- barity or debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation, or treachery from abroad ; I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the foreign, and domestic oppressor. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. Am I, who lived but for my country, and who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and the bomlage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, — am I to be loaded with calumny, aid not sufi^ered to resent or repel it? No — God foibid ! EARNEST DEOLAMATIOH. 91 If the spirits of the ilhistrioiis dead participate in the concerns and cares of those who are dear to them in this transitory Ufe, 0, ever dear and venerated sliade of my departed fatlier, look down with scrutin}^ upon the conduct of your suffering son, and see if I have, even for a moment, deviated from tliose principles of morality and patriotism, which it was your care to instill into my youthful mind, and for which I am now to offer up my hfe ! My lords, you are impatient for, the sacrifice ; the blood which you seek 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 words more to say : I am going to my cold and silent grave ; my lamp of hfe 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 not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, 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. bobeet emmet. REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON. Mt lords, I am amazed ; yes, my lords, I am amazed at his grace's speech. The noble dvike cannot look before him, behind liim, or on either side of him, without seeing some noble peer, who owes his seat in this house to his successful exertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an accident ? To all these noble lords, the language of the noble duke is as apphcable and as insulting as it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and alone. No one venerates the peer- age more than I do ; but, my lords, I must say, that the peerage sohcited me, not I the peerage. Nay, more — I can say, and will say, that as a peer of parha- ment, as speaker of this right honorable house, as keeper of the great seal, as guardian of his majesty's conscience, as lord high chancelor of England, nay, even in thai character alone, in 92 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. which the noble duke would think it an aflVont to be considered, but which characK'i' none can deny me — as a man, I am, at this time, as much respucLed as the proudest peer I now look down upon. TUDRLOW. THE PERFECT ORATOR. Imagine to j^ourselves a Demosthenes addressing the most illuslrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations depended. — How awful such a meeting ! How vast the subject ! Is man possessed of talcnls adequate to the great occasion? Adequate? — yes, superior. By the power of his eloquence, the auguslness of the assembly is lost in the dig-nity of the orator ; and the importance of the subject for a while superseded by the admiration of his talents. With what strength of argtiment, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault and subjugate the whole man, and at once captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions 1 To effect this, must be the \itmost effort of the most improved state of human nature. Not a faculty that he possesses is here unemployed ; not a faculty that he possesses but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work ; and his external testify their energies. Within, the memory ,,the fancy, the judgment, the passions, are all busy ; without, every muscle, every nerve is exerted ; not a feature, not a limb but speak. The organs of the bodjr, attuned to the exertions of the mind, through the kindred organs of the hearers, instantaneously, as it were with an electrical spirit, vibrate those energies from soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diversity of minds in such a multitude, by the hghtning of eloquence they are melted into one mass — the whole assembly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry is — " Let us march against Philip — let us fight for our hberties — let us conquer — or die." ANONYMOUS. ANNIVERSARY OF THE SETTLEMENT OF NEW ENGLAND. Let us rejoice that we behold this day. Let us be thankful that we have lived to see the bright and happy breaking of the auspicious morn, which commences the third century of the Ms- EARNEST DECLAMATION. 93 lory of New England. Auspicious indeed ; bringing a happiness beyond the common allotment of Providence to men; full of present joy, and gilding with bright beams the prospect of futur- ity, is the dawn that awakens us to the commemoration of the landing of the Pilffrims. Living at an epoch which naturally marks the progress of the history of our native land, we have come hither to celebrate the great event with which that history commenced. Forever hon- ored be this, the place of our fathers' refuge ! Forever remem- bered the day which saw them, weary and distressed, broken in everything but spirit, poor in all but faith and courage, at last secure from the dangers of wmtry seas, and impressing this shore with the first footsteps of civilized man ! Advance, then, ye future generations ! We would hail you, as you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now fill, and to taste the blessings of existence, where we are passing, and soon shall have passed, our own human duration. We bid you welcome to this pleasant land of the fathers. We bid you welcome to the healthful skies and the verdant fields of New England. We greet your accession to the great inheritance which we have enjoyed. ■ We welcome you to the blessings of good government, and religious hberty. We welcome you to the treasures of science, and the delights of learning. We wel- come you to the transcendent sweets of domestic life, to the hap- piness of kindred, and parents, and children. We welcome you to the immeasurable blessings of rational existence, the immor- tal hope of Christianity, and the hght of everlasting trutli ! WEBSTER. EVENTS GREAT, BECAUSE OF THEIR RESULTS. There are enterprises, military as well as civil, which some- times check the current of events, give a new turn to human affairs, and transmit their consequences through ages. We see their importance in their results, and call them great because great things follow. There have been battles which have fixed the fate of nations. These come down to us in history with a solid and per- manent interest, not created by a display of ghttering armor, the rush of adverse battahons, the sinking and rising of pen- nons, the flight, the pursuit, and the victory ; but by their effect in advancing or retarding human knowledge, in overthrowing 94 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. or establishino- despotism, m extending or destroyiii';- liuman happiness. Vv'lien the tra\-eler pauses on the plain of Maratlion, •what are the emotions which most strongly agitate his breast ? What is that glorious recollection, which thrills through his frame, and suffuses his eyes ? Not, I imagine, that Grecian sldll and Cxrecian valor were here most signally displayed ; but that Greece herself was here saved. It is because to this spot, and to the event which has rendered it immortal, he refers all the succeeding glories of the republic. It is because if that day had gone otherwise, Greece had perished. It is because he perceives that her philosophers, and orators, her poets, and painters, her sculptors and architects, her governments and free institutions, point backward to Marathon, and that their future existence seems to have been suspended on the contingency, whether the Persian or the Grecian banner should wave victorioxis in the ■beams of that day's setting sun. And as his imagination kindles at the retrospect, he is transported back to the interesting moment, he counts the fearful odds of the contending hosts, his interest tor the result overwhelms him ; he trembles, as if it were still vincertain, and seems to doubt whether he may consider Socrates and Plato, Demosthenes, Sophocles and Phidias, as secure, yet, to himself and to the world. Webster. CORRUPTION, THE CAUSE OF THE FALL OF STATES. The old world has already revealed to us in its unsealed books the beginning and end of all its own marvelous struggles in the cause of liberty. Greece, lovely Greece, " the land of scholars and the nurse of arms," where sister republics in fair , possessions chanted the praises of liberty and the gods ; where, and what is she ? For two thousand years the oppressor has bound her to the earth. Her arts are no more. The last sad relics of her temples are but the barracks" of a ruthless soldiery ; the fragments of her columns and her palaces are in the dust, yet beautiful in ruin. She fell not when the mighty were upon her. Her sons were united at Thermopyte and Marathon ; and, the tide of her triumph rolled back upon the Hellespont. She was conquered by her own factions. She fell by the hands of her own people. The Man of Macedonia did not the work of destruction. It was already done by her own corruptions, ban- ishments, and dissensions. Ptome, republican Rome, whose eagles glanced in the rising and setting sun, where, and whi\t EABNE8X DECLA.MATION. 96 is she ? The eiernal city yet remains, prond even in her deso- lation, noble in her decline, venerable in the majesty of religion, and calm as in the composure of death. The malaria has but traveled in *he paths worn by her destroyers. More than eighteen centuries have mourned over the loss of her empire. A mortal disease was upon her vitals before Ccesar had crossed the Rubicon ; and Brutus did not restore her health by the deep probings of the senate chamber. The Goths and Vandals and Huns, the swarms of the North, completed only what was already begun at home. Romans betrayed Rome. The legions were bought and sold ; but the people offered the tribute money. STORY. AN APPEAL IN BEHALF OF AMERICAN LIBERTY. I CALL upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are, and all you hope to be ; resist every object of disunion, resist every encroachment upon your liberties, resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your pubUc schools, or extin- guish your system of public instruction. I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman, the love of your offspring ; teach them, as they climb your knees, or lean on your bosoms, the blessings of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or forsake her. I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are ; whose inheritance you possess. Life can never be too short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defense of the liberties of your country. 1 call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave, with the recollection that you have lived in vain. May not your last sun sink in the west upon a nation of slaves. No — I read in the destiny of my coimtry far better hopes, far brighter visions. We, who ai-e now assembled here, must soon be gathered to the congregation of other days. The time of our departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the theatre of life. May God speed them and theirs. May he, who at the distance of another century shall stand here to cele- brate this day, stOl look round upon a free, happy, and virtuous 96 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAICEK. people. May he have reason to exult as we do. May he, -with all the enthusiasm of ti-uth as well as of poetry, exclaim, that here is still his country. biort. THE TOMAHAWK SUBMISSIVE TO ELOQUENCE. Twenty tomahawks were raised ; twenty arrows drawn to their head. Yet stood Harold, stern and collected — at bay — parleying only with his sword. He waved his arm. Smitten with a sense of their cowardice, perhaps, or by his great dig- nity, more awful for his very youth, their weapons dropped, and their countenances were uphfted upon him, less in hatred than in wonder. The old men gathered about him — he leaned aponhis sabre. Their eyes shone with admiration — such heroic deportment, in one so young — a boy ! so intrepid ! so prompt ! so graceful 1 so eloquent, too ! — for, knowing the effect of eloquence, and feeling the loftiness of his own nature, the innocence of his own heart, the character of the Indians for hospitality, and their veneration for his blood, Harold dealt out the thunder of his strength to these rude barbarians of the wilderness, till they, young and old, gathering nearer and nearer in their devotion, threw down their weapons at his feet, and formed a rampart of locked arms and hearts about him, through which his eloquence thrilled and lightened like electricity. The old greeted him with a lofty step, as the patriarch welcomes his boy from the triumph of far-off battle ; and the young clave to him and clung to him, and shouted in their self-abandonment, like brothers round a conquering brother. " Warriors !" he said, " Brethren !" — (their tomahawks were brandished simultaneously, at the sound of his terrible voice, as if preparing for the onset.) His tones grew deeper, and less threatening. " Brothers ! let us talk together of Logan ! Ye who have kno"mi him, ye aged men ! bear ye testimony to the deeds of his strength. Who -vras like him ? Who could resist him ? Who may abide the hurricane in its volley ? Who may withstand the winds that uproot the great trees of the mountain ? Let him be the foe of Logan. Thrice in one day hath he given battle. Thrice in one day hath he come back victorious. Who may bear up against the strong man ? the man of war ? Let them that are young, hear me. Let them follow the course of Logan. He goes in clouds and whirlwind — in the fire and in EARNEST DECLAMATION. 97 the smoke. Let them follow him. Warriors ! Logan was the father of Harold !" They fell back in astonishment, but they believed him ; for Harold's word was imquestioned, undoubted evidence, to them that knew him. meal. ANCIENT AND MODERN PRODUCTIONS. The classics possess a peculiar charm, from the circumstance that they have been the models, I might almost say the masters, of composition and thought in all ages. In the contemplation of these aug-ust teachers of mankind, we are filled with conflicting emotions. They are the early voice of the world, better remem- bered and more cherished still, than all the intermediate words that have been uttered, — as the lessons of childhood stiU haunt us when the impressions of later years have been efi'aced from the mind. But they show with most unwelcome frequency the tokens of the world's childhood, before passion had yielded to the sway of reason and the affections. They want the highest charm of purity, of righteousness, of elevated sentiments, of love to God and man. It is not in the frigid philosophy of the Porch and the Academy that we are to seek these ; not in the marvelous teachings of Socrates, as they come enforced by the mellifluous words of Plato ; not in the resounding line of Homer, on whose inspiring tale of blood Alexander pillowed his head ; not in the animated strain of Pindar, where virtue is pictured in the successful strife of an athlete at the Isthmian games ; not in the torrent of Demosthenes, dark with self-love and the spirit of vengeance ; not in the fitful philosophy and intemperate eloquence of Tully ; not in the genial hbertinism of Horace, or the stately atheism of Lucretius. No ; these must not be our masters ; in none of these are we to seek the way of life. For eighteen hundred years the spirit of these writers has been engaged in weaponless contest with the Sermon on the Mount and those two sublime commandments on which hang all the law and the proph- ets. The strife is still pending. Heathenism, which has pos- sessed itself of such siren forms, is not yet exorcized. It stiU tcrnpts the young, controls the afl'airs of active life, and haimts tlis- meditations of age. Our own productions, though they may yield to those of the ancients in the arrangement of ideas, in method, in beauty of form, and in freshness of illustration, are immeasurably superior 9 98 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. in the truth, dehcacy, and elevation of their sentiments — above all, in the benign recognition of that great Christian revelation, the brotherhood of man. How vain are eloquence and poetry, compared with this heaven-descended tiaith ! Put in one scale that simple utterance, and in the other the lore of antiquity, with its accumulating glosses and commentaries, and the last will be light and trivial in the balance. Greek poetry has been likened to the song of the nightingale as she sits in the rich, symmetri- cal crown of the palm-tree, trilling her thick-warbled notes ; but even this is less sweet and tender than the music of the human heart. sumneb. THE MURDERER'3 SECRET. The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. The circumstances, now clearl}' in evidence, spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A lieathful old man, to whom sleep was sweet, the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong embrace. The assassin enters, through the win- dow already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon ; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges without noise ; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and the beams of the moon, rest- ing on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given ! and the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death ! It is the assassin's pui-pose to make sure work ; and he yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged ai-m, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart, and replaces it again over the wounds of the poniard ! To finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse ! He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer ! It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder — no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is safe ! EARNEST DECLAMATION. D9 All ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that Eye which glances through all dis- g-uises, and beholds everything, as in the splendor of noon — such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by man. WEBSTKR. THE SAME, CONTINUED. True it is, generally speaking, that "murder will out. " True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of heaven by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery : especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and place : a thousand ears catch every whisper : a thous- and excited minds intensely dwell on the scene ; shedding all their Ught, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime, the giiilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself ; or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself : it labors under its guilty posses- sion, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant : it finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God or man. A vulture is devouring it, and it asks no sympathy or assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses, soon comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion : it breaks down his cour- age : it conquers his prudence. When suspicions, from without, begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to entan- gle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed : it will be confessed : there is no refuge from confession but suijide ; and suicide is confes- sion. WEBSTER. 100 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. PR.ENCH AGGRESSIONS. The solemn oatli of America has ascended to heaven. .Slie has sworn to preserve her independence, her rehyion and iier laws, or nobly perish in their defense, and be buried in the ■(\Tecks of her empire. To the fate of our government is united the fate of our country. The convulsions that destroy the one, must desolate the other. Their destinies are interwoven, and they must triumph or fall together. Where then is the man, so hardened in political iniquity, as to advocate the victories of French ai-ms, which would render his countrymen slaves, or to promote the diffusion of French principles, which would ren- der them savages ? Can it be doubted, that the pike of a French soldier is less cruel and ferocious than the fraternity of a French philosopher ? Where is the youth in this assembly, who could, without agonized emotions, behold the Gallic invader hurlinff the brand of devastation into the dwelling of his father ; or with sacrilegious cupidity plundering the communion table of his God ? Who could witness, without indignant desperation, the mother who bore him, inhumanly murdered in the defense of her infants ? Who could hear, without frantic horror, the shrieks of a sister, flying from pollution, and leaping from the blazing roof, to impale herself on the point of a halberd ? " If any, speak, for him I have offended !" No, my fellow-citizens, these scenes are never to be witnessed by American eyes. The souls of your ancestors still live in the bosom of their descendants ; and rather than submit this fair land of their inheritance to ravage and dishonor, from hoary age to helpless infancy, they will form one united bulwark, and oppose their breasts to the assaiEng foe. painb. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS. Sink or swim, hve or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, thatjn the begin- ning we aimed not at independence. But there 's a divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded to her own interest, for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why then .should we defer the declaration ? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which :b,a™est declamation. 101 shall leave either siifety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own Ufe and his own honor ? Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair ; is not he, our venerable coUeagiie near you ; are you not both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance ? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, ivhat are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws ? If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up the war ? Do we mean to submit to the measures of parlia- ment, Boston port bill and all ? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust ? I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into by men — that plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to Washington, when putting him forth to incur the dan- gers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity, with our for- tunes and our lives ? I know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the ground. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces, raised or to be raised, for defense of American libeVty, " may my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth," if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him. The war, then, must go on. We must tight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off longer the declaration of independence ? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. webster. THE SAME, CONTINUED. If we fail, it cannot be worse for us. But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up aiTnies ; the cause will create navies. The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will cany themselves, gloriously, throu.gii this struggle. I care not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people of these colonies, and I know that resistance of British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts and cannot be eradicated. E^'ery colony, indeed, has expressed its willing 102 THE >E\V AMERICAN SPEAKER. n(•^s to follow, if -vve but take the lead. Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a Iodl;- and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities held under a British king, set before th-em the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every sword will be dra"ivn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit ; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls ; proclaim it there ; let them hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon ; let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Con- cord, and the very walls will cry out in its support. Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, I see clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may me it. We may not live to the time when this declaration shall be made good. We may die ; die, colonists ; die, slaves ; die, it may be, ignominlously and on the scaffold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready, at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come Vi'hen that hour may. But while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a free country. But whatever may be owt fate, be assured that this declara- tion will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood ; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glori- ous, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it, with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return they will shed tears, copious, giishing tears, not of subjection and ^ slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it ; and I leave off as I begun, that live or die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment — independence now; and isdependence BOBEVFR. WEBSIEIt/ EARNEST DECIAMATION. 103 THE MISERIES OF WAR. Oh, tell me, if there be any relenting? of pity in your bosom, how coTild you endure it, to behold the agonies of the dying man, as, goaded by pain, he grasps the cold ground in convulsive energy ; or, faint with the loss of blood, his pulse ebbs low, and the gathering paleness spreads itself over his countenance ; or, wrapping himself round in despair, he can only mark, by a few feeble quiverings, that life still lurks and Hngers in his lacerated body, or, Ufting up a faded eye, he casts on you a look of implo- ring helplessness for that succor which no sympathy can yield him ? It may be painful to dwell thus, in imagination, on the distressing picture of one individual ; but, multiply it ten thousand times ; say how much of all this distress has been heaped together on a single field ; give us the arithmetic of this accumulated wretchedness, and lay it before us with all the accuracy of an official computation, and, strange to tell, not one sigh is hfted up among the crowd of eager hsteners, as they stand on tiptoe, and catch every syllable of utterance which is read to them out the registers of death. Oh ! say what mystic speh is that which so bhnds us to the suffering of oiu- brethren ; which deafens to our ear the voice of bleeding humanity, when it is aggravated by the shriek of dying thousands ; which makes the very magni- tude of the slaughter throw a softening disguise over its cruelties and its horrors ; which causes us to eye, with indifference, the field that is crowded with the most revolting abominations, and arrests that sigh which each individual would, singly, have drawn from us, by the report of the many that have fallen and breathed their last in agony along with him ! chalmebs. FREE DISCUSSION. Important as I deem it to discuss, on all proper occasions, the policy of the measures at present pursued, it is stillmore import- ant to maintain the right of such discussion in its full and just .extent. Sentiments lately sprung up, and now growmg fashion- able, make it necessary to be explicit on this point. The more I perceive a disposition to check- the freedom of inquiry by extravagant and unconstitutional pretenses, the firmer shall be the tone in which I shall assert, and the freer the mmner in which I shall exercise it. 104 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. It is the ancient and undoubted jirerogalivo of this people to canvass public measures, and the mciits uf public men. it is a "home-bred right," a fireside privilcye. It hath ever been enjoyed in evcrj house, cottage, and cabin in the nation. It is not to be drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted as the ri"ht of breathing the air, or walking on the earth. Belonging to public fife as a right, it belongs to public life as a duty ; and it is the last duty which those, whose representative I am, shall find me to abandon. Aiming at all times to be temperate and courteous in its use, except when the right itself shall be ques- tioned, I shall then carry it to its extent. I shall place myself on the extreme boundary of my right, and bid defiance to any arm that would move me from my ground. This high constitutional privilege I shall defend and exercise within this house, and without this house, and in all places ; in time of peace, and in all times. Living, I shall assert it ; and, should I leave no other inheritance to my children, by the bless- ing of God I will leave them the inheritance of free principles, and the example of a manly, independent, and constitutional defense of them. webster AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. Who is there among us, that, should he find himself on any spot of the earth where human beings exist, and where the exist- ence of other nations is known, would not be proud to say, I am an American ? I am a countryman of Washington ? I am a citizen of that repubhc which, although it has suddenly sprung up, yet there are none on the globe who have ears to hear, and have not heard of it — who have eyes to see, and have not read of it — who know anything, and yet do not know of its existence and its glory ? And, gentlemen, let me now reverse the picture. Let me ask, who is there among us, if he were to be found to-mor- row in one of the civilized countries of Europe, and were there to learn that this goodly form of government had been overthrown — that the United States were no longer united — who is there whose heart would not sink within him ? Who is there who would not cover his face for very shame ? At this very moment, gentlemen, our country is a general ref- uge for the oppressed and the persecuted of other nations. Who- ever is in affliction from political occurrences in his own country, looks here for shelter. Whether he be repubhcan, %mg from EARNEST DECLAMATION. 105 the oppression of thrones — or whether he be monarch or mon- archist, flying from thrones that crumble and fall under or around him — he feels equal ass\u-ance that, if he get foothold on our soil, his person is safe, and his rights will be respected. We have tried these popular institutions in times of great excitement and commotion ; and they have stood substantially firm and steady, ■vvlule the fountains of the great pohtical deep have been elsevrhere broken up ; while thrones, resting on ages of prescription, have tottered and fallen ; and while, in other countries, the earthquake of unrestrained popular commotion has swallowed up all law, and all hberty, and all right together. Our government has been tried in peace, and it has been tried in war ; and has proved itself fit for both. It has been assailed from without, and it has successfully resisted the shock ; it bas been disturbed within, and it has efiectuaUy qiiieted the disturb- ance. It can stand trial — it can stand assault — itr can stand adversity — it can stand everything but the marring of its own beauty and the weakness of his own strength. It can stand everything but the eflfects of our own strength. It can stand everything but disorganization, disunion, and nullification. WEBSTER. SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY, Before the Virginia Convention of Delegates, March, 1775. Mr. President, it is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is it the part of wise men, engaged in the great and arduous struggle for hberty ? Are we disposed to be of the number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal sal- vation ? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, and to provide for it. I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided ; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future, but by the past. And, judgmg by the past, I wish to know, what there has been in the conduct of the B]-itish ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the house ? Is it that insidious smile, with which our petition has been lately recei'^ed ? Trust it not, sir ; it will prove a snare to your 106 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations, which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and recon- ciliation ? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be recon- ciled, that force must be called in to win back our love ? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation — the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission ? Can gentlemen assign any other motive for it ? Has Great Britain any other enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us ; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministers have been so long forgins:. And what have we to oppose them ? Shall we try argument ? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer on the subject ? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we I'esort to entreaty and humble sup- plication ? What terms shall we find which have not been already eshausted ? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned — we have remonstrated — we have supplicated — we have prostrated our- selves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult ; our supplications have been dis- regarded ; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. THE SAME, CONTINUED. They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger ? Will it be the next week, or the next year ? Will it be when we are totally disarmed ; and when a British guard shall be sta- EARNEST DECLAMATION. 107 tioned in every house ? Shall -we gather strength by h-resolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire the means of eflfectual resist- ance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three mil- lians of people armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight alone. There is a just God who presides over the des- tinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone, — it is to the active the vigilant, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election ! If we were base endugh to desire it, it is now too late to retu'e from the contest. There is no retreat — but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is inevitable — and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace ! peace ! — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we here idle ? What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear, oi peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it. Heaven ! — I know not what course others may take, but as for me — give me liberty, or give me death. PATRICK HENRT. BRUTUS JUSTIFYING THE ASSASSINATION OF CAESAR. 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. Cen- sure me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If thei-e be any in this, assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer, — not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. 108 TUB SEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Had yoii rather C'cesar were living', and die all slaves, tlian that Csesar were dead, to live all freemen? As Ctesar loved me, I -worp fur liim ; as he ^vas fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him ; but, as he was ambitions, I slew him. There are lears, for his love ; joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valor ; and death, for his ambition. Who 's h(!re so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. 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 Csesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offenses 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. shakspbarb. HAMLET'S ADDRESS TO THE PLAYERS. .Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-criers spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a tem- perance, that may give it smoothness. Oh, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundhngs ; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb- shows and noise : I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er- doing Termageus ; it out-herods Herod : I pray you avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor : suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature ; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of play- mg, whose end, both at the first and now, was, and is, to hold, EARNEST DECLAMATION. 109 as it were, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue htr own fea- ture, scorn lier own imago, and tlie very age and body of tlie time, his form and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it malve the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one, must in your allow- ance o'erweigh a whole theater of others. Oh, there be players, that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, Pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. shakspeabe. CURRAN IN DEFENSE OF ROWAN. Yov know, gentlemen, that France had espoused the cause of America, and we became thereby engaged in a war with that nation. Beu nescia mens hominum futuri ! Little did that ill-fated monarch know that he was forming the first causes of those disastrous events, that were to end in the subversion of his throne, ia the slaughter of his family, and the deluging of his country with the blood of his people. You cannot but remember that, at a time when we had scarcely a regular soldier for our defense ; when the old and young were alarmed and terrified with apprehensions of descent upon our coasts ; that Providence seemed to have worked a sort of miracle in our favor. You saw a band of armed men come forth at the great call of nature, of honor, and their country. You saw men of the greatest wealth and rank ; you saw every class of the commu- nity give up its members, and send them armed into the field, to protect the pubhc and private tranquilhty of Ireland. It is impossible for any man to turn back to that period, without reviv- ing those sentiments of tenderness and gTatitude which then beat in the pubhc bosom ; to recollect amidst what applause, what tears, what prayers, what benedictions, they walked forth amongst spectators, agitated by the mingled sensations of terror and of reUance, of danger and of protection, imploring the bless- ings of heaven upon their heads, and its conquests upon their s-words. That illustrious, and adored, and abused body of men stood forward and assumed the title, which, I trust, the ingrati- tude of their country will never blot from its histoiy, "the volunteers of Ireland." * * * * 110 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEABLER. We are told that wc are in danger ; I call upon you, the great constitutional saviors of Ireland, to defend the country to which you haM' given political existence, and to use whatever sanction your greaL name, your sacred character, and the weight you. have in the community, must give you to repress wicked designs, if any there are. AVe feel ourselves strong. The people are always strong ; the public chains can only be riveted by the public hands. Look to those devoted regions of southern despotism ; behold the expiruig victim on his knees, presenting the javelin reeking with his blood to the ferocious monster who returns it into his heart. Call not that monster the tyrant : he is no more than the executioner of that inhuman tyranny, which the people practise upon them- selves, and of which he is only reserved to be a later victim than the wretch he has sent before. Look to a nearer country, where the sanguinary characters are more legible ; whence you almost hear the groans of death and torture. Do you ascribe the rapine and murder in France to the few names that we are exe- crating here ? or do you not see that it is the frenzy of an infu- riated multitude abusing its own strength, and practising those hideous abominations upon itself. Against the violence of this strength, let your virtue and influence be our safegTiard. * * What criminality, gentlemen of the jury, can you find in this ? what at any tinre ? but I ask you, peculiarly at this momentous period, what guilt can you find m it ? ily client saw the scene of horror and blood which covers almost the face of Europe : he feared that causes, which he thought similar, might produce similar effects, and he seeks to avert those dangers by calling the united virtue and tried moderation of the country into a state of strength and vigilance. Yet this is the conduct which the prosecution of this day seeks to punish and stigmatize ; and this is the language for which this pajjer is reprobated to-day, as tending to turn the hearts of the people against their sovereign «,nd inviting them to overturn the constitution. Gentlemen, let me suggest another observation or two, if stiU you have any doubt as to the gTiilt or innocence of the defendant. Give me leave to suggest to you, what circumstances you ought to consider, in order to found your verdict. You should consider the character of the person accused ; and in this your task is easy. I will venture to say, there is not a man in this nation more known than the gentleman who is the subject of this prose- cution, not only by the part he has taken in pubho concems, and which he has taken in common with many ; but still more so by that extraordinary sympathy for human affliction, which, I am sorry to think, he shares with so small a number. There is not a day that you hear the cries of your starving manufacturers in EARNEST DECLAMATIOK. Ill your streets, that you do not also see the advocate of their suffer- ings — that you do not see his honest and manly figure, with uncovered head, soliciting for their relief ; searcliing the frozen heart of charity, for every string that can be touched by com- passion, and urging the force of every argument and every motive save that which his modesty suppresses — the authority of his own generous example. Or if you see him not there, you may trace his steps to the private abode of disease, and famine, and despair ; the messenger of heaven, bringing with him food, and medicine, and consolation. Are these the materials of which you suppose anarchy and public rapine to be formed ? Is this the man, on whom you fasten the abominable charge of goading on a frantic populace to mutiny and bloodshed ? Is this the man likely to apostatize from every principle that can bind him to the state ; his birth, his property, his education, his character, and his children ? Let me tell you, gentlemen of the jury, if you agree with his prosecutors in thinking that there ought to be a sacrifice of such a man, on such an occasion, and upon the credit of such evidence, you are to convict him — never did you, never can you give a sentence, consigning any man to public punishment, with less danger to his person or to his fame ; for where could the hireling be foimd to fling contumely or ingratitude at his head, whose private distresses he had not labored to alleviate, or whose public condition he had not labored to improve ? CURRAN ON THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS. What then remains ? The liberty of the press only ; that sacred palladium, which no influence, no power, no minister, no government, which nothing but the depravity, or folly, or cor- ruption of a jury, can ever destroy. And what calamities are the people saved from by having public communication left open to them ? I will tell you, gentlemen, what they are saved from, and what the government is saved from ! I will tell you also to what both are exposed by shutting up that communication. In one case sedition speaks aloud, and walks abroad ; the dema- gogue goes forth ; the public eye is upon him ; he frets his busy aour upon the stage ; but soon either weariness, or bribe, or pun- ishment, or disappointment bear him down, or drive him off, and be appears no more. In the other case, how does the work of sedition go forward ? Night after night the mufiled rebel steals forth in the dark, and casts another and another brand upon the 113 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. pile, to which, -when the hour of fatal maturity shall arrive, he will apply the flame. If you doubt of the horrid consequences of suppressing- the efl'usion even of individual discontent, look to those enslaved countries where the protection of despotism is supposed to be secured by such restraints. Even the person of the despot there is never in safety. Neither the fears of the despot, nor the machinations of the slave have any slumber, the o<}o anticipating the moment of peril, the other watching the opportunity of aggression. The fatal crisis is equally a surprise upon both ; the decisive instant is precipitated without warning by folly on the one side, or by frenzy on the other, and there is no notice of the treason tiU the traitor acts. In those unfor- tunate countries (one cannot read it without horror) there are officers, whose province it is to have the water, which is to be drunk by their rulers, sealed up in bottles, lest some wretched miscreant should throw poison into the draught. But, gentlemen, if you wish for a nearer and more interesting example, you have it in the history of your own revolution ; you have it at that memorable period, when the monarch found a servile acquiescence in the ministers of his folly ; when the lib- erty of the press was trodden under foot ; when venal sheriffs returned packed juries to carry into effect those fatal conspiracies of the few against the many ; when the devoted benches of pub- He justice were filled by some of those foundlings of fortune, who, overwhelmed in the torrent of corraption at an early period, lay at the bottom like drowned bodies, while soundness or sanity remained in them ; but at length, becoming buoyant by putre- faction, they rose as they rotted, and floated to the surface of the polluted stream, where they were drifted along, the object of terror, and contagion, and abomination. THE SAME, CONTINUED. In that awful moment of a nation's travail, of the last gasp of tyranny, and the first breath of freedom, how pregnant is the example ? The press extinguished, the people enslaved, and the prince undone. As the advocate of society, therefore, of peace, of domestic hberty, and the lasting union of the two countries, I conjure you to guard the liberty of the press, that great senti- nel of the state, that grand detector of public imposture : guard it, because, when it sinks, there sinks with it, in one common grave, the hberty of the subject, and the security of the crown. EAKNEST DECLAMATION. 113 There is a sort of aspiring and adventurous oredultj, -wluola disdains assenting to obvious truths, and dehghts in catching at tlie improbability of circumstances, as its best ground of faith. To what otlier cause, gentlemen, can you ascribe that in the wise, the reflecting, and the philosophic nation of Great Britain, a printer has been gravely foimd guilty of a libel, for publishing those resolutions to which the present minister of that kingdom had actually subscribed his name ? To what other cause can you ascribe, what in my mind is still more astonishing, in such a coimtry as Scotland — a nation cast in the happy medium between the spiritless acquiescence of submissive poverty, and the sturdy creduhty of pampered wealth ; cool and ardent ; adventurous and persevering ; winging her eagle flight against the blaze of every science, with an eye that never winks, and a wing that never tires ; crowned as she is with the spoils of every art, and decked with the wreath of every muse, from the deep and scrutinizing researches of her Hume, to the sweet and sim- ple, but not less sublime and pathetic morality of her Burns — - how, from the bosom of a country like that, genius, and charac- ter, and talents should be banished .to a distant barbarous soil ; condemned to pine mid«r the horrid communion of vulgar vice and base-bom profligacy, for twice the period that ordinary cal- culation gives to the continuance of human life ? curran. NOBLE DEFENSE OF IRISH CHARACTER. It has been said, too, (and when we were to be calumniated, what has not been said ?) that Irishmen are neither fit for free- dom or grateful for favors. In the first place, I deny that to be a favor which is a right; and in the next place, I utterly deny that a system of conciliation has ever been adopted with respect to Ireland. Tiy them, and, my hfe on it, they will be foimd grateful. I think I know my countrymen ; they cannot help being grateful for a benefit ; and there is no country on the earth where one would be conferred with more characteristic benevo- lence. They are, emphatically, the school-boys of the heart — a people of sympathy ; their acts spring instinctively from theii- passions ; by nature ardent, by instinct brave, by inheritance generous. The children of impulse, they cannot avoid their virtues ; and to be other than noble, they must not only be un- natural but unnational. Put my panegyric to the test. Enter tho hovel of the Irish peasant. I do not say you will find the 10 1 14 THE KEW AMERICAN 8PKAKEB. fi-ugality of the Scotch, the comfort of the Enghsh, or the fan- tastic decorations uf the Frencli cottager ; but I do say, within tlio.se wretched bazaars of mud and misery, you will find sensi- bility the most afi'eetiiiy, politeness the most natural, hospitality the most grateful, merit the most unconscious ; their look is eloquence, their smile is love, their retort is wit, their remark is wisdom — not a wisdom borrowed from the dead, but that with whicli nature herself has inspired them ; an acute observ- ance of the passing- scene, and a deep insight into the motives of its agent. Try to deceive them, and see with what shrewd- ness they will detect ; try to outwit them, and see with what liumor they will elude ; attack them with argument, and you will stand amazed at the strength of their expression, the rapidity of their ideas, and the energy of their gesture. In short, God seems to have formed our country like our people ; he has thrown round the one its wild, magnificent, decorated rudeness ; he has infused into the other the simplicity of genius and the seeds of virtue : he says audibly to us, " Give them cultivation." Phillips. CTRRAN ON IRISH EMANCIPATION. Tins paper, gentlemen, insists upon the necessity of emanci- pating the Catholics of Ireland, and that is charged as a part of the libel. If they had waited another year, if they had kept this prosecution impending for another year, how much would re- main for a jury to decide upon, I should be at a loss to discover. It seems as if the progress of public information was eating away the ground of the prosecution. Since the commencement of the prosecution, this part of the libel has unluckily received the sanction of the legislature. In that interval our Catholic brethren have obtained that admission, which it seems was a libel to propose ; in what way to account for this, I am really at a loss. Have any alarms been occasioned by the emancipation of our Catholic brethren ? has the bigoted malignity of any indi- viduals been crushed ? or has the stability of the government, or that of the country been weakened ? or is one miUion of sub- jects stronger than four millions ? Do you think that the benefit they receive should be poisoned by the sting of vengeance ? If you think so, you must suy to them, " You have demanded emancipation and you have got it ; but we abhor your persons, we are outraged at your success, and we will stigmatize, by a criminal prosecution, the adviser of that relief which you have EARNEST DECLAMATION. 115 obtained from the voice of your country." I ask you, do you think, as honest men, anxious for the public tranquillity, con- scious that there are ivounds not yet completely cicatrized, that you ought to speak this language at this time, to men who are too much disposed to think that in this very emancipation they have been saved from their own parliament by the humanity of their sovereign ? Or do you wish to prepare them for the revocation of these improvident concessions ? Do you think it wise or humane at this moment to insult them, by stickineup in a pillory the man who dared to stand forth as their advocate ? I put it to your oaths ; do you think that a blessing of that kind, that a victory obtained by justice over bigotry and oppression, should have a stigma cast upon it by an ignominious sentence upon men bold and honest enough to propose that measure ? to propose the redeeming of religion from the abuses of the church, the reclaiming of three millions of men from bondage, and giving liberty to all who had a right to demand it — giving, I say, in the so much censured words of this paper, giving " universal emancipation!" I speak in the spirit of the British law, which makes liberty commensurate with and inseparable from British soil ; which proclaims even to the stranger and the sojourner, the moment he sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of wii- versal emancipation. No matter in what language his doom may have been pronounced ; — no matter what complexion incom- patible with freedom an Indian or an African sun may have burnt upon him ; — no matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been cloven down ; — no matter with what solemni- ties he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery ; the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust ; his soul walks abroad in lier own majesty ; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, regener- ated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of universal EMANCIPATION. ON THE UNION OF CHURCH AND STATE. The theology of the question is not for me to argue, it cannot be in better hands than in those of your bishops ; and I can have no doubt that when they bnng their rank, their learning, their talents, their piety, and their patriotism to this sublime leliberation, they will consult the dignity of that venerable fabric 116 THE KEW AMEEICAiJ SPEAKER. ■whicli has stood for ages, splendid and iramutabk' : u-liicli time could not cramblc, nor persucutions shake, nur revolutions change ; Avhich has stood amongst us, like some stupendous and majesiic Apennine, the earth rocking at its feet, and the heavens roaring round its head, firmly balanced on the base of its eter- nity ; the relic of what was ; the solemn and sublime memento of xvhat inuM he ! Is this my opinion as a professed member of the church of England ? Undoubtedly it is. As an Irishman, I feel my lib- erties interwoven, and the best affections of my heart as it wei-e e;//i5ere(i with those of my Catholic countrymen ; and as a Prot- ectant, convinced of the purity of my OAvn faith, would I not debase it by postponing the powers of reason to the suspicious instrumentality of this world's conversion ? No ; surrendering as I do, with a proud contempt, all the dt'grading advantages with whick an ecclesiastical usurpation would invest me ; so I will not interfere with a blasphemous intrusion between any man and his Maker. I hold it a criminal and accursed sacrilege, to rob even a bee-fjar of a sinn-le mrjtive for his devotion : and I hold it an equal insult to my own faith, to offer me any boon for its profession. This pretended emancipation bill passing into a law, would, in my mind, strike not a blow at this sect or that sect, but at the very vitality of Christianity itself. I am thoroughly convinced that the antichristian connection between church and state, which it was suited to increase, has done more mischief to the gospel interest, than all the ravings of infidelity since the crucifixion. The sublime Creator of our blessed creed never meant it to be the channel of a courtly influence, or the source of a corrupt ascendancy. He sent it amongst us to heal, not to irritate ; to associate, not to seclude ; to collect together, like the baptismal dove, every creed and clime and color in the uni- verse, beneath the spotless wing of its protection. The union of church and state only converts good Christians into bad statesmen, and political knaves into pretended Christians. It is at best but a foul and adulterous connection, polluting the purity of heaven with the abomination of earth, and hanging the tat- ters of a political piety upon the cross of an insulted Saviour. PHILLIPS. SPEECH TO MR. FINLAY. If any circumstance could add to the pleasure of this day, it is that which I feel in introducing to the friends of my youth, the friend of my adoption ; though perhaps I am committing EARNEST DECLAMATION. 117 one of out imputed blunders, when I speak of introducing one whose patriotism has already rendered him familiar to every heart in Ireland : a man, who, conquering every disadvantage, and spurning every difficulty, has poured around our misfortunes the splendor of an intellect, that at once irradiates and consumes them. For thfe services he has rendered to his country, from my heart I thank him ; and, for myself, I offer him a personal, it may be a selfish, tribute for sa^•ing me, by his presence this night, from an impotent attempt at his panegyric. Indeed, gentlemen, you can have little idea of what he has to endure, who in these times advocates your cause. Every calumny which the venal and the vulgar, and the vile, are lavishing upon you, is visited with exaggeration upon us. We are,called trai- tors, because we would rally round the crown an vmanimous peo- ple. We are called apostates, because we will not persecute Christianity. We are branded as" separatists, because of our endeavors to annihilate the fetters that, instead of binding, clog the connection. To these may be added, the frowns of power, the envy of dullness, the mean malice of exposed self-interest, and, it may be, in despite of all natural affection, even the dis- countenance of kindred ! — Well be it so, ■ — ■ " For thee, fair Freedom, welcome all the past — For thee, my country, welcome, even the last ! " 1 am not ashamed to confess to you, that there was a day when I was bigoted as the blackest ; but I thank the Being who gifted me ivith a mind not quite impervious to conviction, and I thank you, who afforded such convincing testimonies of my error. I saw you enduring with patience the most unmerited assaults, bowing before the insults of revived anniversaries ; in private life, exemplary ; in public, unoffending ; in the hour of peace, asserting your loyalty ; in the hour of danger, proving it. Even when an invading enemy victoriously penetrated into the very heart of our country, I saw the banner of your allegiance beam- ing refutation on your slanderers : was it a wonder, then, that I seized my prejudices, and with a blush burned them on the altar of my country ! Phillips. CURRAN AGAINST O'BRIEN. Mr. O'Brien, thus persecuted, abused, and terrified, would have gone and lodged his sorrows in the sympathetic bosom of the major ; but to prevent even this little solace they made him 118 THE NEW AMEKICAK SPEAKER. drunk. The next evening they used him in the lilvo barbarous manner, so that he was not only sworn against his will, but, poor man, he was made drunk against his incUnation. Thus was he besieo-ed with united beef-steaks and whi.-;key, and against such potent assailants not even Mr. O'Brien could prevail. Whether all this whiskey that he has been forced to drink has produced tlie effect or not, Mr. O'Brien's loyalty is better than his memory. In the spirit of loyalty he became prophetic, and told to Lord Portarhngton the cu'cumstances relative to the in- tended attack on the ordnance stores, full three weeks before he had obtained the information through mortal agency. ! honest James O'Brien! — honest James O'Brien! Let others vainly argue on logical truth and ethical falsehood, but if I can once fasten him to the ring of perjury, I will bait him at it vmtil his testimony shall fail of producing a verdict, although human na- ture were as vile and monstrous in you, as she is in him ! . He has made a mistake ! — but surely no man's life is safe if such evidence were admissible. What argument can be founded on his testimony, when he swears that he has perjured himself, and that anything he says must be false ; I must not beheve him at all, and by a paradoxical conclusion, suppose against "the damna^ tion" of his own testimony, that he is an honest man ! * * * * * * The present cause takes in the entire character of your country, which may suffer in the eyes of all Europe by your verdict. This is the first prosecution of the kind brought for- ward to view. It is the great experiment of the informers of Ireland, to ascertain how far they can carry on a traf&c in human blood ! This cannibal informer, this demon O'Brien, greedy after human gore, has fifteen other victims in reserve, if, from your verdict, he receives the unhappy man at the bar ! Fifteen more of your fehow-citizens are to be tried on his evidence ! Be you then their saviors ; let your verdict snatch them from his ravening maw, and interpose between yourselves and endless remorse ! I know, gentlemen, I would but insult you, if I were to apolo- gize for detaining you thus long ; if I have apology to make to an)^ person, it is to my client, for thus delaying his acquittal. Sweet is the recollection of having done justice, in that horn- when the hand of deaih presses on the human heart ! Sweet is the hope which it gives birth to ! From you I demand that jus- tice for my client, your innocent and unfortunate fellow-subject at the bar ; and may you have for Jl a more lasting reward than the perishable crown we read of, which the ancients placed on the brow of him who saved in battle the life of a fellow-citizen EARNEST DECLAMATION. 119 If you should ever be assailed by the hand of the informer, may you find an all-powerful refuge in the example which you shall set this day. Earnestly do I pray that you may never ex- perience what it is to count the tedious hours in captivity, pining in the damps and gloom of the dungeon, while the wicked one is going about at large seeking whom he may devour. There is another than a human tribunal, where the best of us will have occasion to look back on the Uttle good we have done. In that awful trial, oh ! may your verdict this day assure your hopes, and give you strength and consolation m the presence of an ADJUDGING God. CURRAN IN DEFENSE OF ORR. " Alas ! nor wife, nor children more shall he behold, nor friends, nor sacred home ! " No seraph mercy unbars his dun- geon and leads him forth to light and life ; but the minister of death hurries him to the scene of suffering and of shame ; wliere, unmoved by the hostile array of artUlery and armed men col- lected together, to secure, or to insult, or to disturb him, he dies with a solemn declaration of his innocence, and utters his last breath in a prayer for the liberty of his country. Let me now ask you, if any of you had addressed the public ear upon so foul and monstrous a subject, in what language would you have conveyed the feelings of horror and indignation ? Would you have stooped to the meanness of quahfied complaint ? Would you have been mean enough — But I entreat your forgiveness, I do not think meanly of you ; had I thought so meanly of you, I could not suffer my mind to commune with you as it has done. Had I thought you that base and vile instrument, attuned by hope and by fear into discord and falsehood, from whose vulgar string no groan of suffering could vibrate, no voice of integrity or honor could speak, let me honestly tell you, I should have scorned to string my hand across it ; I should have left it to a fitter minstrfel. If I do not, therefore, grossly err in my opinion of you, I could use no language upon such a subject as this, that must not lag behind the rapidity of your feelings, and that would not disgrace those feelings if it attempted to describe them. Upright and honest jurors, find a civil and obliging verdict against the printer ! And when you have done so, march through the ranks of your fellow-citizens to your own homes, and bear their looks as you pass along ; retire to the bosom of your 120 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. families and your children, and, when you are presiding over the morality of the parental board, tell those infants, who are to be the future men of Ireland, the history of this day. Form their young minds by your precepts, and confirm those precepts by your o-\vn example ; teach them how discreetly allegiance may be perjured on the table, or loyalty be forsworn in the jury-box ; and when you have done so, tell them the story of Orr ; tell them of Ids captivity, of his children, of his crime, of- his hopes, of his disappointments, of his courage, and of his death ; and when you find your httle hearers hanging upon your lips, when you see their eyes overflow with sympathy and sorrow, and their young hearts bursting with the pangs of anticipated orphanage, tell them that you "had the boldness and the justice to stigmatize the monster who had dared to pubhsh the transaction ! THE SAME, CONTINUED. I TELL you, therefore, gentlemen of the jury, it is not with respect to Mr. Orr that your verdict is now sought : you are called upon on your oaths to say, that the government is wise and merciful, that the people are prosperous and happy, that military law ought to be continued, that the British constJitution could not with safety be restored to this country, and that the statements of a contrary import by your advocates in either country were libelous and false. I tell you these are the ques- tions ; and I ask you, can you have the front to give the expected answer, in the face of a community who know the country as well as you do ? Let me ask you, how could you reconcile with such a verdict, the jails, the tenders, the gibbets, the conflagra- tions, the murders, the proclamations that we hear of every day in the streets, and see every day in the country ? What are the processions of the learned counsel himself, chcuit after circuit ? Merciful God ! what is the state of Ireland,, and where shall you find the wretched inhabitant of this land ? You fliay find him perhaps in jail, the only place of security, I had almost said, of ordinary habitation ; you may see him flying by the confla- grations of his own dwelling , or you may find his bones bleach- ing on the green fields of his comitry ; or he may be found tossing upon the surface of the ocean, and mingling his groans with those tempests, less savage than his persecutors, that drift bim to a returnless distance from his family and his home. And EARNEST DECLAMATION. 121 jet, with these facts ringing in the ears and staring in the face of the prosecutors, you are called upon to say, on your oaths, that these facts do not exist. You are called upon, in defiance of shame, of truth, of -honor, to deny the sufferings under which you groan, and to flatter the persecution that tramples you under foot. CURRAN. THE PUBLIC INFORMER. But the learned gentleman is further pleased to say, that the traverser has charged the government with the encouragement of informers. This, gentlemen, is another small fact that you are to deny at the hazard of your souls, and upon the solemnity of your oatlas. You are upon your oaths to say to the sister country, that the government of Ireland uses no such abomina- ble instruments of destruction as informers. Let me ask you honestly, what do you feel, when in my hearing, when in the face of this audience, you are called upon to give a verdict that every man of us, and every man of you, know by the testimony of your own eyes to be utterly and absolutely false ? I speak not now of the public proclamation of informers, with a promise of secrecy and of extravagant reward ; I speak not of the fate of those horrid wretches who have been so often transferred from the table to the dock, and from the dock to the pillory ; I speak of what your own eyes have seen day after day, during the course of this commission, from the box where you are now sit- ting ; the number of horrid miscreants who avowed upon their oaths that they had come from the very seat of government — from the castle, where .they had been worked upon by the fear of death and the hopes of compensation to give evidence against their fellows ; that the mild and wholesome councils of this gov- ernment are holden over these catacombs of living death, where the wretch that is buried a man, lies till his heart has time to fester and dissolve, and is then dug iip a witness. Is this fancy, or is it fact ? Have you not seen him, after his resurrection from that tomb, aflcr having been dug out of the region of death and corruption, make his appearance upon the table, the living image of life and of death, and the supreme arbiter of both ? Hftve you not marked when he entered, how the stormy wavf. of the multitude retired at his approach ? Have you not markel how the human heart bowed to the supremacy of his power, in the undissembled homage of deferential horror ? 11 • 122 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEU. How his glance, like the Ughtning of heaven, seemed to rive the body of the accused, and mark it for the gra'ie, while his voice warned the devoted wretch of woe and death ; a death which no innocence can escape, no art elude, no force resist, no antidote prevent. There was an antidote — a juror's oath : but even that adamantine chain, that bound the integrity of man to the throne of eternal justice, is solved and melted in the breath that issues from the informer's mouth ; conscience sivings from her mooring, and the appalled and aflfrighted juror consults his own safety in the surrender of the victim. curran. APPEAL TO THE JURY. 1 DO not wonder that the government of Ireland should stand appalled at the state to which we are reduced. I wonder not they should start at the public voice, and labor to stifle or con- tradict it. I wonder not that at this arduous crisis, when the very existence of the empire is at stake, and when its strongest and most precious Hmb is not girt with the sword for battle, but pressed by the tourniquet for amputation ; when they find the coldness of death already begun in those extremities where it never ends, that they are tenified at what they have done, and wish to say to the surviving parties of that emjsire, " They can- not say that we did it." I wonder not that they should consider their conduct as no immaterial question for a court of criminal jurisdiction, and wish anxiously, as on an inquest of blood, for the kind acquittal of a friendly jnry. I wonder not that they should wish to close the chasm they have opened by flinging you into the abyss. But trust me, my countrymen, you might perish in it, but you could not close it ; trust me, if it is yet pos- sible to close it, it can be done only by truth and honor ; trust me, that such an effect could no more be wrought by the sacri- fice of a jury, than by the sacrifice of Orr. As a state measure, the one would be as unwise and unavailing as the other ; but while you are yet upon the brink, while you are yet visible, let me, before we part, remind you once more of your awful situa- tion. The law upon this subject gives you supreme dominion. Hope not for much assistance from his lordship. On such oc- casions, perhaps the duty of the court is to be cold and neutral. I cannot but admire the dignity he has supported during this trial ; I am grateful for his patience. But let me tell you, it is not his province to fan the sacred flame of patriotism in the jury- EARNEST DECIAMATION. 123 box ; as he lias borne with the little extravagances of the law, do you bear with the little failing of the press. Let me there- fore remind you, that, though the day maj' soon come when our ashes shall be scattered before the winds of heaven, the memory of what you do cannot die ; it will carry down to your posterity your honor or your shame. In the presence and in the name ~ of the ever-living God, I do therefore conjure you to reflect that you have your characters, your consciences, that you have also the character, perhaps the rdtimate destiny, of your coun- try in your hands. In that awful name, I do conjure you to have mercy upon your country and yourselves, and so judge now, as you will hereafter be judged : and I do now submit the fate of my client, and of that coimtry which we yet have in common, to your disposal. curean. SPEECH OF MR. PHILLIPS, At a Meeting of the British, and Foreign Auxiliary Bible Society, London. Although I have not had the honor either of proposmg or seconding any of your resolutions, still, as a native of that coun- try so pointedly alluded to in your report, I hope I may be indulged in a few observations. The crisis in which we are placed is, I hope, a sufficient apology in itself for any intrusion ; but I find such apology is rendered more than unnecessary by the courtesy of this reception. Indeed, my lord, when we see omens which are every day arising — when we see blasphemy openly avowed— when we see the ' Scriptures audaciously ridi- culed — when, in this Christian monarchy, the den of the repub- lican and the deist yawns for the unwary in your most public thoroughfares — when marts are ostentatiously opened, where the moral poison may be purchased, whose subtile venom enters the very soul — when infidelity has become an article of com- merce, and man's perdition may be cheapened at the stall of every peddler — no friend of society should continue silent. It is no longer a question of political privilege — of sectarian con- troversy — of theological discussion ; it is become a question, whether Christianity itself shall stand, or whether we shall let go the firm anchor 'of our faith, and drift without chart, or hehn, or compass, into the shoreless ocean of impiety and blood ! I despise as much as any man the whine of bigotry • — I will go as far as any man for rational Uberty, but I will not depose my God to deify the infidel, or tear in pieces the charter of the state, 124 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. and groj^c for a constituiiun amongst the murky pigeoii-lioles of every ci'eedless, lawless, infuriated regicide. ^\'hen I saw, the other day, my lijrd, the chief bacchanal of their orgits — the man with wliom the apostles were cheals, and the proplicts liars, and Jesus an impostor — on his memorable trial, -withering hour after hour with the most horrid blasphe- mies — surrounded by the votaries of every sect, and the heads of every faith — the Christian archbishop — the Jewish rabbi — the men most eminent for their piety and their learning, whom he had purposely collected (o hear his infidel ridicule of all they reverenced — when I saw him raise the Holy Bible in one hand and the Age of Reason in the other, as it were confronting the Almighty with a rebel worm, till the pious judge grew pale, and the paiient jury interpo-pd, and the self-convicted wretch him- self, after having raved away all his originstl impiety, was reduced into a mere machine for the reproduction of the ribald blasphe- my of others — I could not help exclaiming, " Infatuated. man ! if all your impracticable madness could be realized, what would you give us in exchange for our establishment ? What would you substitute fur that just tribunal ? for whom would you dis- place that independent judge and that impartial jury ? Would you really burn the Gospel and erase the statutes, for the dread- ful equivalent of the crucifix and the gaiillotine !" Indeed, if I was asked for a practical panegyric on our constitution, I would adduce the very trial of that criminal ; and if the legal annals of any country upon earth furnished an instance, not merely of such justice, but of such patience and forbearance, such almost culpable indulgence, I would concede to him the triumph. I hope, too, in what I say, I shall not be considered as forsaking that illustrious example — I hope I am above an insult on any man in his situation — perhaps, had I the power, I would follow the example further than I ought — perhaps I would even hum- ble him into an evidence of the very spirit he spurned — and as our creed was reviled in his person, and vindicated in his conviction, so I would give it its noblest triumph in his sentence, and merely consign him to the j^iunishment of its mercy. THE SAME, CONTINUED But, indeed, my lord, the fate of this half infidel, half trading martyr, matters very little in comparison of that of the thousands he has corrupted. He has literally disseminated a moral plague, EARNEST DECLAMATION. 125 agfiinst ■wliich even the nation's quarfintine can scarce avail us. It has poisoned the fresh blood of infancy — it has disheartened the last hope of age ; if his own account of its circulation be correct, hundreds must be this instant tainted with the infectious venom whose sting dies not with the destruction of the body. Imagine not, because the pestilence smites not at once, that its fatality is less certain — imagine not because the lower orders are the earliest victims, that tlie most elevated will not suifer in their turn : the most mortal ohillness begins at the extremities ; and you may depend upon it, nothing but time and apathy are wanting to change this -healthful land into a charnel-house, where murder, anarchy, and prostitution, and the whole hell-brood of infidelity, will quaff' the heart's blood of the consecrated and the noble. My lord, I am the more indignant at these designs, because they are sought to be concealed in the disguise of liberty. It is the duty of every real friend to liberty to tear the mask from the fiend*who has usurped it. No, no ; this is not our Island Goddess, bearincj the mountain freshness on her cheeks, and scattering; the valley's bounty from her hand, known by the lights that herald her fair presence, the peaceful virtues that attend her path, and the long blaze of glory that lingers in her train : it is a demon, speaking fair indeed — tempting our faith with airy hopes and visionary realms, but even within the foldings of- its mantle hiding the bloody symbol of its purpose. Hear not its sophistry ; guard your child against it ; draw round your homes the conse- crated circle which it dare not enter. You will find an amulet in the religion of your country ; it is the great mound raised by the Almighty for the protection of humanity — it stands between you and the lava of human passions ; and oh, believe me, if you wait tamely by, while it is basely undermined, the fiery deluge will roll on, before which all that you hold dear, or venerable, or sacred, will wither into ashes. BeUeve no one who tells you that the friends of freedom are now, or ever were, the enemies of religion. Tliey know too well that rebellion against God cannot prove the basis of government for man, and that the loft- iest structure impiety can raise is but the Bafcftl monument of its impotence and its pride : mocking the builders vidth a mo- ment's strenffth, and then coverincj them with inevitable confu- sion. Do you want an example ? — only look to France. The microscopic vision of your rabble blasphemers has not sight enough to contemplate the mighty minds which commenced her revolution. The wit — the sage — the orator — the hero — the whole family of genius furnished forth their treasures, and gave them nobly to the nation's exigence. They had great prove- 126 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER cation — they had a glorious cause — they had all that human potenc}- could L;ive them. But they relied too much upon this human puk-ncy — they abjured their God, and, as a natural consequence they murdered their king — they culled their pol- luted deities from the brothel, and th"^ fall of the idol extinguished the flame of the altar. They crowded the scaffold with aU their country held of genius or of virtue, and when the peerage and the prelacy were exhausted, the mob-executioner of to-day became the mob-victim of to-morrow. Fo sex was spared — no age respected — no suffering pitied : and all this they did in the sacred name of liberty, though in the deluge of. human blood, they left not a mountain-top for the ark of hberty to rest on. But Prov- idence was neither " dead nor sleeping." It mattered not that for a moment tl-.eir impiety seemed to prosper — that victory panted after their ensanguined banners — that as their insatiate eagle soared against the sun, he seemed but to replume his wing and to renew his vision : it was only for a moment : and you see at last that in the very banquet of their triumph, the Almighty's vengeance blazed upon the wall, and their diadem fell from the brow of the idolater. Phillips. THE SAME, CONTINUED. Mt lord, I will not abjure the altar, the throne, and the con- stitution, for the bloody tinsel of this revolutionary pantomime. I prefer my God to the impious democracy of their pantheon. I will not desert my king for the political equality of their pan- demonium. I must see some better authority than the Fleet- street temple, before I forego the principles which I imbibed in my youth, and to which I look forward as the consolation of my age ; those all-protecting principles which at once guard, and consecrate, and sweeten the social intercourse — which give life, happiness ; and death, hope — which constitute man's purity his best protection, placing the infant's cradle and the female's couch beneath the sacred shelter of the nation's morality. Neither Mr. Paine or Mr. Palmer, nor all the venom-breathing brood, shall swindle from me the Book where I have learned these precepts. In despite of all their scoff, and scorn, and menacing, I say of the sacred volume they would obliterate, it is a book of facts, as well authenticated as any heathen history — a book of miracles, incontestibly avouched — a book of prophecy, confirmed EARNEST DECLAMATION. 127 by past as well as present fulfillment — a book of poetry pure and natural, and elevated even to inspiration — a book of morals, such as human wisdom never framed for the perfection of human happiness. My lord, I will abide by the precepts, admire the beauty, revere the mysteries, and, as far as in me lies, practice the mandates of this sacred volume : and should the ridicule of earth, and the blasphemy of hell assail me, I shall console myself by the contemplation of those blessed spirits, who in the same holy cause have toiled, and shone, and suffered. In the "goodly fellowship of the saints" — in the "noble army of martyrs" — in the society of the great, and good, and wise of every nation, — if my sinfidness be not cleansed, and my darkness illuminated, at least my pretensionless submission may be excused. If I err with the luminaries I have chosen for my g-uides, I confess myself captivated with the loveliness of their aberrations. If they err, it is in a heavenly repion — if they wander, it is in the fields of light — if they aspire, it is at all events a glorious daring ; and rather than sink with infidehty into the dust, I am content to cheat myself with their vision of eternity. It may indeed be nothing but delusion, but then I err with the disciples of philos- ophy and of virtue — with men who have drunk deep at the fountain of human knowledge, but who dissolved not the pearl of their salvation in the draught. I err with Bacon, the great Bacon — -the great confidant of nature, fraught with all the learn- ing of the past, and almost prescient of the future ; yet too wise not to know ■ his weakness, and too philosophic not to feel his ignorance. I err with Milton, rising on an angel's wing to heaven, and hke the bird of morn, soaring out of sight, amid the music of his grateful piety. I err with Locke, whose pure philosophy only taught him to adore its source, whose warm love of genuine hberty was never chilled into rebellion with its author. I err with Newton, whose star-like spirit shot athwart the darkness of the sphere, too soon to reascend to the home of his nativity. With men like these, my lord, I shall remain in error ; nor shall I desert those errors even for the drunken death-bed of a Paine, or the dehrious war-whoop of the surviv- ing fiends who would erect his altar on the ruins of society. In my opinion, it is difficult to say, whether their tenets are more ludicrous, or more detestable. They wiU not obey the king, or the prince, or the parliament, or the constitution ; but they wUl obey anarchy.. They will not believe in the prophets — in Moses — in the apostles — in Christ; but they believe Tom Paine 1 With no government but confusion, and no creed but skepticism, I believe in my soul they would abjure the one if it became legitimate, and rebel against the other :f it was once 128 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. established. Holding, my lord, opinions such as these, 1 should consider myself culpable, if at such a crisis I did not decl ire them. A lover of my country, I yet draw a line between j)atrio.ism and rebellion. A warm friend to liberty of conscience, I will not confound toleration with infidelity. With all its ambiguity, I shall die in the doctrines of the Christian faith ; and with all its errors, I am contented to hve under the glorious safeguards of the British constitution. Phillips. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. If Napoleon's fortune was great, his genius was transcend- ent ; decision flashed upon his counsels ; and it was the same to decide and to perform. To inferior intellects, his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly impracticable ; but, in his hands, simphcity marked their development, and success vindicated their adoption. His person partook the character of his mind — if the on(> never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in the field. Nature had no obstacles that he did not surmount — space no opposition that he did not spurn ; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity ! The whole continent of Europe trembled at beholding the a^idacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Skepticism bowed to the prodi- gies of his performance ; romance assumed the air of history ; nor was there aught too incredible for behef, or too fanciful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquity became common places in his contemplation ; kings were his people — nations were his outposts ; and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were the titular dignitaries of the chess-board ! Through this pantomime of his policy, fortune played the clown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took the color of his whim, and all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat assumed the appearance of victory — his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny — ruin itself only elevated him to empire. Amid all these changes he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or the drawing room — with EARNEST DECLAMATION. ItiO the mofc or the levee — wearing the Jacobin bonnet or the iron crown — banishing a Braganza, or espousing a Hapsburgh — ■ dictating peace on a raft to the czar of Russia, or contemplating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic — he was still the same military- despot 1 PHILLIPS. THE SAME, CONTINUED. Cradled in the camp, Bonaparte was to the last hour the darling of the army ; and whether in the camp or the cabinet, he never forsook a friend or forgot a favor. Of all his soldiers, not one abandoned him, till affection was useless ; and their first stipulation was for the safety of their favorite. They knew well that if he was lavish of them, he was prodi- gal of himself ; and that if he exposed them to peril, he repaid them with plunder. For the soldier, he subsidized every peo- ple ; to the people he made even pride pay tribute. The victo- rious veteran ghttered with his gains ; and the capital, gorgeous with the spoils of art, became the miniature metropolis of the universe. In this wonderful combination, his affectation of literature must not be omitted. The jailer of the press, he affected the patronage of letters — the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosophy — the persecutor of authors and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learn- ing ! — the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the bene- factor of De LiUe, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England. Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time f'lch an individual consistency, were never united in the same char- acter. A royalist — a repubhcan and an emperor — a Moham- medan — a Catholic and a patron of the synagogue — a suba'i- tem and a sovereign — a traitor and ■ a tyrant — ■ a Christian and an infidel — he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original — the same mysterious incom- prehensible self — the man without a model, and without a shadow. His fall, like his life, baffled all speculation. In short, his whole history was like a dream to the world, and no man can tell how or why he was awakened from the reverie. That he has done much evil, there is little doubt ; that he has been the origin of much good, there is just as little. Through his means, intentional or not, Spain, Portugal, and France have 130 THE NEW AilERICAN SPEAKER. arisen to tlie blessings of a free constitution ; superstition has found lier grave in tlie ruins of the inquisition ; and thi.' feudal system, with its whole train of tyrannic satellites, has fled for- ever. Kings may learn from him that their safest study, as well as their noblest, is the interest of the people ; the people are taught by him that there is no despotism so stupendous against which they have not a res(jurce ; aild to those who would rise upon the ruins of both, he is a living lesson, that if ambition can raise them from the lowest station, it can also prostrate them from the highest. hillips. APPEAL TO THE JURY AGAINST BLAKE Oh, gentlemen, am I this day only the counsel of my client ? No, no ; I am the advocate of humanity — of yoursehes — ■ your homes — your wives — your families — your little children. I am glad that this case exhibits such atrocity ; unmarked as it is by any mitigatory feature, it may stop the frightful advance of this calamity ; it will be met now, and marked with \engcanee. If it be not, farewell to the virtues of your country ; farewell to all confidence between man and man ; farewell to that unsuspi- cious and reciprocal tenderness, without which marriage is but a consecrated curse. If oaths are to be violated, laws disre- garded, friendship betrayed, humanity trampled, national and individual honor stained, and if a jury of fathers and of hus- bands will give such miscreancy a passport to their homes, and wives, and daughters, — farew-cll to all that yet remains of Ire- land ! But I will not cast such a doubt upon the character of my country. Against the sneer of the foe, and the skepticism of the foreigner, I will still point to the domestic vktues, that no perfidy could barter, and no bribery can purchase, that with a Roman usage, at once embellish and consecrate households, giv- ing to the society of the hearth all the purity of the altar ; that lingering alike in the palace and the cottage, are still to be found scattered over this land — the relic of what she was — the source perhaps of what she may be — the lone, the stately, and mag- nificent memorials, that rearing their majesty amid surrounding ruins, serve at once as the landmarks of the departed glory, and the models by which the future may be erected. Preserve those virtues with a vestal fidelity ; mark this day, by 3'our verdict, your hori'or of their profanation ; and believe me, whpu the hand which records that verdict shall be dust, and EABNBST DECLAMATION. 131 the tongue that asks it, traceless in the grave, many a happy horns will bless its consequences, and many a mother teach her little child to hate the impious treason of adultery. Phillips. APPEAL TO THE JURY IN BEHALF OF O'MULLAN. We must picture to ourselves a young man, 23artly by the self- denial of parental love, partly by the energies of personal exer- tion, struggling into a profession, where, by the pious exercise of his talents, he may make the fame, the wealth, the flatteries of this world, so many angel heralds to the happiness of the next. His precept is a treasure to the poor ; his practice, a model to the rich. When he reproves, sorrow seeks his presence as a sanctuary ; and in his path of peace, should he pause by the death-bed of despairing sin, the soul becomes imparadised in the light of his benediction 1 Imagine, gentlemen, you see him thus ; and then,. if you can, imagine vice so desperate as to defraud the world of so fair a vision. Anticipate for a moment the melancholy evidence we must too soon adduce to you. Behold him, by foul, deliberate and infamoiis calumny, robbed of the profession he had so struggled to obtain ; swindled from the flock he had so labored to ameliorate ; torn from the school where infant virtue vainly mourns an artificial orphanage ; hunted from the home of his youth, from the friends of his heart, a hopeless, fortuneless, companionless exile, hanging, in some stranger scene, on the precarious pity of the few, whose charity might induce their compassion to bestow what this remorseless slanderer would compel their justice to withhold ! I will not pui-sue this pictui-e ; 1 will not detain you from the pleasure of your possible compensation ; for oh ! divine is the pleasure you are destined to experience ; — dearer to your hearts shall be the sensation, than to your pride shall be the dignity it will give you. What ! though the people will hail the saviors of their pastor : what ! though the priesthood will hallow the g-uardians of their brother ; though many a peasant heart will leap at your name, and many an infant eye will embalm their fame who restored to life, to station, to dignity, to character, the venerable friend who taught their trembhng tongues to lisp the rudiments of virtue and religion ; still dearer than all will be the consciousness of the deed. Nor, believe me, countrymen, will it rest here. Oh •no : if there be light in instinct, or truth in revelation, believe me, at '"hat awful hour, when you shall await the last inevitable 132 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. verdict, the eye of your Lope will not be the less biiglit, nor the agony of your ordeal the more acute, because you shall have, by this day's deed, redeemed the Almighty's persecuted apostle fi-om the grasp of an insatiate malice — from the. fang of a worse than Philistine persecution. Phillips. THE SAME, CONTINUED. I AM told they triumph much in this conviction. I seek not to impugn the verdict of that jury ; I have no doubt they acted conscientiously. It weighs not with me that every member of my client's creed was carefully excluded from that jury — no doubt they acted conscientiously. It wighs not with me that every man impanneled on the trial of the priest were exclusively Protestant, and that, too, in a city so prejudiced, that not long ago, by their corporation law, no Catholic dared breathe the air of heaven within its walls — no doubt they acted conscientiously. If weighs not with me, that not three days previously, one of that jury was heard publicly to declare, he wished he could persecute the papist to his death — no doubt they acted conscientiously. It weighs not with me that the public mind had been so inflamed by the exasperation of this libeler that an impartial trial was utterly impossible. Let them enjoy then- triumph. But for my- self, knowing him as I do, here in the teeth of that conviction, I declare it, I would rather be that man, so aspersed, so impris- oned, so persecuted, and have his consciousness, than stand the highest of the courtliest rabble that ever crouched before the foot of power, or fed upon the people-plundered alms of despotism. Oh ! of short duration is such demoniac triumph. Oh ! blind and groundless is the hope of vice, imagining that its victory can be more than for the moment. This very day I hope will prove that if virtue suffers, it is but for a season ; and that sooner or later, their patience tried, and their purity testified, prosperity will crown the interests of probity and worth. Phillips. APPEAL TO THE JURY AGAINST DILLON. I AM told, indeed, this gentleman entertains an opinion, preva- lent enough in the age of a feudalism, as arrogant as it was bar- barous, that the poor are only a species of property, to be treated EAENEST DECLAMATION. 133 according to interest or caprice ; and that wealth is at once a patent for crime, and an exemption from its consequences. Hap- pily for this hind, the day of such opinions has passed over it ; the eye of a purer feeling and more profound philosophy now beholds riches but as one of the aids to virtue, and sees in oppressed poverty only an additional stimulus to increased pro- tection. A generous heart cannot help feeling, that in cases of this kind the poverty of the injured is a dreadful aggravation. If the rich suffer, they have much to console them ; but when a poor man loses the darling of his heart — the sole pleasure with which nature blessed him — how abject, how cureless is the despair of his destitution ! Believe me, gentlemen, you have not only a solemn duty to perform, but you have an awful responsi- bility imposed upon you.' You are this day, in some degree, trustees for the morality of the people — perhaps of the whole nation ; for, depend upon it, if the sluices of immorality are once opened among the lower orders, the frightful tide, drifting upon its surface all that is dignified or dear, will soon rise even to the habitations of the highest. I feel, gentlemen, I have discharged my duty — I am sure you will do yours. I repose my client with confidence in your hands ; and most fervently do I hope, that when evening shall find you at your happy fireside, surrounded by the sacred circle of your children, you may not feel the heavy curse gnawing at your heart, of having let loose, unpunished, the prowler that may devour them. Phillips. ON THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS. There is, however, one subject connected with this trial, public in its nature, and universal in its interest, which imperiously calls for an exemplary verdict ; I mean the liberty of the press — a theme which I approach with mingled sensations of awe, and agony, and admiration. Considering all that we too fatally, have seen — all that, perhaps, too fearfully we may have cause to apprehend, I feel myself cling to that residuary safeg-uard, with an affection no temptation can seduce, with a suspicion no ano- dyne can lull, with a fortitude that peril but infuriates. In the direful retrospect of experimental despotism, and the hideous prospect of its possible reanimation, I clasp it with the despera- tion of a widowed female, who, in the desolation of her house, and the destruction of her household, hurries the last of her offspring through the flames, at once the relic of her joy, the 134 THE KBW AMERICAN SPEAKER. depository of her ^vealLli, and the remembrancer of her happi- ness. It is the duty of us all to guard strictly this inestimable privilege — - a privilege ■« hich can ne'\-or be destroyed, save by the hcentiousness of those who mllfuUy abuse it. No, it is not in the arrogance of power — no, it is not in tlie artifices of law — no, it is not in the fatuity of princes — no, it is not in the venal- ity of parhaments — t(j crush this mighty, this majestic privilege ! Reviled, it will remonstrate ; murdered, it will revive ; buried, it will reascend. The very attempt at its oppression, will prove the truth of its immortality ; and the atom that presumed to spurn, will fade away befijre the tnimpet of its retribution. Man holds it on the same principle that he dues his soul : the powers of this world cannot pi-evail against it, it can only perish through its own depravity. Wha,t then shall be his fate, through whose instrumentality it shall be sacrificed ! Nay more, what shall be his fate, who, intrusted with the guardianship of its security, becomes the traitorous accessarj- to its ruin ? Nay more, what shall be his fate by whom its powers, delegated for the public good, are convei'ted into the calamities of private virtue ; against whom, industry denounced, merit undeiniiiied, morals calumni- ated, piety aspersed, all through the means confided for their protection, cry aloud for vengeance ? What shall be his fate ? Oh, I would hold such a monster, so protected, so sanctified, and so sinning-, as I would some demon, who troin-i' forth, consecr;ited in the name of Deity, the book of life on his lips and the dagger of death beneath his robi-, awaits the sigh of piety as the signal of plunder, and unveins the heart's blood of confiding adoration. PHILLIPS. THE ADVANTAGES OF EDUCATION. No doubt you have all personally considered — no doubt you have all personally experienced, that of all the blessings which it has pleased Providence to allow us to cultivate, there is not one which breathes a purer fragrance, or bears a heaven- lier aspect, than education. It is a companion which no misfor- tunes can depress, no clime destroy, no enemy alienate, no des- potism enslave : at home a friend, abroad an introduction, in solitude a solace, in society an ornament : it chastens vice, it guides virtue, it gives at once a grace and government to genius. Without it, what is man ? A splendid slave ! a reasoning savage, vacillating between the dignity of an intelligence derived BARNEST DECLAMATION. 135 from God, and the degradation of passions participated with brutes ; and in the accident of their alternate ascendancy shud- dering at the terrors of an hereafter, or embracing the horrid hope of annihilation. What is this wondrous world of his residence ? " A mighty maze, and all without a plan ;" a dark and desolate and dreary cavern, without wealth, or orna- ment or order. But light up within it the torch of knowledge, and how wondrous the transition ! The seasons change, the atmosphere breathes, the landscape lives, earth unfolds its fruits, ocean rolls in its magnificence, the heavens display their constel- lated canopy, and the grand animated spectacle of nature rises revealed before him, its varieties regulated, and its mysteries resolved ! The phenomena which bewilder, the prejudices which debase, the superstitions which enslave, vanish before education. Like the holy symbol which blazed upon the cloud before the hesitating Constantine, if man follow but its precepts, purely, it will not only lead him to the victories of this world, but open the very portals of Omnipotence for his admission. Cast your eye over the monumental map of ancient grandeur, once studded with the stars of empire and the splendors of philosophy. What erected the little state of Athens into a powerful common- wealth, placing in her hand the scepier of legislation, and wreath- ing roimd her brow the imperishable chaplet of literary fame ? what extended Rome, the haunt of banditti, into universal em- pire ? what animated Sparta with that high, unbending, adamant- ine coiu-age, which conquered nature herself, and has fixed her in the sight of future ages, a model of public virtue, and a proverb of national independence ? What but those wise piibhc institu- tions which strengthened their minds with early application, informed their infancy with the jorinciples of action, and sent them into the world, too vigilant to be deceived by its calms, and too vigorous to be shaken by its wirlwinds ? Phillips. APPEAL TO THE JURY IN BEHALF OF GUTHRIE. I DO not doubt that you will discharge yourselves of it as be- comes your characters. I am sure, indeed, that you will mourn with me over the almost solitary defect in our otherwise match- less system of jurisprudence, which leaves the perpetrators of s ich an injury as this subject to no amercement but that of 136 THE KBIT AMERICAN SPEAKER. money. I tliink you -svill lament the failure of the great Cicero of our age, to bring such an oli'cnse within the cognizance of a criminal jurisdiction ; it was a subject suited to his legislative mind, worthy of his fcchng heart, worthy of his inimortal elo- quence. I cannot, my lord, even remotely allude to Lord Erskine, without gi-atifying myself by saying of him, that, by the rare union of all that was learned in law with all that was lucid in eloquence, by the sing-ular combination of all that was pure in morals with all that was profound in wisdom ; he has stamped upon every action of his life the blended authority of a great mind and an unquestionable conviction. I think, gentle- men, you will regret the failure of such a man in such an object. The merciless murderer may have manliness to plead ; the highway robber may have want to palhate ; yet they both are objects of criminal infliction : but the murderer of connubial bliss, who commits his crime in secrecy- — -the robber of domestic joys, whose very wealth, as in this case, may be his instrument — he is suffered to calculate on the infernal fame which a sujjer- flous and rmfelt expenditure may purchase. The law, however, is so, and we must only adopt the remedy it affords us. In your adjudication of that remedy, I do not ask too much, when I ask the full extent of your capability ; how poor, even so, is the wretched remuneration for an injury which nothing can repair, for a loss which nothing can alleviate ? Do you think that a mine could recompense my client for the forfeiture of her who was dearer than life to him ? " Oh, had she been but true, Though heaven had made him such another world Of one entire and perfect chrysolite. He 'd not exchange her for it !" I put it to any of you, what would you take to stand in his situation ? What would you take to have your prospects blasted, your profession despoiled, your peace ruined, your bed profaned, your parents heart-broken, your children parentless ? Believe, gentlemen, if it were not for those children, he would not come here to-day to seek such remuneration ; if it were not that, by your verdict, you may prevent those little innocent defrauded wretches from becoming wandering beggars, as well as orphans on the face of this earth. Oh, I know I need not ask this ver- dict from your mercy ; I need not extort it from your compas- sion ; I will receive it from your justice. I do conjure you, not as fathers, but as husbands : — not as husbands, but as citizens: — not as citizens, but as men: — not as men, but as Christians : — by all your obligations, public, private, moral, and religious ; by the hearth profaned ; by the home desolated ; EARNEST DECLAMATION. 137 by the canons of the living God foully spurned ; — save, oh ! save your fii<^sides from the contagion, your country from the crime, and perhaps thousands, yet unborn, from the shame, and sin, and sorrow of this example ! Phillips. AN APPEAL TO THE JURY. I WILL not now stop to inquire whose property the city may be considered to be ; but the learned gentleman seems to forget, that the election by that city, to whomsoever it may belong, is absolutely void, without the approbation of that very lord lieu- tenant, who is the prosecutor in this case. I do therefore repeat, gentlemen, that not a man of you has been called in that box by the voice of my client ; that he has had no power to object to a single man among you, though the crown, has : and that you yourselves must feel under what influence you are chosen, or for what qualifications you are particularly selected. At a moment when this wretched land is shaken to its center by the dreadful conflicts of the different branches of the community ; between those who call themselves the partisans of liberty, and those that call themselves the partisans of power : between the advocates of infliction, and the advocates of sufl'ering ; vipon such a ques- tion as the present, and at such a season, can any man be at a loss to guess from what class of character and opinion a friend to either party would resort for that jury, which was to decide between both ? I trust, gentlemen, you know me too well to suppose that I could be capable of treating you with any per- sonal disrespect ; I am speaking to you in the honest confidence of your fellow-citizen. When I allude to those unworthy impu- tations of supposed bias, or passion, or partiality, that may have marked you out for your present situation, I do so in order to warn you of the ground on which you stand, of the point of awful responsibility in which you are placed, to your conscience, and to your country ; and to remind you, that if you have been put into that box from any unworthy reliance on your complai- sance or your servility, you have it your power before you leave it, to refute and to punish so vile an expectation by the integrity of your verdict ; to remind you that you have it in your power to show to as many Irishmen as yet linger in this country, that all law and justice have not taken their flight with our prosperity and peace ; that the sanctity of an oath, and the honesty of a 12 138 THE ;;ew American speaker. juror are not dead amongst us ; and that if our courts of justice are superseded by so many strange and terrible tribunals, it is not because they are deficient either in ivisdom or virtue. cueran. THE FALLEN WIFE. V/ell might she lament over her fallen fortunes ! well might she mourn over the memory of days -when the sun of heaven seemed to rise but for her happiness ! well might she recall the home she had endeared, the children she had nursc.d, the hapless husband, of who^e life she was the pulse ! But one short week before, this earth could not reveal a lovelier visi(jn ; — virtue blessed, affection followed, beauty beamed on her : the light of every eye, the charm of every heart, she moved along in cloud- less chastity, cheered by the song of love, and circled by the splendors she created ! Behold her now, tlie loathsome refuse of an adulterous bed ; festering in the very infection of her crime ; the scoff and scorn of their unmanly, merciless, inhuman author ! But thus it ever is with the votaries of guilt ; the birth of their crime is the death of their enjoyment ; and the wretch who flings his offering on its altar, falls an immediate victim to the flame of his devotion. I am glad it is so ; it is a wise, retributive dispen- sation ; it bears the stamp of a preventive Providence. I rejoice it is so, in the present instance, first, because this premature infliction must insure repentance in the wretched suft'erer : and next, because, as this adulterous fiend has rather acted on the suggestions of his nature than his shape, by rebelling against the finest impulse of man, he has made himself an outlaw from the sympathies of humanity. Why should he expect that charity from you, which he would not spare even to the misfortunes he had inflicted ? For the honor of the form in which he is dis- guised, I am willing to hope he was so blinded by his vice, that he did not see the full extent of those misfortunes. If he had feelings capable of being touched, it is not to the faded victim of her own weakness, and of his wickedness, that I would direct them. There is something in her crime which affrights charity from its commiseration. Phillips. THE SAME, CONTINUED. But, gi;ntlemen, there is one, over whom pity may mourn, — for he is wretched ; and mourn w'thout a blush, — for he is guilt- EABNEST DECLiiMATION. 139 less. Hovr shall I depict to you the deserted husband? To every other object in this catalogue of calamity there is one stain attached which checks compassion. But here — oh! if ever there was a man amiable, it was that man — oh ! if ever there was a husband fond, it was that husband. His hope, his joy, his ambition was domestic ; his toils were forgotten in the affections of his home ; and amid every adverse variety of fortune, hope pointed to his children, — and he was comforted. By this vile act that hope is blasted, that house is a desert, those children are parentless ! In vain do they look to their surviving parent : his heart is broken, his mmd is in ruins : his very form is fading from the earth. He had one consolation, an aged mother, on whose life the remnant of his fortunes himg, and on whose protection of his children his remainmg prospects rested ; even that is over ; she could not survi"\"e his shame, she never raised her head, she became hearsed m his misfortune ; ■ — he has followed her funeral. If this be not the climax of human misery, tell me in what does human misery consist ? Wife, parent, fortune, prospects, hap- piness, — all gone at once, ■ — and gone forever ! For my part, when I contemplate this, I do not wonder at the impression it has produced on him ; I do not wonder at the faded form, the dejected air, the emaciated countenance, and all the niinous and moldering trophies, by which misery has marked its triumph over youth, and health, and happiness ? I know, that in the hordes of what is called fashionable life, there is a sect of phi- losophers, wonderfully patient of their fellow-creatures' suffer- ings ; men too insensible to feel for any one, or too selfisli to feel for others. I trust there is not one amongst you who can even hear of such calamities without affliction ; or if there be, I pray that he may never know their import by experience ; that having, in the wilderness of this world, but one dear darling object, with- out whose participation bliss would be joyless, and in whose sympathies sorrow has found a charm ; whose smile has cheered his toil, whose love has pillowed his misfortunes, whose angel- spirit, guiding him through danger, and darkness, and despair, amid the world's frown and the friend's perfidy, was more than friend, and world, and all to him ! — God forbid, that by a villain's wile, or a villain's v.ickedness, he should be taught how to appre- ciate the woe of others in the dismal solitude of his own. Oh, no ! I feel that I address myself to human beings, who, knowing the value of what the world is worth, are capable of appreciating all that makes it dear to us. Phillips. 140 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. CURRAN AGAINST MR. JU.-^TICE JOHNSON. I CANXOT but obsene the son of scunic preparation with which this sad drama is sounlit to be brought forward. In part I ap- prove it ; in part it excites my distjust and biJignation. I am glad to find that the attorney and solicitor general, tlie natural and official prosecutors for the state, do not appear; and I infer from their absence, that his excellency the lord heulenant dis- claims any personal concern in this excei-able transaction. I think it does him much honor ; it is a conduct that equally ai^rijes ivith the dignity of his cliaracter and the feelings of his heart. To his private virtues, whenever he is left to their influ- ence, I willingly concur in giving the most unqualified tribute of respect. And I do firmly believe, it is with no small regnjt that he suffers his name to be even formally made use of, in avowing for a return of one of the judges of the land, with as much indifference and nonclialance as if he w(;rc a beast of tlie plow. I observe too, the dead silence into which the public is frowned by authority for the sad occasion. No man dares to mutter ; no newspaper dares to whisper that such a question is afloat. It seems an inquiry among the tombs, or rather in the shades beyond them, Ibant sola sub nocte per iimbram. I am glad it is so — I am glad of this factitious dumbness ; for if murmurs dared to become audible, my voice would be too feeble to drown them ; but when all is hushed — when nature sleeps — - Cum quies mortalibus aegris, the weakest voice is heard — the shepherd's whistle shoots across the listening darkness of the interminable heath, and ffives notice that the wolf is upon his walk ; and the same gloom and stillness that tempt the monster to come abroad, facihtate the communi- cation of the warning to beware. Yes, through that silence the voice shall be heard ; yes, through that silence the shepherd shall be put upon his gaiard ; yes, through that silence shall the felon savage be chased into the toil. Yes, my lords, I feel myself cheered and impressed by the composed and dignified fittention with which I see you are disposed to hear me on the most important question that has ever been subjected to your consideration ; the most important to the dearest rights of the human being ; the most deeply interesting and animatino- that can beat in his heart, or burn upon his tongue — Oh ! how recre- ating is it to feel that occasions may arise in which the soul of EARNEST DECLAMATION. 141 man may resuijie lier pretensions ; in which she hears the voice of nature whisper to her, os kvmini subiime dedi ccelwmque tueri; in which even I can look vp with cahn security to the court, and down with the most profoimd contempt upon the reptile I mean to tread upon ! I say, reptile ; because, when the proudest man in society becomes so the dupe of his childish malice, as to wish to inflict on tha object of his vengeance the poison of his sting, to do a reptile's work he must shrink into a reptile's dimension ; and so shrunk, the only way to assail him is to tread upon him. THE SAME CONTINUED. I iiAT be told, that I am putting imaginary and ludicrous, but not probable, and therefore, not supposable cases. But I an- swer, that reasoning would be worthy only of a slave, and dis- graceful to a freeinan. I answer, that the condition and essence of rational freedom is, not that the subject probably will not be abused, but that no man in the state shall be clothed with any discretionary power, under the color and pretext of which he can dare to abuse him. As to probability, I answer, that in the mind of man there is no more instigating temptation to the most remorseless oppression, than the rancor and malice of irritated pride and wounded vanity. — To the argument of improbabilitj', I answer, the very fact, the very question in debate, nor to such answer can I see the possibility of any reply, save that the prosecutors are so heartily sick of the point of view into which they have put themselves by their prosecution, that they are not likely again to make a similar experiment. But when I see any man fearless of power, because it possibly, or probably, may not be exercised upon him, I am astonished at his fortitude ; I am astonished at the tranquil courage of any man who can quietly see that a loaded cannon is brought to bear upon him, and that a fool is setting at its touch-hole with a lighted match in his hand. And yet, my lords, upon a little reflection, what is it, after what v.-e have seen, that should surprise u.s, however it may shook us ? What have the last ten years of the world been employed in, but in destroying the landmarks of rights, and duties,^ and obligations ; in substituting sounds in the place of sen^e ; in substituting a vile and canting methodism in the place of social duty and practical honor ; in suffering virtue to evapo- rate into phrase, and morality into hypocrisy and affectation ? — We talk of the violations of Hamburgh or of Baden ; we talk of 142 THE SEW 4.MERICAN SPEAKER. the dcspotical and remorseless barbarian who ti-amples on tlie common privileges of the human being; who, in defiance of (lie most kno^Yn and sacred rights, issues the brutal mandate of usurped authority ; who brings his victim by force within the limits of a jurisdiction to which he never owed obedience, and there butchers him for a constructive offense. Does it not seem as if it was a contest whether we should be more scurrilous in invective, or more atrocious in imitation ? Into what a condition must we be sinking, when we have the front to select as the sub- jects of our obloquy those very crimes which we have flung behind us in the race of profligate rivality ! curean. THE SAME, CONTINUED. Such, I am satisfied, was the counsel given ; but I have no apprehension for my client, because it was not taken. Even if it should be his fate to be surrendered to his keepers — to be torn from his family — to have his obsequies performed by torch- light — to be carried to a foreign land and to a strange tribunal, where no witness can attest his innocence, where no ■^•oice that he ever heard can be raised in his defense ; where he must stand mute, not of his malice, but the malice of his enemies — yes, even so, I see nothing for him to fear ; that all-gracious Being, that shields the feeble from the oppressor, will fill his heart with hope, and confidence, and courage ;. his sufferings will be his armor, and his weakness will be his strength. He will find him- self in the hands of a brave, a just and a generous nation. He will find that the bright examples of her Russells and her Sid- neys have not been lost to her children ; they will behold him with sympathy and respect, and his persecutors with shame and abhorrence. They will feel, too, that what is then his situation, may to-morrow be their own ; but their first tear will be shed for him, and the second only for themselves. Their hearts will melt in his acquittal ; they will convey him kindly and fondly to their shore ; and he will return in triumph to his country, to the threshold of his sacred home, and to the weeping welcome of his delighted family. He will find that the darkness of a dreary and lingering night hath at length passed away, and that joy Cometh in the morning. — No, my lords, I have no fear for the ultimate safety of my client. Even in these very acts of brutal violence that have been committed against him, do I hail the flattering hope of final advantage to him, and of better days KARNEST DECLAMATION. 143 and more prosperous fortune for this afilicted country — that country of which I have so often abandoned all hope, and whioh I have so often determined to quit forever. curran. CURRAN AGAINST THE MARQUIS OF HEADFORD. In the middle of the day, at the moment of Divine worship, when the miserable husband was on his knees, directing the prayers and thanksgivings of his congregation to their God — that moment did the remorseless adulterer choose to carry off the deluded victim from her husband, from her child, from her character, from her happiness ; as if not content to leave his crime confined to its miserable aggravations, unless he gave it the cast and color of factitious sacrilege and impiety. Oh, how happy had it been when he arrived at the bank of the river with the ill-fated fugitive, ere yet he had committed her to that boat, of which, like the fabled barque of Stjx, the exile was eter- nal, how happy at that moment, so teeming with misery and with shame, if you, my lord, had met him, and could have ac- costed him in the character of that good genius which had aban- doned him. ' How impressively might you have pleaded the cause of the father, of the child, of the mother, and even of the worthless defendant himself. You would have said, "Is this the requital that you are about to make for respect and kindness and confidence in your honor ? Can you deliberately expose this young man, in tlie bloom of hfe, with all his hopes before him ? — can you expose him, a wretched outcast from society, to the scorn of a merciless world ? Can you set him adrift upon the tem- pestuous ocean of his own passions, at this early season when they are most headstrong ; and can you cut him out from the moorings of those domestic obligations by whose cable he might ride at safety from their turbulence ? Think of, if you can con- ceive it, what a powerful influence arises from the sense of home, from the sacred religion of the hearth, in quelling the passions, in reclaiming the wanderings, in correcting the discords of the human heart ; do not cruelly take from him the protection of these attachments. But if you have no pity for the father, have mercy at least upon his innocent and helpless child ; do not con- demn him to an education scandalous or neglected, — do not strike him into that most dreadful of all human conditions, the orphanage that springs not from the grave, that falls not from 144 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. the hand of Providence, or the stroke of death ; but comes before its time, anticipated and inflicted by the remorseless cruelty of parental guilt. NOBLE TRIBUTE TO LORD AVONMORE. I AM not ignorant, my lord, that this extraordinary construc- tion has received the sanction of another court, nor of the sur- prise and dismay with which it smote upon the general heart of the bar. I am aware that I may have the mortification of being told, in another country, of that unhappy decision ; and I foresee in what confusion I shall hang down my head when I am told it. But I cherish too the consolatory hope, that I shall be able to tell them that I had an old and learned friend, whom I would put above all the sweepings of their haJl, who was of a different opinion ; who had derived his ideas of civil liberty from the purest fountains of Athens and of Rome ; who had fed the youthful vigor of his studious mind with the theoretic knowledge of their wisest philosophers and statesmen ; and who had refined the theory into the quick and exquisite sensibility of moral instinct, by contemplating the practice of their most illustrious examples ; by dwelling on the sweet-souled piety of Cimon ; .on the anticipated Christianity of Socrates ; on the gallant and pa- thetic patriotism of Epaminondas ; on that pure austerity of Fabri- cus, whom to move from his integrity would have been more difficult than to have pushed the sun from his course. I would add, that if he had seemed to hesitate, it was but for a moment ; that his hesitation was like the passing cloud that floats across the morning sun, and hides it from the view, and does so for a moment hide it, by involving the spectator without even approach- ing the face of the luminary ; and this soothing hope I draw from the dearest and tenderest recollections of my life, from the remembrance of those Attic nights, arid those refections of the gods which we have spent with those admired and respected and beloved companions who have gone before us ; — over whose ashes the most precious tears of Ireland have been shed : yes, my good lord, I see you do not forget them ; I see their sacred forms passing in sad revievf before your memory ; I see your pained and softened fancy recalling those happy meetings, when the innocent enjoyment of social mirth expanded into tlie nobler warmth of social virtue ; and the horizon of the board became enlarged into the horizon of man ; — when the swelling heart conceived and communicated the pure and generous purpose — EARNEST DECLAMATION. 145 when my slenderer and younger taper inbibed its oorrowed light from the more matured and redundant fountain of jows. Yes, my lord, we can remember those nights without any other regret than that they can never more return, for " We spent them not in toys, or lust, or wine, But search of deep philosophy, Wit, eloquence and poesy, — Arts which I lov'd ; for they, my friend, were thine." CUKKAN PRINCE LEWIS' ANSWER TO THE POPE'S LEGATE. Your grace shall pardon me, I wiU not back ; I am too high-born to be propertied, To be a secondary at control, Or useful serving-man, and instrument, To any sovereign state throughout the world. Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars. Between this chastised kingdom and myself. And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; And now 't is far too huge to be blown out With that same weak wind which enkindled it. You taught me how to know the face of right. Acquainted me with interest to this land. Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; And come you now to tell me John hath made His peace with Kome ? What is that peace to me ? I, by the honor of my marriage-bed, After young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; Ajid, now it is half conquered, must I back, Because that John hath made his peace with Rome ? Am I Rome's slave ? What penny hath Rome borne. What men provided, what munition sent, To imderprop this action ? is 't not I That undergo this charge ? Who else but I, And such as to my claim are hable, Sweat in this business, and maintain this war ? Have I not heard these islanders shout out, Vive le roi ! as I have banked their towns ? Have I not here the best cards for the game. To win this easy match played for a crown ? And shall I now give o'er the yielded set ? No, on my soul, it never shall be said. 13 146 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Outside or inside, I will not return Till my attempt so much be glorified As to my ample hope was promised Before I drew this gallant head of war, And culled these fiery spirits from the world. To outlook conquest, and to win renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death. shakspeare. DESTINY OF THE HUMAN RACE UPON THE EARTH. How shall the destiny of the race be accomplished ? By sending the searching eye of science, and the warm current of philanthrophy into the social relations of man ; organizing labor so as to lift the yoke of poverty from the millions, and wrench the scepter of tyranny and monopoly from the hands of the few ; ' by reorganizing the whole structure of society — so far as it is not constituted for the pure satisfaction, but for negation of the social and moral sentiments in man : consulting nothing but love in marriage ; nothing but friendship in the dealings of man with man ; nothing but a noble ambition, based upon natural superiority, in the determination of rank and precedence among men ; nothing but the gen'yiine feehng of paternity in the • relations of the old and young, 'strong and weak, patron and ' client, master and servant. Do you say these things are impossible ? Then is Christimiily impossible. Then is man's destiny, written in blazing characters on his mental and moral constitution, a mere " blustering tale that is told, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Then the voices that come as from beyond the grave in the deep tones of bards and prophets, and the soul's whisper that seems to come from God, telling of future triumphs and unrealized glories, are but " from lying lips and a deceitful tongue." Then are all the great results of history, the mighty hopes of the future, the far reaching ener- gies of the present, and all the fraits for which man toils, not for himself, but for posterity, but the apples of Sodom, fair to the view, but dust and ashes to the taste. But no ; there is a better faith, a nobler hope, a juster apprehension of the future destiny of the race. Do you mark a battle-field at the moment of the raging contest ; when amidst the roar of can- non, the shrieks and tumult of a helhsh fury, the groans of the dying, and the tramplmg thunder of ten thousand feet, man contends against his brother, deals death upon him, and tearful EARNEST DECLAMATION. 147 sorrow upon those lie holds dear — yet all unconsciou? of his fearful cruelty, while the thought .of honor, or of country, or reUgion, fires his heart and nerves his arm ? Such is the present aspect of the life of man ; of his industrial system ; his compet- ative labors ; his civilization, commercial, political and religious. Do you mark that same battle-field, when the trodden grass has been upreared by the hand of nature, and strewed with flowers ; when under its deeply shadowing trees, the peaceful flocEs appear ; and the cheerful song of birds is heard, and men in loving fellowship walk forth, therein enjoying and reciprocat- ing the sweet converse of sympathy and friendship ? Such is the destined condition of the race upon the earth ; when man shall realize every high ideal and noble aspiration of his nature ; when he shall remove every sorrow and degradation that bows down his spirit to the dust ; when science and art, philosophy and rehgion shall crown his head with glory , and imparadise his earthly habitation ; when the visions of the prophet, the dreams of the poet, the aspirations of the philanthropist, the sacred hopes of the martyr, shall not merely fill vrith admiration the heart of youth, and quicken the sluggish pulses of old age, but shall stand reahzed in the full and glorious fruition of an im- perishable and noble destiny. Oh ! Hope, bear us on thy trem- bling wings to that sublime future ; and let thy sister. Faith, touch our eyes with her heaven-piercing power to see those divine images that ever beckon our souls upward to perfection,, and fill its silent chambers with the far-off music and symphony of a new created world 1 j. c. zachos. 148 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. DECLAMATION. — VEHEftlENT INVECTIVE. EMPLOYMENT OF INDIANS IN CIVILIZED WARFARE. I AM astonished ! — shocked ! to hear such principles con- fessed — to hear them avowed in this house, or in tliis country, principles equally unconstitutional, inhuman, and unchristian ! My lords, I did not intend to have encroached again upon your attention ; but I cannot repress my indignation. I feel myself impelled by every duty. My lords, we are called upon as members of this house, as men, as Christian men, to protest against such notions standing near the throne, polluting the ear of majesty. " That God and nature put into our hands !" — I know not what ideas that lord may entertain of God and nature ; but I know that such abominable principles are equally abhor- rent to leligion and humanity. What ! to attribute the sacred sanction of God and nature to the massacre of the Indian scalp- ing-knife — to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, roast- ing, and eating, literally, my lords, eating the mangled victims of his barbarous battles ! Such horrible notions shock every precept of religion, divine or natural, every generous feehng of humanity, and every sentiment of honor. These abominable principles, and this more abominable avowal of them, demand the most decisive indignation. I call upon that right reverend bench, those holy ministers of the gos- ple, and pious pastors of our church ; I conjure them to join in the holy work, and vindicate the religion of their God. I ap- peal to the wisdom and the law of this learned bench, to defend and support the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops, to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn ; upon the learned judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save us from this pollution. I call upon the honor of your lordships, to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and maintain your own. I call upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindicate the national character. I invoke the genius of the con- stitution. From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the im- mortal ancestors of this noble lord frown with indignation at the disgrace of his country. In vain he led your victorious fleets against the boasted armada of Spain ; in vain he defended and established the honor, the liberties, the reUgion, the protestant religion, of this couctry, against the arbitary cruelties of popery DECLAMATION. — VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. 149 and _ the inquisition, if these more that popish cruelties and inquisitorial practices are let loose among us. — To turn forth into our settlements, among our ancient connections, friends, and relations, the merciless cannibal, thirsting for the blood of man, woman, and child ! to send forth the infidel savage — against Tv-hom ? against your protestant brethren ; to lay waste their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race and name, with these horrible hell-hounds of savage war ! — hell- hounds, I say, of savage war. ' Chatham MOLOCH AND SATAN, BEFORE THE POWERS OF HELL. One there was there, whose loud defying tongue Nor hope nor fear had silenced, Lut the swell Of overboiling malice. Utterance long His passion mocked, and long he strove to tell His laboring h'e ; still syllable none fell From his pale quivering lip, but died away For very fury ; from each hollow cell Half sprang his eyes, that cast a flamy ray. " This comes," at length burst from the fui'ious cliief, " This comes of dastard counsels ! Here behold The fruits of wily cunning! the relief Which coward pohcy would fain unfold To sooth the powers that warred with heaven of old. Oh wise ! oh potent ! oh sagacious snare ! , And lo ! our prince — ' the mighty and the bold, There stands he, spell-struck, gaping at the air, While heaven subverts his reign and plants her standard there." Here, as recovered, Satan fixed his eye Full on the speaker ; dark as it was stern ; He v/rapped his black vest round him gloopiily And stood like one whom weightiest thoughts concern. Him Moloch marked and strove again to turn His soul to rage. " Behold, behold," he cried, " The lord of hell, who bade these legions spum Almighty rule — behold he lays aside The spear of just revenge, and shrinks, by man defied." Thus ended Moloch, and his burning tongue Hung quivering as if mad to quench its heat In slaughter. So, his native wilds among. The famished tiger pants, when near his seat. Pressed on the sands, he marks the traveler's feet. 150 TILE KEW AMERICAN BPKAKER. Instant low murmurs rose, and many a sword Had from its scabbard sprung ; but toward the seat Of the arch-fiend, all turned with one accord, As loud he thus Itarangued tlie sanguinary horde. — whitk. THE SAME, CONTINUED. " ^'e powei-s of hell, I am no coward. I proved this of old. Who lerl" your forces against the armies of Jehovah ? Who coped with Ithuriel, and the thunders of the Almighty ? Who, when stunned and confused ye lay on the burning lake, who first awoke and collected your scattered powers ? Lastly, who led you across the unfathomable abyss to this delightful world, and established that reign here which now totters to its base ? How, therefore, dares yon treacherous fiend to cast a stain on Satan's bravery ? He, who preys only on the defenseless — who sucks the blood of infants, and delights only in acts of ig-no- ble ci-uelty and unequal contention ! Away with the boaster who never joins in action ; but, like a cormorant, hovers over the field, to feed upon the wounded and overwhelm the dying. True bravery is as remote from rashness as from hesitation. Let us counsel coolly, but let us execute our counseled purposes determinately. In power, we have learned by that experiment which lost us heaven, that we are inferior to the thunder-bearer : in subtilty — in subtilty alone, we are his equals. Open war is impossible. Thus shall we pierce our conqueror through the race Which, as himself, he loves ; thus, if we fall. We fall not with the anguish, the disgrace Of falling unrevenged. The stirring call Of vengeance rings within me ! Warriors all, The word is vengeance, and the spur despair. Away with coward wiles ! Death's coal-black pall Be now our standard ! Be our torch, the glare Of cities fired ! our fifes, the shrieks that fill the air ! " MARULLUS TO THE MOB. Wherefoee rejoice that Csesar comes in triumph ? What conquest brings he home ? CKCLAiMATlON. VKUKMliNT UNVECTIVE. 151 What tributaries follow him to Elome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! O you hard hearts ! you cruel men of Rome ! Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft Have you climbed up to walls and battlements, To towers, and windows, yea, to chimney-tops. Your infants in youi- arms, and there have sat The live-long day with patient expectation. To see great Pompey pass the streets of Eome ; And when you saw his chariot but appear. Have you not made a universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath his bands, To hear the replication of your sounds. Made in his concave shores ? And do you now put on your best attir* ? And do you, now call out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way. That comes in triumph over Pompey' s blood ? Begone — Rim to your houses, fall upon your knees. Pray to the gods to intei-mit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude, shakspeabh. SPEECH OF RAAB KIUPRILI. Hear me. Assembled lords and warriors of Illyria, Hear, and avenge me ! Twice ten years have I Stood in your presence, honored by the king. Beloved and trusted. Is there one among you. Accuses Raab Kiuprili of a bribe ? Or one false whisper in his sovereign's ear ? Who here dares charge me with an orphan's rights Outfaced, or widow's plea left undefended ? And shall I now be branded by a traitor, A bought-bribed wretch, who, being called my son. Doth libel a chaste matron's name, and plant Hensbane aud aconite on a mother's grave ? Th' underling accomplice of a robber, That from a widow and a widow's offspring Would steal their heritage ? To God a rebel. And to the common father of his country 153 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. A recreant ingrate ! — What means this clamor ? Are these madmen's voices ? Or is some knot of riotous slanderers leagued To infamize the name of the king's brother With a black falsehood ? Unmanly cruelty, Ingratitude, and most unnatural treason ? What mean these murmurs ? Dare then any here Proclaim Prince Emerick a spotted traitor ? One that has taken from you your sworn faith. And given you in return a Judas' bribe, Infamy now, oppression in reversion. And Heaven's inevitable curse hereafter ? Yet bear with me awhile ? Have I for this Bled for your safety, conquered for your honor ? Was it for this, Illyrians ! that I forded Your thaw-swollen torrents, when the shouldering ice Fought with the foe, and stained its jagged points With gore from wounds I felt not ? Did the blast Beat on this body, frost and famine-numbed. Till my hard flesh disting-uish'd not itself From the insensate mail, its fellow-warrior ? And have I brought home with me Victory, And with her, hand in hand, firm-footed Peace, Her countenance twice lighted up with glory, As if I had charmeda goddess down from heaven ! But these will flee abhorrent from the throne Of usurpation ! Have you then thrown ofi" shame. And shall not a dear friend, a loyal subject. Throw ofi' all fear ? I tell ye, the fair trophies Valiantly wrested from a valiant foe. Love's natural ofl'erings to a rightful king. Will hang as ill on this usurping traitor. This brother-blight, this Emerick, as robes Of gold plucked from the images of gods Upon a sacrilegious robber's back. colebidgk. THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY. Blaze, with your serried columns ! I will not bend the knee ! The shackles ne'er again shall bind The arm which now is free. DECU4.MATI0N. VEHEMENT INVEOTIV.E. 153 I 've mailed it -witli the thunder, Wlien the tempests muttered low, And where it falls, ye well may dread The lightning of its blow ! I 've scared ye in the city, I 've scalped ye on the plain ; Go, count your chosen, where they fell Beneath my leaden rain ! 1 scorn your proffered treaty ! The pale-face I defy ! Revenge is stamped upon my spear. And Blood ! my battle-cry ! Som.e strike for hope of booty. Some to defend their all, — I battle for tjie joy I have To see the white man fall : I love, among the wounded. To hear his dying moan. And catch, while chanting at his side. The music of his groan. Te've trailed me through the forest. Ye 've tracked me o'er the stream , And strugghng through the everglade, Your bristling bayonets gleam ; But I stand as should the warrior. With his rifle and his spear ; The scalp of vengeance still is red. And warns ye — Come not here I loathe ye in my bosom, I scorn ye with mine eye, And I '11 taunt ye with my latest breath, And fight ye till I die ! I ne'er will ask ye quarter, And I ne'er will be your slave , But I '11 swim the sea of slaughter. Till I sink beneath its wave ! g. w. patten. ■EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MR. BURKE. Since I had the honor, I should say, the dishonor, of sitting in this house, I have been witness to many strange, many infa- mous transactions. What can be your intention in attacking all 154 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. honor and virtue ? Do you mean to bring all men to a level with yoursehes, and to extirpate all honor and independence ? Perhaps you imagine a vote will settle the whole controversy. Alas ! you arc not aware that the manner in which your \'ote is procured is a secret to no man. Listen: — t'ur if you are not totally callous, if your consciences are not seared, 1 will speak daggers to your souls, and wake you to all the hell of guilty recollection. I will follow you with whips and stings, through ever}' maze of your unexampled turpitude, and plant thorns under the rose of ministerial approbation. You have flagrantly vio- lated justice and the law of the land, and opened a door for anarchy and confusion. After assuming an arbitrary dominion over law and justice, you issue orders, warrants, and proclama- tions, against every opponent, and send prisoners to 5'-our Bas- tile all those who have the courage and virtue to defend the freedom of their country. But it is in vain that you hope by fear and terror to extinguish the native British lire. The more sacrifices, the more martyrs you make, the more numerous the sons of liberty will become. They will multiply like the hydra, and hurl vengeance on your heads. Let others act as they will ; while I have a tongue, or an arm, they shall be free. And that I may not be a witness of these monstrous proceedings, I will leave the house ; nor do I doubt but every independent, every honest man, every friend to England, will follow me. These walls are unholy, baleful, deadly, while a prostitute majority holds the bolt of parliamentary power, and hurls its vengeance only upon the virtuous. To yourselves, therefore, I consign ycu. Enjoy jowr pandemonium / THE INDIGNATION OF CONSTANCE. A WICKED day, and not a holy-day ! — What hath this day deserved ? what hath it done : That it in golden letters should be set Among the high tides, in the calendar ? Nay, neither, turn this day out of the week ; This day of shame, oppression, perjury ; This day, all things begun come to ill end ; Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! You have beguiled me with a counterfeit ResembUng majesty ; which, being touched, and tried, Profes valueless. You are forsworn, forsworn ; DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INV tOTIVE. 1 55 You came in arms, to spill mine enemies' blood. But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours ; The grappling vigor and rough frown of war, Is cold in amity and painted peace, And our oppression hath made up this league : Arm ! arm ! you heavens, against these perjured kings ! A widow cries : be husband to me, heavens ! Let not the hours of this ungodly day Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset. Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured kings ! Hear me, O, hear me ! O, Lymoges ! 0, Austria ! thou dost shame That bloody spoil ; thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward ; Thou little valiant,- great in villainy ! Thou ever strong, upon the stronger side ! Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight But when her humorous ladyship is by To teach thee safety ! Thou cold-blooded slave, Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? And dost thou now fall over to my foes ? Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame. And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. SHAKSPEAKB. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. A GENTLEMAN, Mr. President, speaking of Caesar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which h« entered into the civil war, observes, " How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon ? " How came he to the brink of that river ! How dared he cross it ! Shall piivate men respect the boundaries of 'private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the bound- aries of his country's rights ? How dared he cross that river ! Oh, but he paused upon the brink ! He should have perished upon the brink ere he had crossed it ! Why did he pause ? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed ? Why does the very murderer, his viotini sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part ? Because of consilience! 'Twas that made Csesar pause upon the brink 156 THE IsEW AMERICAN SPEAKEK. of the Kubicon. Compassion ! What compassion ? The com- passion of an assassin, that feels a momentary sliudder as his ■weapon begins to cvit ! Csesal- paused upon the brink of the Eubicon ! What was the Rubicon ? The boundary of Cassar's province. From Avhat did it separate his province ? From liis country. Was that country a desert ? No ; it was cultivated and fertile, rich and populous ! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, and generosity ! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste ! Friendship was its inhabitant ! Love was its in- habitant 1 Domestic affection was its inhabitant ! Liberty was its inhabitant ! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon 1 What was Caesar, .that stood upon the bank of that stream ? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country. No wonder that he paused — no wonder if, his imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of water, and heard groans instead of murmurs ! No wonder, if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot ! But, no ! — he cried, " The die is cast 1" He plunged ! — he crossed ! — and Rome was free no more ! knowles. LAS CASAS DISSUADING FROM BATTLE. Is then the dreadful measure of your cruelty not yet com- plete ? Battle! — Gracious Heaven ! against whom? Against a king, in whose mild bosom your atrocious injuries, even yet, have not excited hate ! but who, insulted or victorious, still sues for peace. Against a people, who never wronged the living being their Creator formed ; a people, who, children of inno- cence ! received you as cherished guests, with eager hospitality and confiding kindness. Generously and freely did they share with you their comforts, their treasures, and their homes : you repaid them by fraud, oppression, and dishonor. These eyes have witnessed all I speak ; — as gods you were received — as fiends you have acted. Pizarro, hear me 1 Hear me, chieftains ! — And thou, All- powerful ! whose thunder can shiver into sand the adamantine rock, — whose lightnings can pierce to the core of the riven and quaking earth, — ! let thy power give effect to thy servant's words, as thy Spirit gives courage to his will ! Do not, I im- plore you, chieftains, — countrymen, — do not, I implore you, renew the foul barbarities your insatiate avarice has inflicted on this wretched, imoffending race ! But hush, my sighs ! fall DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INVECWV E. 157 not, ye drops of useless sorrow ! — heart-breaking anguish, choke not my utterance. All I entreat is, send me once more to those you call your enemies. ! let me be the messenger of penitence from you ; I shall return with blessings and peace from them. Elvira, you weep ! — Alas ! does this dreadful crisis move no heart but thine ? Time flies — words are un- availing — the chieftains declare for instant battle. O God ! thovi hast anointed me thy servant — not to curse, but to bless my countrymen : yet now my blessing on their force were blasphemy against thy goodness. No ! I curse your purpose, homicides ! I curse the bond of blood, by which you are imited. May fell division, infamy, and rout, defeat your projects, and rebuke your hopes ! On you, and on your children, be the peril of the innocent blood which shall be shed this day ! I leave you, and forever ! No longer shall these aged eyes be seared by the horrors they have witnessed. In caves — in forests, will I hide myself; with tigers and with savage beasts, will I commune ; and when at length we meet again, before the blessed tribunal of that Deity whose mild doc- trines and whose mercies ye have this day renou.nced, then shall you feel the agony and grief of soul which now tear the bosom of your weak accuser. sheeidan. RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS Feiends, I come not here to talk. Ye know too well The story of our thralldom. We are slaves ! The bright sun rises to his course, and hghts A race of slaves ! — He sets, and his last beam Falls on a slave. Not such as, swept along By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads To crimson glory and undying fame ; But base ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde Of petty despots, feudal tyrants ; lords, Eich in some dozen paltry villages ; Strong in some hundred spearmen, only great In that strange spell, a name. Each hour, dark fraud. Or open rapine, or protected murder. Cry out against them. But this very day, An honest man — my neighbor ; — there he stands ; — Was struck — struck hke a dog — by one who wore 158 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. The badge of Ursini ; because, forsooth, He tossed not liigh his ready cap in air. Nor lifted np his voice in servile shouts, At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men, And suffer such dishonor ? — men, and wash not The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common : I have known deeper wrongs, — I that speak to ye. I had a brother once, a gracious boy. Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, Of sweet and quiet joy. Oh, how I loved That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years : Brother at once and son ! He left my side ; A summer-bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, The pretty harmless boy was slain ! I saw His corse, his mangled corse ; and then I cried For vengeance Rouse ye, Bomans ! rouse ye, slaves I Have ye brave sons ? — look in the next fierce brawl To see them die. Have ye fair daughters ? — look To see them live, torn from your arms- — distained, Dishonored ; and if ye dare to call for justice. Be answered witli the lash ! Yet this is Rome That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne Of beauty ruled the earth ! And we are Romans ! MISS MITFORH. SPEECH OF SEMPRONIUS FOR WAR. My voice is still for war. Gods 1 can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose — slavery or death ? No ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords. And, at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe ; break through the thick array Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon Iiim. Perhaps some arm more lucky than the rest May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. Rise, fathers, rise ! 't is Rome demands your help ; Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens. Or share their fate ! The corpse of half her senate Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we Sit here, deliberating in cold debates. If we should sacrifice our lives to honor, DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. 159 Or weai- them out in servitude and chains. Rouse up, for shame ! our brothers of Pharsaha Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, " To battle !' Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us ! ADDISON. CESAR'S TRIUMPPIS. To foim a just estimate of Caesar's aims, Mr. President, look to his triumphs after the surrender of Utioa — Utica, more honored in being the grave of Cato, than Rome in having been the cradle of Caesar. You will read, sir, that Caesar triumphed four times. First, for his victory over the Gauls ; secondly, over Egypt ; thirdly, over Phamaces ; lastly, over Juba, the friend of Cato. His first, second, and third triumphs were, we are told, magnificent. Before him marched the princes and noble foreigners of the countries he had conquered : his soldiers, crowned with laurels, "followed him ; and the whole city attended with acclamations. This was well ? — the conqueror should be honored. His fourth triumph approaches — as magnificent as the former ones. It does not want its royal captives, its soldiers crowned with lau- rels, or its flushed conqueror, to grace it ; nor is it less honored by the multitude of its spectators : — but they send up no shout of exultation ; they heave loud sighs ; their cheeks are frequently wiped ; their eyes are fixed u.pon one object, that engrosses all their senses — their thoughts — • their affections — it is the statue of Cato! — carried before the victor's chariot! It repre,sents him rending open his wound, and tearing out his bowels ; a.'? he did in Utica, when Roman liberty was no more ! Now, ask if Caesar's aim was the welfare of his country ! — Now, doubt if he was a man governed by a selfish ambition ! Now, question whether he usurped, for the mere sake of usurping ! He is not content to triumph over the Gauls, the Egyptians, and Phar- naces ; he must triumph over his own countrymen ! He is not content to cause the statue of Scipio and Pe^rius to be carried before him, but he must be graced by that of Cato ! He is not content with the simple eflfigy of Cato ; he must exhibit that of his suicide ! He is not satisfied to insult the Romans with tri- umphing over the death of liberty ; they must gaze upon the representation of her expiring agonies, and mark the writhings of her last — fatal struggle 1 knowles. 160 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. REPLY TO THE REFLECTIONS OF MR. WALPOLE. Sir, the atrocious crime of being a young man, wliich the honorable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny ; but content myself with wishing — that I may be one of those whose fol- lies cease with their youth ; and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not, sir, assume the province of detei-mining ; but surely, age may become justly contemptible — if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without improvement, and vice ap- pears to prevail when the passions have subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added ob- stinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or contempt ; and deserves not that his gray hairs should secure him from insult. Much more, sir, is he to be abhorred — who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and be- comes more wicked with less temptation ; who prostitutes himself for money wliich he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his coimtry. But youth, sir, is not my only crime. I have been accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply • — • some peculiarities of gesture ; or, dissimulation of my real sentiments, and the adoption of the opuiions and language of another man. In the first sense the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to be mentioned that it may be despised. I am at Uberty, like every other man, to use my own language : and though I may, perhaps, have som« ambition, yet to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor very sohcitously copy his diction, or his mien ; however matured by age, or modeled by experience. If any man shall, by charging me with theatrical behavior, imply that I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain ; nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple trample upon all those forms with which wealth and digiiity intrench themselves, nor shall anything but age restrain my resentment ; age which always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious without punishment. But with regard, sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion, that if I had acted a borrowed part I should have avoided their censure ; the heat DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. 161 that oft'ended them was the ardor of conviction, and thiA zeal for the service of my country, which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned -while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the ag- gressor, and drag the thief to justice — whoever may protect them in their villainy, and whoever may partake of their plunder. PITT. GKATTAN'S REPLY TO MR. CORRY. Has the gentleman done ? Has he completely done ? He was unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his speech. There was scarce a word he uttered that was not a violation of the privileges of the house. But I did not call him to order — why ? because the limited talents of some men render it impos- sible for them to be severe without being unparliamentary. But before I sit down, I shall show him how to be severe and parlia- mentary at the same time. On any other occasion, I should think myself justifiable in treating with silent contempt anything which might fall from that honorable member ; but there are times, when the insignifi- cance of the accuser is lost in the magnitude of the accusation. I know the difficulty the honorable gentleman labored under when he attacked me, conscious that, on a comparative view of our characters, pubhc and private, there is nothing he could say which would injure me. The public would not believe the charge. I despise the falsehood. If such a charge were made by an honest man, I would answer it in the manner I shall do before I sit down. But I shall first reply to it, when not made by an honest man. The light honorable gentleman has called me "an unim- peached traitor. " I ask why not " traitor, " unqualified by an epithet ? I will tell him, it was because he durst not. It was the act of a coward, who raises his ann to strike, but has not courage to give the blow. I will not call him villain, because it would be unparhamentary, and he is a privy counselor. I will not call him fool, because he happens to be chancelor of the exchequer. But I say, he is one who has abused the privilege of parliament, and freedom of debate, by uttering language, which, if spoken out of the house, I should answer only with a blow. I care not how high his situation, how low his character, how contemptible his speech ; whether a privy counselor or a parasite, mj answer would be a blow. 11 162 THE .SEW AMERICAN Sl'EAKKU. He has charged me with being- mnnected with the rebels. The charge is uUerly, totally, and meanly false. Does the hon- orable gentleman rely on the report of the house of lords for the foundation of his assertion ? If he does, I can prove to the committee, there was a physical impossibility of that report being true. But I scorn to answer any man for my conduct, whether he be a political coxcomb, or whether he brought himself into power by a false glare of courage or not. CATILINE, ON HEARING HIS SENTENCE Op' BANISHMENT. Banished from Rome ! What 's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe ? " Tried and convicted traitor !" — Who says this ? Who '11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? Banished ? — I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this hour ; 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 scotf 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. " Traitor !" I go — but I return. This trial ! — Here I devote your senate ! I 've had wrongs. To stir a fever in the blood of age, Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel. This day 's the birth of sorrows ! — This hour's work Will breed proscriptions. Look to your hearths, my lords ; For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes ; Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; Su.spicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; Naked EebelUon, with the torch and axe. Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; Till anarchy comes down on you like night. And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. cbolt. DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. 163 FROM CICERO'S ORATION AGAINST VERRES. I ASK now. Verves, what have you to advance against this charge ? Will you pretend to deny it ? Will you pretend that anything false, that even anything exaggerated is alleged against you ? Had any prince, or any state, committed the same out- rage against the privileges of Roman citizens, should we not think we had sufficient reason for declaring immediate war against them ? What punishment, then, ought to be inflicted on a tyrannical and wicked prsetor, who dared, at no greater distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, to put to the infamous death of crucifixion that unfortunate and innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus, only for his having asserted his privilege of citizenship, and declared his intention of appeal- ing to the justice of his country against a cruel oppressor, who had imjustly confined him in prison at Syracuse, whence he had just made his escape ? The unhappy man, arrested as he was going to embark for his native country, is brought before the wicked praetor. With eyes darting fury, and a countenance distorted with cruelty, he orders the helpless victim of his rage to be stripped, and rods to be brought ; accusing him, but with- out the least shadow of evidence, or even of suspicion, of hav- ing come to Sicily as a spy. I-t was in vain that the unhappy man cried out, " I am a Roman citizen, I have served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panonnus, -and will attest my innocence." The bloodthirsty prsetor, deaf to all he could urge in his own defense, ordered the infamous punishment to be inflicted. Thus, fathers, was an innocent Roman citizen publicly mangled with scourging ; whilst the only words he uttered amidst his cruel sufferings were, " I am a Roman citizen ! " With these he hoped to defend himself from violence and infamy. But of BO httle service was this privilege to liim, that while he w-as asserting his citizenship, the order was given for his execution — for his execution upon the cross ! liberty ! sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! sacred privilege of Roman citizenship ! once sacred, now tram- pled upon ! But what then ! — is it come to this ? ■ Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red-hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen ? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman common- wealth, nor the fear of the j-astioe of his country, restrain the 164 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty and sets mankind at defiance ? FROM CICERO'S FIRST ORATION AGAINST CATILINE. How far wilt thou, Catiline ! abuse our patience ? How long shall thy madness outbrave our justice ? To what extrem ities art thou resolved to push thy unbridled insolence of guilt ! Canst thou behold the nocturnal arms that watch the palatium, the guards of the city, th^ consternation of the citizens ; all the wise and worthy clustering into consultation ; this impregnable situation of the seat of the senate, and the reproachful looks of the fathers of Kome ? Ca^ist thou, I say, behold all this, and yet remain undaunted and unabashed ? Art thou sensible that thy measures are detected ? Art thou sensible that this senate, now thoroughly informed, comprehend the full extent of thy guilt ? Point me out the senator ignorant of thy practices, during the last and the pre- ceding night ; of the place v/here you met, the company you summoned, and the crime you concerted. The senate is con- scious, the consul is witness to this : yet mean and degenerate ! the traitor Hves ! Lives ! did I .■'.ay ? He mixes with the sen- ate ; he shares in our coimsels ; with a steady eye he surveys us ; he anticipates his guilt ; he enjoys his murderous thoughts, and coolly marks us out for bloodshed. Yet we, boldly passive in our country's cause, think we act like Eomans if we can escape his frantic rage. Long since, Catiline ! ought the consul to have doomed thy life a forfeit to thy country ; and to have directed upon thy own head the mischief thou hast long been meditating for ours. Could the noble Scipio, when sovereign pontiff, as a private Roman kill Tiberius Gracchus for a slight encroachment upon the rights of his country ; and shall we, her consuls, with per- severing patience endure Catiline, whose ambition is to desolate a devoted" world with fire and sword ? There was — there was a time, when such was the spirit of Rome, that the resentment of her magnanimous sons more sternly crushed the Roman traitor, than the most inveterate enemy. Strong and weighty, Catiline ! is the decree of the senate we can now produce against you ; neither' wisdom is wanting in this state, nor authority in this assembly ; but we, the consuls, we are defective in our duty. DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. 165 BOLINGBROKE AGAINST NORFOLK. First, (heaven be tlie record of my speech !) In the devotion of a subject's love. Tendering the precious safety of my prince,. And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. — NoTv, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee. And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this' earth. Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant ; Too good to be so, and too bad to live ; Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat ; And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove. Pale, trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of a king ; And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength As to take up mine honor's pawn, then stoop ; By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. Look, what I speak my hfe shall prove it true ; — The Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers ; The which he bath detained for lewd employments. Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides, I say, and will in battle prove, — Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, — That all the treasons, for these eighteen years Oomplotted and contrived in this land. Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, — and further will maintain Upon his bad hfe, to make all this good, — That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death ; Suggest his soon beheving adversaries ; And, consequently like a traitor coward. 166 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood : Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongaieless caverns of the earth. To me, for justice, and rough chastisement ; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this hfe be spent. shakspeare. MEETING OF DEATH AND SATAN. " Whence, and what art thou, execrable shape 1 That darest, though grim and terrible, advance Thy miscreated front athwart my way To yonder gates ? Through them I mean to pass. That be assured, without leave asked of thee ; Retire or taste thy folly ; and learn by proof, Hell-born ! not to contend with spirits of heaven ! " To whom the goblin, full of wrath, repUed — " Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he. Who first broke peace in heaven, and faith, till then Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms Drew after him the third part of heaven's sons Conjured against the Highest ; for which both thou And they, outcast from God, are here condemned To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of heaven. Hell-doomed ! and breath'st defiance here and scorn. Where I reign king, and, to inflame thee more, Thy king and lord ! Back to thy punishment False fugitive ! and to thy speed add wings, Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." So spake the grisly terror, and in shape. So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold More dreadful and deformed : on the other side. Incensed with indignation, Satan stood Unterrified, and Uke a comet burned, That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head Leveled his deadly aim ; their fatal hands No second stroke intend ; and such a frown DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. 167 Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on Over the Caspian, then stand front to front Hovering aspace, till winds the signal blow To join their dark encounter in mid air. milton. THE QUARREL OF ACHILLES AND ATRIDES. Insatiate king ! (Achilles thus replies,) Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize ! Would'st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, The due reward of many a well fought field ? The spoils of cities razed, and warriors slain, We share with justice, as with toil we gain : But to resume whate'er thy avarice craves (That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves ; Yet if our chief for plunder only fight. The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite. Whene'er by Jove's decree our conquering powers Shall humble in the dust her lofty towers. Then thus the king : Shall I my prize resign With tame content and thou possessed of thine ? Great as thou art and like a god in fight. Think not to rob me of a soldier's right. At thy demand shall I restore the maid ? First let the just equivalent be paid ; Such as a king might ask ; and let it be A treasure worthy her, and worthy me. Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim This hand shall seize some other captive dame ; The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign, Ulysses' spoils, or e'en thy own be mine. The man who suffers loudly may complain, And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain. At this Pelides, frowning stem, replied : tyrant, arm'd with insolence and pride ! Inglorious slave to interest ever joined With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind ! What generous Greek, obedient to thy word, Shall form an ambush, or shall hft the sword ? What cause have I to war at thy decree ? The distant Trojans never injured me ; 168 TIIE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. To Plithia's rralms no hostile troops they led ; Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed ; Far hence removed, the hoarse resounding main And walls of rocks secure my native reign ; ^Vhose fruitful and luxuriant harvests grace, Rich in her fruits and in her martial race. THE SAME, CONTINUED. Fly, mighty warrior ! fly. Thy aid we need not and thy threats defy — Want not such chiefs in such a cause to fight. And Jove himself shall guard a monarch's right. Of all the kings (the gods' distinguished care) To power superior none such hatred bear ; Strife and debate thy restless soul employ. And wars and horrors are thy savage joy. If thou hast strength, 't was heaven that strength bestow'd J For know, vain man ! thy valor is from God. Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away, Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway : I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate. Go, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons ; but here 'T is mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear. Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand, My barque shall waft her to her native land : But then prepare imperious prince ! prepare. Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair ; E'en in thy tent, I '11 seize the blooming prize, Thy loved Briseis with the radiant eyes. Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour Thou stood' st a rival of imperial power ; And hence to all our host it shall be known, The kings are subject to the gods alone. Achilles heard with grief and rage oppressed. His heart swelled high, and labored in his breast. Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook. Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke : O monster ! mix'd of insolence and fear, Thou dog in forehead but in heart a deer ! When wert thou known in ambushed fights to dare Or nobly face the horrid front of war ? DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. 169 'Tis ours the chance of fighting fields to try. Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die. So much 't is safer through the camp to go And rob a subject than despoil a foe. Scourge of thy people, violent and base ! Sent in Jove's anger on a slavish race, Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past, Are tamed to -wrongs, or this had been thy last. Now by this sacred scepter let me swear, Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear. Which severed from the trunk, (as I from thee,) On the bare mountains left its parent tree ; This scepter, formed by tempered steel to prove An ensign of the delegates of Jove ; By this I swear when bleeding Greece again ShaU call Achilles, she shall call in vain ; When flushed with slaughter. Hector comes to spread The purple shore with moimtains of the dead, Then shalt thou mourn the affront thy madness gave. Forced to deplore, but impotent to save : Then rage in bitterness of soul to know This act has made the bravest Greek thy foe. He spoke ; and furious hurled against the ground His scepter starred with golden studs around. Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain The raging king retui'ned his frowns again. pope. GLOSTER'S INDIGNATION. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, To ycu duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Tour grief, the common grief of all the land. What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth. His valor, coin, and people, in the wars ? Did he so often lodge in open field. In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat. To conquer France, his true inheritance ? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits. To keep by pohcy what Henry got ? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, Brave York, Sahsbury, and victorious Warwick, Received deep scars in France and Normandy ? Or hath my uncle Beaufort, and myself, 15 170 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. With all the learned council of the realm, Studied so long, sat in the council-house. Early and late, debating to and fro How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe ? And hath his highness in his infancy Been crowned in Paris, in despite of foes ? And shall these labors, and these honors, die ? Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die ? peers of England, shameful is this league ! Fatal this marriage, canceling your fame : Blotting your names from books of memory. Razing the characters of your renown ; Defacing monuments of conquered France ; Undoing all, as all had never been ! For Suffolk's duke — may he be suffocated ! — That dims the honor of this warlike isle ! France should have torn and rent my very heart Before I would have yielded to this league. 1 never read but England's kings have had Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives : And our king Henry gives away his own. To match with her that brings no vantages. A proper jest, and never heard before, That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth, For costs and charges in transporting her ! She should have staid in France, and starved, My lord of Winchester, I know your mind ; Tis not my speeches that you do mislike. But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you. Eancor will out ; proud prelate, in thy face, I see thy fury ; if I longer stay. We shall begin our ancient bickerings. — Lordhngs, farewell ; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied — France will be lost ere long. SHAKSrEAKB. NORFOLK AGAINST BOLINGBROKE. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal, 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war. The bitter clamor of two eager tongues. Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : DECLAMATION. VEHEMENT INVECTIVE. 171 The blood is hot that must be cooled for this, Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hushed, and nought at all to say. First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me, From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ; Which else Tvould post, until it had returned These terms of treason doubled down his thi-oat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty. And let him be no kinsman to my leige, I do defy him, and I spit at him ; Call him — a slanderous coward and a villain : Which to maintain, I would allow him odds ; And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable. Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. Meantime, let this defend my loyalty, — By all my hopes, most falsely doth he he. Oh ! let my sovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a httle while be deaf. Till I have told this slander of his blood. How God and good men hate so foul a liar. Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart. Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest ! Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers ; The other part reserved I by consent ; For that my sovereign liege was in my debt. Upon remainder of a dear account. Since last I went to France to fetch his queen ; Now swallow down that lie. — For Gloster's death — I slew him not ; but to my own disgrace. Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, The honorable father to my foe. Once did I lay in ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul ; But, ere I last received the sacrament, I did confess it ; and exactly begged Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault. As for the rest appealed. It issues from the rancor of a viUain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor : Which in myself I boldly will defend ; And interchangeably hurl down my gage 172 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Yom- highness to assign our trial day. shakspearb. MARGARET'S CURSE. Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pilfer'd from me ; Which of you trembles not, that looks on me ? If not, that I, being queen, you bow like subjects ; Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels ? Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away ! A husband, and a son, thou owest to me, — And thou, a kingdom ; — all of you, allegiance ; This sorrow that I have, by right is yours ; And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales, For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales, Die in his youth, by like untimely violence ! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self ! Long may' St thou live to wail thy children's loss ; And see another, as I see thee now. Decked in thy rights as thou art stalled in mine ! Long die thy happy days before thy death ; And after many lengthened hours of grief. Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen. If heaven have any grievous plague in store, Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, Oh, let them k^ep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace. The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul ! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest. And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends ; No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be while some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog ! Thou that was sealed in thy nativity. The slave of nature and the son of hell ! shakspeare. DKAMATIO AND DESCRirilVE PIECES. 173 DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES SONG, FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battle-fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall. Hands unseen thy couch are strewing ; Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more ; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking. No rude sound shall reach thine ear. Armor's clang, or war-steed's champing, Trump nor pibroch simamon here, Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come. At the day-break, from the fallow. And the bittern sound his drum. Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near. Guard's nor warder's challenge here. Here 's no war-steed's neigh and champing. Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping. Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done. While our slumb'rous spells assail ye, Dream not with the rising sun. Bugles here shall sound rereille. Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; Sleep ! nor dream, in yonder glen. How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done. Think not of the rising sun. For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille. 174 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. THE DEATH-FIRE. Beneath the ever dense and leafy gloom Of the huslicd wilderness, a lurid flame Crept, like a serpent, gorged with kindling blood, Around the knotted trunk of an old forest oak ; Then upward and abroad it fiercely spread, Through the dusk pine-tops and the clinging vines, Till the dark forest crimsoned with the glare. Strong winds swept through the hot and crackling boughs, While scintillating sparks ■ — - a fiery rain — Fell from the arrowy flames that darted tlirough The black and smoky air. In double ranks around that flaming tree, Sat fierce-browed warriors, like a crowd of fiends Sent forth to hold their orgies on the earth. Their shafted arrows, and the sinewy bow, The tomahawk, and club, and keen-edged knife. Flashed back the fire, and there all hotly gleamed In the tall grass, that coiled all crisply back. Grew stifi' and died on the scorched earth. The sparkling river, flowing with sweet chime, So cool and tranquil in its verdant banks, In gentle contrast with the flaming trees. And the red demons crouching underneath, Mocked the devoted victims. One was a girl, so gently fair. She seemed a being of upper air. Lured by the sound of the water's swell, To the haunt of demons dark and fell ! Shackled by many a galling thong. But in Christian courage firm and strong. Stood a brave man, with his eye on fire. As he bent its glance on the funeral pyre ; — Yet his bosom heaved and his heart beat quick ; His labored breath came fast and thick ; His check gi-ew pdo, and drops of pain Sprang to his brow like beaded rain, As he felt the elasp of his pallid bride. Where she clung in fear to his pinioned side. A savage shout — a fierce, deep yell — Eings through the forest cove and dell ; The wood is alive on either hand With the rushing feet of that murderous band. DRAMATIC AND DB8CRIPTIVB PIECES. 175 One start from the earth — one feeble cry, Like the moan of a fawn when the liounds ai-e nigh — And she sinks to the ground with a shuddering tkiill. And hes at his feet all cold and stiU. With the mighty strength of his stem despair, Like a lion roused in his guarded lair, The youth has rended his bonds apart — The bride is snatched to his throbbing heart 3 With a bovmd lie clears the savage crew. And plunges on towai'd the bark canoe. He nears the bank — a fiendish scream From the baffled foes rings o'er the stream : He springs to the barque ; — away, away ! — It is lost from sight in the flashing spray ! ANN S. STEPHENa. A FEVER DREAM. A FEVER scorched my body, fired my brain i Like lava, in Yesuvius, boiled my blood Within the glowing caverns of my heart. I raged with thirst, and begged a cold clear draught Of fountain water. 'Twas with tears denied. I drank a nauseous febrifuge, and slept ; But rested not — harassed with horrid dreams Of burning deserts, and of dusty plains — ■Mountains disgorging flames — forests on fire — Steam, sunshine, smoke, and boiling lakes — Hills of hot sand, and glowing stones that seemed Embers and ashes of a burnt up world ! Thirst raged within me. I sought the deepest vale, And called on all the rocks and caves for water ; — I climbed a mountain, and from cliff to cliff Pursued a flying cloud, howling for water : — I crushed the withered herbs, and gnawed dry roots. Still crying, Water ! water ! — while the ehfis and eaves. In horrid mockery, re-echoed " Water ! " The baked plain gaped for moisture. And from its arid breast heaved smoke, that seemed The breath of furnace — fierce, volcanic fire. Or hot monsoon, that raises Syrian sands To clouds. _^ Amid the forests we espied 176 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. A faint and bleating herd. Sudden, a shrill And horrid shout arose of — " Blood ! blood ! blood ! " We fell upon them with the tiger's thirst, And drank up all the blood that was not human ! We v.-i.re dyed in blood ! Despair returned ; The cry of blood was hushed, and dumb confusion reigned. Even then, when hope was dead ! — past hope — I heard a laugh ! and saw a wretched man Rip his own veins, and, bleeding, drink With eager joy. The example seized on all : — Each fell upon himself, tearing his veins, Fiercely in search of blood ! And some there were. Who, having emptied their own veins, did seize Upon their neighbor's arms, and slew them for then' blood ! — " Rend, O ye lightnings ! (lie sealed firmament. And flood a burning world. Rain ! rain ! pour ! pour ! Open ye windows of high heaven ! and poiir The mighty deluge. Let us drown and drink Luxurious death ! Ye earthquakes, split the globe, The solid rock-ribbed globe ! — and lay all bare Its subterranean rivers and fresh seas 1 " Thus rag-ed the multitude. And many fell In fierce convulsion ; — many slew themselves. And now, I saw the city all in flames — The forest burning — and the very earth on fire ! I saw the mountains open with a roar Loud as the seven apocalyptic thunders, And seas of lava rolling headlong down. Through crackling forests fierce, and hot as hell, Down to the plain ; — I turned to fly — and waked ! JOHN M. HAKNEV. BERNARDINE DLT BORN. King Hbnr? sat upon his throne, And, full of vfrath and scorn, His eye a recreant knight surveyed — Sir Bemardine du Bom. And he that haughty glance returned. Like lion in his lair. And loftily his unchanged brow Gleamed through his crisped hair. DRAMATIC AND DESCKIPTIVE PIECES. 177 " Thou art a traitor to the realm ! Lord of a lawless band ! The bold in speech, the fierce in broil. The troubler of our land ! Thy castles and thy rebel towers Are forfeit to the crown ; And thou beneath the Norman ax Shall end thy base renown ! " Deign'st thou no word to bar thy doom, — Thou with strange madness fired ? Hath reason quite forsook thy breast ? " Plantagenet inquired. Sir Bernard turned him toward the king. And blenched not in his pride ; •■'My reason failed, most gracious liege, The year Prince Henry died." Quick, at that name, a cloud of woe Passed o'er the monarch's brow ; Touched was that bleeding chord of love, To which the mightiest bow. And backward swept the tide of years ; Again his first-bom moved — The fair, the graceful, the subUme, The erring, yet beloved. And ever, cherished by his side. One chosen friend was near. To share in boyhood's ardent sport. Or youth's untamed career ; With him the merry chase he sought. Beneath the dewy morn. With him in knightly tourney rode This Bernardine du Bom. Then in the mourning father's soul Each trace of ire grew dim, And what his buried idol loved Seemed cleansed of guilt to him ; — And faintly through his tears he spoke, " God send his grace to thee 1 And, for the dear sake of the dead. Go forth, unscathed and free. " sigouene?. 12 178 HIE KEW AMKIUCAN SPEAKER. THE KAISER The Kaiser's hand from all liis foes Had won him glory and repose ; Piichly through his rejoicing land Were felt the blessings of his hand ; And when at eve he sought his rest, A myriad hearts his slumbers blessed. In midnight's hush a tempest broke ; — Throughout his realm its myriads woke ; And by the lightning's rapid flash, And 'mid the thunder's bellowing crash, In faith to heaven their prayers they spake. For Christ's and for the Kaiser's sake. But with a start, and with a pang. Up from his couch the Kaiser sprang ; What ! feareth he who never feared When bloody deaths through hosts careered ? What ! can the tempest's passing sound That heart of battles thus confound ? No ! no ! But in its deepest deep It wakes a cry no more to sleep ; And there ! and there ! in wrath begin The pangs — the power of secret sin. A blow is dealt, — a strife is stirred, — Without, the storm may pass unheard ! And, therefore, from his palace door He passed into the loud uproar ; In wildest wind, and blackest night, He passed away in sudden flight : 'Mid liffhtnino- rain, and thunder's roll. He went, — a fire within his soul. The Kaiser went in storm and night. But ne'er returned in peace and light ; Astonished thousands asked his lot. Love sought, and sought, but found him not ; But conscience did what conscience would, And sealed its errand — blood for blood ! W. HOWITI. DRAMATIC AND D^KSCRIPTIVE PIECES. 17& THE AMERICAN PATRIOT'S SONG. Hark ! hear ye the sounds that the 'winds on their pinions Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea. With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions ? 'T is Columbia calls on her sons to be free ! Behold on yon summits, where heaven has throned her. How she starts from her proud inaccessible seat ; With nature's impregnable ramparts around her. And the cataract's thunder and foam at her feet ! In the breeze of her moimtains her loose locks are shaken. While the soul-stirring notes of her warrior- song From the rock to the valley reecho — "Awaken, Awaken, ye hearts that have slumbered too long ! " Yes, despots ! too long did your tyranny hold us. In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known ; Till we learned that the links of the chain that controlled us Were forged by the fears of its captives alone. That spell is destroyed, and no longer availing, Despised as detested — pause well ere ye dare To cope with a people whose spirit and feeling Are roused by remembrance and steeled by despair. Go, tame the wild toiTent, or stem with a straw [them ; The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines But presume not again to give freemen a law, Nor think with the; chains they have broken to bind them. To hearts that the spirit of liberty flushes. Resistance is idle, — and numbers a dream ; — They burst from control, as the mountain-stream rushes From its fetters of ice, in the warmth of the beam. anonymous. THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. I SAW him on the battle-eve. When, like a king, he bore him — Proud hosts in glittering helm and gi-eave. And prouder chiefs before him : 180 TETE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. The ■vvui-rior, and the warrior's deeds — The morrow, and the morrow's meeds, — No daunting thoughts came o'er him ; lie looked around him, and his eye Defiance flashed to earth and sky. He looked on ocean, — its broad breast Was covered with his fleet ; On earth : — and saw, from east to west, liis bannered millions meet : Wliile rock, and glen, and cave, and coast. Shook with the war-cry of tliat host, The thunder of their feet ! He heard the imperial echoes ring, — He heard, — and felt himself a king. I saw him next alone : — nor camp. Nor chief, his steps attended ; Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp With war-cries proudly blended. He stood alone, whom fortune high So lately seemed to deify ; He, who with heaven contended. Fled like a fugitive and slave ! Behind — the foe ; — before — the wave : He stood ; — fleet, army, treasure, gone, — Alone, and in despair ! But wave and wind swept ruthless on. For they were monarchs there ; And Xerxes, in a single barque. Where late his thousand ships were dark. Must all their fury dare : — What a- revenge — a trophy, this — For thee, immortal Salamis 1 miss jewsbxikt. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH Under a spreading chestnut-tree. The village smithy stands : The smith, a mighty man is he. With large and sinewy hands ; DRAMATIC AND DESCEIPTITE PIECES. 181 And the muscles of liis brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat ; He earns whate'er he can. And looks the whole world in the face. For he owes not any man. Week out, week m, from morn till night, Ton can hear his bellows blow ; Tou hear him swing his heavy sledge With measured beat and slow, lake a sexton ringing the old kirk chimes When the evening sun is low. And children, coming home from school, Look in at the open door : They love to see a flaming forge. And hear the bellows roar. And catch the burning sparks, that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes, on Sunday, to the church. And sits among his boys ; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice. Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice. Singing in paradise ! He needs must think of her once more. How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard rough hand he wipes A tear from out his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing. Onward through Hfe he goes : Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done. Has earned a night's repose. 182 THE NEW AMERICAS SPEAKER. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus, at the flaming forge of Life, Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus, on its sounding anvil shaped. Each burning deed and thought. longfellow. THE LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM. There was a man, A Eoman soldier, for some daring deed That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough. But generous, and brave, and kind. He had a son : it was a rosy boy, A httle faithful copy of his sire In face and gesture. From infancy the child Had been his father's solace and his care. With earhest morn, Of that first day of darkness and amaze. He came. The iron door was closed, — for them Never to open more \ The day, the night. Dragged slowly by ; nor did they know the fate Impending o'er the city. Well they heard The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath. And felt its giddy rocking ; and the air Grew hot at length, and thick ; but in his straw The boy was sleeping : and the father hoped The earthquake might pass by ; nor would he wake From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor teU The dangers of their state. On his low couch The fettered soldier sunk, and with deep awe Listened the fearful sounds : — with upturned eye To the great gods he breathed a prayer ; — then strove To calm himself, and lose in sleep awhile His useless terrors. But he could not sleep : — His body burned with feverish heat; — his chains Clanked loud, although he moved not : deep in earth Groaned unimaginable thunders : — sounds. Fearful and ominous, arose and died. Like the sad moanings of November's wind DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 183 In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled His blood that burned before ; cold clammy sweats Came o'er him: — then anon a fiery thrill Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk. And shivered as in fear : — now upright leaped, As though he heard the battle trumpet sound. And longed to cope with death. He slept at last, A troubled, dreamy sleep. Well — had he slept Never to waken more ! His hours are few. But terrible his agony. ATHEBSioNa. THE PRISONER IN HERCULANEUM. Loudly the father called upon his child : — No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously He searched their couch of straw : — --with headlong haste Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent. Groped darkling on the earth ; — no child was there. Again he called : — again, at furthest stretch Of his accursed fetters, till the blood Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes Fire flashed, he strained with arm extended far. And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil ! Yet still renewed : — still round and round he goes. And strains, and snatches, — - and with dreadful cries Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now : He plants against the wall his feet ; — his chain Grasps ; — tugs with giant strength to force away The deep-driven staple : — yells and shrieks with rage, And, like a desert hon in the snare Raging to break his toils, to and fro bounds. But see ! the ground is opening : — a blue light Mounts, gently waving,' — noiseless : — thin and cold It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame ; But by its luster, on the earth outstretched. Behold the lifeless child ! — his dress is singed, And o'er his face serene a darkened line Points out the lightning's track. 1 84 THE NEW AMERICAN S1'E,AF.EH. Silent and pale The father stands : — no tear is in his eye : — The thunders bellow, but he hears them not : — The ground lifts like a sea, — he knows it not : — The strong walls grind and gape : — the vaulted roof Takes shapes like bubbles tossing in the wind : — See ! he looks up and smiles ; — for death to him Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace Be given, 't were still a sweeter thing to die. It will be given. Look ! how the rolling ground, At every swell, nearer and still more near Moves toward the father's outstretched arm his boy : — Once he has touched his garment ; — how his eye. Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears ! Ha ! see ! he has him now ! — he clasps him round. Kisses his face : — puts back the curling locks. That shaded his fine brow : — looks in his eyes. Grasps in his own those httle dimpled hands. Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont To lie when sleeping, and resigned awaits Undreaded death. And death came soon, and swift. And pangless. The huge pile sunk down at once Into the opening earth. Walls, arches, roof. And deep foundation-stones, all minghng fell ! atherstone. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. O'ek a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay — The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. " They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, That I shall mount my noble steed, and lead my band no more ; They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, Their own liege lord and master born, that I — ha ! ha ! — must die. " And what is death "i I 've dared him oft before the paynim spear ; Think ye he 's entered at my gate — has come to seek me here t I 've met him, faced him, scorned him, T/nen the fight was raging hot ; — I '11 try his might — I '11 brave his power ; defy, and fear him not. DRAMATIC AND BKffCRiPTlVE PIECES. 185 " Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin ; Bid each retainer arm with speed ; call every vassal in. Up with my banner on the wall, — the banquet-board prepare, — Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there ! " An hundred hands were busy then : the banquet forth was spread, And rung the heavy o%ken floor with many a martial tread ; While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall. [hall. Lights gleam on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board ; While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state. Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. " Fill every beaker up, my men, — pour forth the cheering wine ! There 's life and strength in every drop — thanksgiving to the vine ! Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — mine eyes are waxing dim : Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim ! " Ye 're there ; but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword, And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board. I hear it faintly. Louder yet ! — What clogs my heavy breath 1 Up all, and shout for Rudiger, ' Defiance unto death ! ' " Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry, That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high. " Ho ! cravens, do ye fear him 1 — Slaves, traitors, have ye flown '! Ho ! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone 1 " But I defy him : — let him come ! " Down rang the massy cup. While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up ; And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head, There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat dead. ALBERT G. GIIEENE. BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO. With some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo hath appeared. Before them all in the palace haU, The lying king to beard ; With cap in hand and eye on ground. He came in reverend guise, But ever and anon he frowned, And flame broke from his eyes. 16 186 THE NEW AMERICA^ SPEAKER. " A curse upon thee,'' cries the king, " Who com'st unhid to me ! But what from traitor's blood should spring, Save traitor like to thee ? His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart, — Perchance our champion brave May think it were a pious part To share Don Sancho's grave." " Whoever told this tale. The king hath rashness to repeat," Cries Bernard, — " here my gage I fling Before the liar's feet. No treason was in Sancho's blood, — No stain in mine doth lie : Below the throne, what knight will own The coward calumny ? " Ye swore upon your kingly faith. To set Don Sancho free ; But, curse upon your paltering breath ! The light he ne'er did see : He died in dungeon cold and dim, By Alphonso's base decree ; And visage blind, and mangled limb. Were all they gave to me. " The king that swerve th from his word Hath stained his purple black : No Spanish lord shall draw his sword Behind a liar's back. But noble vengeance shall be mine ; And open hate I '11 show ; — The king hath injured Carpio's line. And Bernard is his foe ! " " Seize — seize him ! " loud the king doth scream ; " There are a thousand here ; Let his foul blood this instant stream ; — What ! caitiff's, do you fear ? Seize — seize the traitor ! " But not one To move a finger dareth : Bernardo standeth by the throne. And calm his sword he bareth. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 187 He drew the falchion from its sheath. And held it up on high ; And all the hall was still as death : — Cries Bernard, " Here am I ; And here 's the sword that owns no lord, Excepting heaven and me : Fain would I know who dares its point, — King, conde, or grandee." Then to his mouth his horn he drew, — It hung below his cloak ; His ten true men the signal knew. And through the ring they broke. With helm on head, and "blade in hand. The knights the circle break. And back the lordlings 'gan to stand. And the false king to quake. " Ha ! Bernard ! " quoth Alphonso, " What means this warlike guise ? Te know full well I jested ; — Ye know your worth I prize ! " But Bernard turned upon his heel. And, smiling, passed away. Long rued Alphonso and Castile The jesting of that day ! lockhart. THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN. Wide o'er Bannock's heathy wold Scotland's deathful banners roU'd, And spread their wings of sprinkled gold To the purphng east. Freedom beamed in every eye ; Devotion breathed in every sigh ; Freedom heaved their souls on high, And steeled each hero's breast. Charging then the courser's sprang. Sword and helmet clashing rang. Steel-clad warrior's mixing clang Echoed round the field. 18i} I'HE NEW AMERTOAN SPEAKEK. Deatliful see their eyeballs glare ! See the nerves of battle bare ! Arrowy tempests cloud the air, And glance from every shield. Hark ! the bowman's quivering strings ! Death on gray-goose pinions springs ! Deep they dip their dappled wings Drunk in heroes' gore. Lo ! Edward, springing on the rear. Plies his Caledonian spear : Ruin marks his dread career, And sweeps them from the shore. See how red the streamlets flow ! See the reeling, yielding foe, How they melt at every blow ! Yet we shall be free ! Darker yet the strife appears ; Forest dread of flaming spears ! Hark ! a shout the welkin tears ! Bruce has victory ! HENRY V, AT THE SEIGE OF HARFLEUR. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there 's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility ; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger : Stiffen the sinews, — summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard favored rage ; Then lend the eye a teixible aspect ; Let ij; pry through the portage of the head. Like the brass cannon. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostrils wide, Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To its flill bight ! — On, on, you noble English, Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof ! Fathers, that like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn tiU even fought. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 189 And sheatlied their swords for lack of argument. Be copy now for men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war ; and you, good yeomen, Whose limbs are made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture : let us swear That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not : For there is none of you so mean and base That hath not noble luster in your eye : I see you stand like greyhoiinds in the slips. Straining upon the start. The game 's a-foot ; Follow your spirit, and upon this charge. Cry, Heaven for Harry, England and St. George ! SHAKSPEARB. HENRY V, ENCOURAGING HIS SOLDIERS. What 's he that wishes for more men from England ? My cousin Westmoreland ! No, my fair cousin. If we are marked to die, we are enow To do our country loss ; and if to live. The fewer men the greater share of honor ; Heaven's will ! I pray thee wish not one man more. In truth I am not covetous of gold. Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But if it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul ahve. No,^my good lord, wish not a man from England : Heaven's peace ! I would not lose so great an honor As one more man methinks would share from me. For the best hopes I have. Wish not one more : Bather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host. That he who hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart, his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse : We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is called the feast of Crispian , He that outlives this day, and comes safe home. Will stand on tiptoe when this day is named. And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 190 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKEK. Then lie will strip his sleeve and show his scars. — This story shall the good man teach his son ; And Crispian, Crispian, ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered ! We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ! SHAKSP35ARB. NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD. " The bones of her sons, falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every state, from New England to Georgia; and there they will remain forever." — Webster. New England's dead ! — New England's dead ! On every hill they lie ; On every field of strife, made red By bloody victory. Each valley, where the battle poured Its red and awful tide. Beheld the brave New England sword, With slaughter deeply dj'ed. Their bones are on the northern hill. And on the southern plain, By brook and river, lake and rill. And by the roaring main. The land is holy where they fought. And holy where they fell ; For by their blood that land was bought. The land they loved so well. Then glory to that valiant band. The honored saviors of the land ! They left the plowshare in the mold. Their flocks and herds without a fold, The sickle in the unshorn grain, The corn, half-gamered on the plain. And mustered in their simple dress. For wrongs to seek a stem redress ; To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe — To perish or o'ercome the foe. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 191 Oh, few and weak tlieir numbers were — A handful of brave men ; Bvit to their God they gave their prayer. And rushed to battle then. The God of battles heard their cry, And sent to them the victory. m'lellan. . DARKNESS. 1 HAD a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars Did wander, darkling, in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung bhnd, and blackening, in the moonless air ; Morn came, and went — and came, and brought no day ; And men forgot their passions, in the dread Of this their desolation ; and aU hearts "Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light. Some lay down. And hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled ; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up. With mad disquietude, on the dull sky, The pall of a past world ; and then again. With curses, cast them down upon the dust, And gTiashed their teeth, and howled. The wild birds shrieked, And, terrified, did flutter on the ground. And flap their useless wings : the wildest brutes Came tame, and tremulous ; and vipers crawled And twined themselves among the multitude. Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food. The meager by the meager were devoured ; Even dogs assailed their masters — all save one, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay. Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead Lured their lank jaws ; himself sought out no food. But, with a piteous and perpetual moan. And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Which answered not with a caress — he died. L9'Z THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Vti, €roTvd was famished by degrees ; but two Of an enormous city did sui-vive, And tluy were enemies ; they met beside The dying embers of an altar-place, Where had been heaped a mass of holy things, For an unholy usage : they raked up, And, shivering, scraped, with their cold skeleton hands, The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little hfe, and made a flame, Which was a mockery : then they lifted Their eyes, as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other's aspects : saw, and shrieked, and died, Even of their mutual hideousness they died. Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written fiend. The world was void ; The populous and the powerful was a lump — Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, hfeless : A lump of death — g, chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still. And nothing stirred within their silent depths : Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropped, They slept, on the abyss, without a surge ; The waves were dead ; the tides were in their graye ; The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; The winds were withered in the stagnant air, And the clouds perished : darkpess had no need Of aid from them ; she was the universe. byron. THE GLADIATOR. They led a Hon from his den. The lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain : And there he stood, stem foe of men. And shook his flowing mane. There 's not of all Rome's heroes, ten That dare abide this game. His bright eye nought of lightning lacked ; His voice was like the cataract. They brought a dark-haired man along. Whose limbs with gyves of brass were bound ; DRAMATIC AKD DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 193 Youthful lie seemed, and bold and strong, And yet unscathed of wound. Blithely he stepped among the throng. And careless threw aroimd A dark eye, such as courts the path Of him who braves a Dacian's wrath. Then shouted the plebeian crowd, — Rung the glad galleries with the sound ; And from the throne there spake aloud A voice — "Be the bold man unbound ! And by Rome's scepter yet unbowed. By Rome, earth's monarch crowned, Who dares the bold, the unequal strife, Though doomed to death, shall save his life." Joy was upon that dark man's face ; And thus, with laughing eye, spake he : "Loose ye the lord of Zaara's waste, And let my arms be free : ' He has a martial heart,' thou sayest ; — But oh ! who will not be A hero, when he fights for hfe. For home and country, babes and wife ! " And he has bared his shining blade. And springs he on the shaggy foe ; Dreadful the strife, but briefly played ; — The desert-king lies low : His long and loud death-howl is made ; And there must end the show. And when the multitude were cahn. The favorite freed-man took the pahn. "Ejieel down, Rome's emperor beside ! " He knelt, that dark man ; — o'er his brow Was thrown a wreath in crimson dyed ; And fair words gild it now : " Thou art the bravest youth that ever tried To lay a hon low ; And from our presence forth thou go'st- To lead the Dacians of our host. " Then flushed his cheek, but not with pride. And grieved and gloomily spake he : 11 194 THE NE"W AMERICAN SPEAKER. " My cabin stands where blithely glide Proud Danube's waters to the sea : I have a yo-ung and blooming' bride. And I have children three : — No Roman wealth or rank can give Such joy as in their arms to hve. " My wife sits at the cabin door, With throbbing heart and swollen eyes ; ■ "While tears her cheek are coursing o'er. She speaks of sundered ties. She bids my tender babes deplore The death their father dies : She tells these jewels of my home, I bleed to please the rout of Rome. ■■' I cannot let those cherubs stray Without their sire's protecting care ; And I would chase the griefs away Which cloud my wedded fair. " The monarch spoke ; the guards obey; And gates unclosed are : He 's gone ! — No golden bribes divide The Dacian from his babes and bride. SCIENCE AKD RELIGION. What gives the mind its latent strength to scan, And chains brute instinct at the feet of man — Bids the wild comet, in its path of flame, Compute its periods and declare its name — With deathless radiance decks historic page. And wakes the treasures of a buried age ? Majestic Science, from his cloistered shrine, Heard, and replied — " This godlike power is mine." " Oh, then," said man, " my troubled spirit lead, Which feels its weakness and deplores its need. Come, and the shadowy vale of death illume. Show sin a pardon, and disarm the tomb." High o'er his ponderous tomes his hand he raised. His proud brow kindling as the suppliant gazed : — " With Ignorance I war and hoary Time, DRAMATIC AND DESCBIPTIVK PIECES. 195 Who ■wreck ■vvitli Vandal rage my works sublime — "What can I more, dismiss your idle pain, Your search is fruitless and your labor vain." But from the cell where long she dwelt apart, Her silent temple in the contrite heart. Religion came, and where proud Science failed, She bent her knee to earth, and with her Sire prerailed. MRS. SIGOUKNET THE O'KAVANAGH. The Saxons had met, and the banquet was spread, And the wine in fleet circles the jubilee led ; And the banners that hung round the festal that night. Seemed brighter by far than when hfted in fight. In came the O'Kavanagh, fair as the morn, When earth to new beauty and vigor is born ; They shrank from his glance, like the waves from the prow. For nature's nobility sat on his brow. Attended alone by his vassal and bard — No trumpet to herald, no clansmen to guard — He came not attended by steed or by steel : No danger he knew, for no fear did he feel. In eye and on lip his high confidence smiled — So proud, yet so knightly — so gallant, yet mild ; He moved like a god through the light of that hall, And a smile, fuU of courtliness, proffered to all. " Come pledge us, lord chieftain ! come pledge us ! " tYej cried ; Unsuspectingly free to the pledge he replied ; And this was the peace-branch O'Kavanagh bore — " The friendships to come, not the feuds that are o'er ! " But, minstrel, why cometh a change o'er thy -theme ? Why sing of red battle — what dream dost thou dream ? Ha ! " Treason !" 's the cry, and " Revenge ! " is the call, As the swords of the Saxon surrounded the hall ! A kingdom for Angelo's mind ! to portray Green Erin's undaunted avenger that day ; 196 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. The far-flasliing sword, and the death-darting eye, Like some comet commissioned with wi'atli from the sky. Throui'-h the ranks of the Saxon he hewed his red way — Through lances, and sabers, and hostile array ; And, mounting his charger, he left them to tell The tale of that feast, and its bloody farewell. And now on the Saxons his clansmen advance, With a shout from each heart, and a soul in each lance : He rushed, like a stonn, o'er the nightrcovered heath. And swept through their ranks, like the angel of death. Then hurrah ! for thy glory, young chieftain, hurrah ! Oil ! had we such lightning-souled heroes to-day, Again would our "sunburst" expand in the gale. And Freedom exult o'er the green Innisfail ! J. AUGUSTUS SHEA. "LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE." Look not upon the wine when -it Is red within the cup ! Stay not for pleasure when she fills Her tempting beaker up ! Though clear its depths, and rich its glow A spell of madness lurks below. They say 't is pleasant on the lip, And merry on the brain ; They say it stirs the sluggish blood, And dulls the tooth of pain. Ay — but within its glowing deeps A stinging serpent, unseen, sleeps. Its rosy lights will turn to fire. Its coolness change to thirst ; And, 'by its mirth, within the brain A sleepless worm is nursed. There 's not a bubble at the brim That does not carry food for him. Then dash the brimming cup aside. And spill its purple wine ; DRAMATIC AND DESOKIPTIVE PIECES. 197 Take not its madness to tliy lip — Let not its curse be thine. 'T is red and rich — but grief and woe Are in those rosy depths below. wnxis. ALONZO THE BRAVE. A WARRIOR SO bold, and a virgin so bright, Conversed as they sat on the green ; They gazed on each other with tender delight, Alonzo the brave was the name of the knight. The maid ■ — ■ was the fair Imogene. " And ah ! " said the youth, " since to-moiTOW I go To fight in a far-distant land, Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow. Some other wiU court you, and you will bestow On a wealthier suitor your hand." " Oh, hush these suspicions ! " fair Imogene said, " So hurtful to love and to me ; For if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear by the Virgin that none in your stead Shall husband of Imogene be. And if e'er for another my heart should decide. Forgetting Alonzo the brave, God grant that to punish my falsehood and pride. Thy ghost at my marriage may sit by my side. May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride. And bear me away to the grave." To Palestine hastened the warrior so bold. His love she lamented him sore ; But scarce had a twelvemonth elapsed, when behold 1 A baron, all covered with jewels and gold. Arrived at fair Imogene's door. His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain. Soon made her untrue to her vows ; He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain. He caught her afl^ections, so light and so vain. And carried her home as his spouse. 198 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEB. And now had the mamage been blessed by the priest, The rdvelry now was begun, The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast, Nor j'ct had the laughter and merriment ceased. When the bell of the castle tolled — one ! 'T was then, witli amazement, fair Imogene found A stranger was placed by her side ; His air was terrific, he uttered no sound, He spoke not, he moved not, he looked not around. But earnestly gazed on the bride. His visor was closed, and gigantic his hight. His armor was sable to view ; All laughter and pleasure was hushed at his sight. The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back with affright, And the lights in the chamber burnt blue. . His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay. The gxiests sat in silence and fear ; At length spoke the bride, while she trembled — " I pray. Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, And deign to partake of our cheer." The lady is silent — the stranger comphes. And his visor he slowly unclosed — Oh, God ! what a siglit met fair Imogene's eyes ! What words can express her dismay and surprise, When a skeleton's head was exposed ! All present then uttered a terrified shout. All turned with disgust from the scene ; The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out. And sported his eyes and his temples about, While the specter addressed Imogene : " Behold me, thou false one ! behold me 1 " he cried, — " Behold thy Alonzo the brave ! God grants that, to punisli thy falsehood and pride. My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side. Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride. And bear thee away to the grave ! " This saying, his arms round the lady he wound. While fair Imogene shrieked with dismay : DRAMATIC AND DBSCKIPTIVE. PIECES. 199 Then sunk with his prey through the wide-yawning grc und. Nor ever agam was fair Imogene found, Or the specter that bore her away, Not long Uved the baron, and none since that time To inhabit the castle presume ; For chronicles tell, that by order sublime, There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime, And mourns her deplorable doom. At midnight, four times in each year, does her sprite. When mortals in slumber are bound. Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white. Appear in the hall with her skeleton knight. And shriek as he whirls her around. "While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave, Dancing round them pale specters are seen : Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave They howl — " To the health of Alonzo the brave. And his consort, the false Imogene ! " lewis. THE OWL. There sat an owl in an old oak-tree. Whooping very merrily ; He was considering, as well he might. Ways and means for a supper that night : He looked about with a solemn scowl. Yet very happy was the owl. For in the hollow of that oak-tree, There sat his wife, and his childi-en three. She was singing one to rest ; Another under her downy breast, 'Gan trying his voice to learn her song ; The third (a hungry owl was he) Peeped slily out of the old oak-tree. And peered for his dad, and said, " You 're long ;" But he hooted for joy when he presently saw His sire with a fuU-grown mouse in his claw. Oh, what a supper they had that night ! AU was feasting and delight ; 200 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Who most can chatter, or cram, they strive — They were the merriest owls alive. What then did the old owl do ? Ah ! not so gay was his next to-whoo ! It was very sadly said, For after his children had gone to bed, Strange wild fears perplexed his head. — He did not sleep with his children three, For truly a gentleman owl was he, Who would not on his wife intrude. When she was nursing her infant brood ; So not to invade the nursery. He slept outside the hollow tree. So when he awoke at the fall of the dew, He called his wife with a loud to-whoo — " Awake, dear wife, it is evenjiig gray. And our joys live from the death of day." He called once more, and he shuddered when No voice replied to his again ; Yet still unwilling to believe That evil's raven wing was spread Hovering over his guiltless head. And shutting out joy from his hollow tree, — "Ha — ha — they play me a trick," quoth he, " They will not speak, — well, well, at night They '11 talk enough, I '11 take a flight." But still he went not, in, nor out, But hopped uneasily about. What then did the father owl ? He sat still, until below He heard cries of pain and woe. And saw his wife and children three In a young boy's captivity. He followed them with noiseless wing, Not a cry once uttering. They went to a mansion tall. He sat in a window of the hall. Where he could see His bewildered family ; And he heard the hall with laughter ring, When the boy said, " Bhnd they '11 learn to sing : ' And he heard the shriek, when the hot steel pin Through their eyeballs was thrust in ! He felt it all ! Their agony Was echoed bv his frantic cry. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 201 His scream rose up -with a miglity swell, And ■wild on the boy's fierce heart it fell ; It quailed him, as he shuddering said, " Lo ! the little birds are dead." But the father owl ! i He tore his breast in his despair, And flew he knew not, recked not, where ! Ah ! away, away went the father owl. With his wild stare and deathly scowl. He had got a strange wild stare. For he thought he saw them ever there. And he screamed as they screamed, when he saw them fall Dead on the floor of the marble hall. — Why is the crowd so great to-day. And why do the people shout " huzza ? " And why is yonder felon given Alone to feed the birds of heaven ? Had he no friend, now all is done. To give his corse a grave ? — Not one ! Night has fallen. What means that cry ? It descends from the gibbet high — There sits on its top a lonely owl. With a staring eye, and a dismal scowl ; And he screams aloud, " Eevenge is sweet ! " His mortal foe is at his feet ! ANONrMOUS, THE MAID OF THE INN. Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly fixed eyes . Seem a heart overcharged to express ? She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs ; She never complains, but her silence implies The composure of settled distress. No aid, no. compassion the maniac wiU seek ; Cold and hunger awake not her care ; Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak On her poor withered bosom, half bare ; and her cheek Has the deadly pale hue of despair. Yet cheerfjul and happy, nor distant the day, Poor Mary, the maniac, has been ; 202 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. The traveler remembers, who journeyed this way, Kg damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay, As Mary, the maid of the inn. Her cheerful address filled the guests with dehght, As she welcomed them in with a smile ; Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, And Mary would walk by the abbey at night. When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. . She loved, and young Richard had settled the day, And she hoped to be happy for life ; But Richard was idle and worthless, and they Who knew her, would pity poor Mary, and say That she was too good for his wife. 'T was in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night. And fast were the windows and door ; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burned bright. And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight, They Hstened to hear the wind roar. " ' Tis pleasant," cried one, " seated by the fireside. To hear the wind whistle without." "A fine night for the abbey," his comrade replied — " Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried. Who shordd wander the ruins about. I myself, like a schoolboy, should tremble to hear The hoarse ivy shake over my head ; And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear. Some ugly old- abbot's white spirit appear. For this wind might awaken the dead." "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, " That Mary would venture there now." " Then wager and lose," with a sneer he replied, " I '11 warrant she 'd fancy a ghost by her side. And faint if she saw a white cow." "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ? " His companion exclaimed with a smile ; " I shall wm, for I know she will venture there now. And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough From the alder that grows in the aisle." DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 203 With fearless good humor did Mary comply, And her way to the abbey she bent ; The night it was dark, and the wind it was high. And as hollowly howHng it swept through the sky. She shivered with cold as she went. O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid. Where the abbey rose dim on the sight ; Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Howled dismally round the old pile ; Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed. And arrived at the innermost ruin at last. Where the alder-tree grows in the aisle. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near. And hastily gathered the bough — When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear — She paused, and she hstened, all eager to hear. And her heart panted fearfully now ! The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head ; — She hstened ; — naught else could she hear. The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread. For she heard in the ruins — distinctly — the tread Of footsteps approaching her near. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, .She crept to conceal herself there ; That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear. And between them — a corpse did they bear ! Then Mary could feel her heart's-blood curdle cold ! Again the rough wind hurried by — It blew off the hat of the one, and behold ! Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled ! — She fell — and ezpected to die ! "Curse the hat ! " he exclaims. "Nay come pn, and first hide The dead body," his comrade replies. 204 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. She belield tliem in safety pass on by her side. She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, And fast through the abbey she flies. She ran with wOd speed, she rushed in at the door, She gazed horribly eager around ; Then her hmbs could support their faint burden no more, And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor, -Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, For a moment the hat met her view ; — Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, God ! what cold horror thrilled through her hearl When the name of her Richard she knew. Where the old abbey stands, on the common hard by. His gibbet is now to be seen ; Kot far frora the inn it engages the eye. The traveler beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh. Of poor Mary, the maid of the inn. southet. ARNOLD WINKELRIED. " Make way for hberty ! " — he cried ; Made way for liberty, and died 1 — 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 eveiy freeman was a host, And felt as though himself were he. On whose sole arm hung victory. It did depend on one indeed ; Behold him — Arnold Winkeh'ied ! There sounds not to the trump of fame The echo of a nobler name. Unmarked he stood amid the throng. In rumination deep and long, DRAMATIC AND DESCKIPTIVE PIECES. 205 Till you might see, witii sudden grace, Tlie 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. But 't was no sooner thought than done ! The field was in a moment won : — " Make way for hberty ! " he cried. Then ran, with arms extended wide. As if his dearest friend to clasp ; Ten spears he swept within his grasp : " Make. way for liberty ! " he cried. Their keen points met from side to side ; He bowed amongst them like a tree, And thus made way for hberty. Swift to the breach his comrades fly : " Make way for liberty ! " they cry. And through the Austrian phalanx dart. As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart ; While instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all : An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow. Thus Switzerland again was free ; Thus death made way for hberty ! MONieoMEBr. THE MANIAC Stat, jailer, stay, and hear my woe ! She is not mad who kneels to thee ; For what I 'm now, too well I know. And what I was, and what should be. I '11 rave no more in proud despair ; My language shall be mild, though sad : But yet I firmly, truly swear, I anj not mad, I am not mad. My tyrant husband forged the tde Which chains me in this dismal cell ; My fate unknown my friends bewail — Oh ! jailer, haste that fate to tell : 206 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Oh ! haste my father's heart to cheer : His heart at once 'twill grieve and glad To know, though kept a captive here, I am not mad, I am not mad. He smiles in. scorn, and turns the key ; He quits the grate ; I knelt in vain ; His giimmeriiig lamp, still, still I see — 'Tis gone ! and all is gloom again. Cold, bitter cold ! — No warmth ! no light ! — Life, all thy comforts once I had ; Yet Jiere I 'm chained, this freezing night, Although not mad ; no, no, not jaad. 'Tis sure some dream, some vision vain ; What ! 1, — the child of rank and wealth, — Am I the wretch who clanks this chain. Bereft of freedom, friends, and health ? Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled. Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head ; But 'tis not mad ; no, 'tis not mad. Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this, A mother's face, a mother's tongue ? She '11 ne'er forget your parting kiss. Nor round her neck how fast you clung ; Nor how with her you sued to stay ; Nor how that suit your sire forbade ; Nor how — I'll drive such thoughts away ; They '11 make me, mad, they 'U make me mad. His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ! His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! None ever bore a lovelier child : And art thou now forever gone ? And must I never see thee more. My pretty, pretty, pretty lad ? I will be free ! unbar the door ! I am uot mad ; I am not mad. Oh 1 hark ! what mean those yells and cries ? His chain some furious madman breaks ; He comes, — I see his glaring eyes ; Now, now, my dungeon-gxate ho shakes. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 207 Help ! help ! — He's gone ! — Oh ! fearful woe, Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! My brain, my brain, — I know, I know, I am not mad, but soon shall be. Yes, soon ; — for, lo you ! — while I speak — Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! He sees me ; now, with dreadful shriek, He whirls a serpent high in air. Horror ! — the reptile strikes his tooth Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ; Ay, laugh, ye fiends ; — I feel the ti-uth ; Your task is done' — I 'm mad ! I 'm mad ! LKWIS. THE GRAVE OF THE GREYHOUND The spearmen heard the bugle sound. And cheerly smiled the morn. And many a dog and many a hound Obeyed Lewellyn's horn. And still he blew a louder blast. And gave a lustier cheer — " Come, Gelert, thou wert ri-e'er the last Lewellyn's horn to hear. Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam, The flower of all his race ? So true, so brave, a lamb at home, A lion in the chase ! " 'T was .only at Lewellyn's board The faithful Gelert fed ; He watched, he served, he cheered his lord. And sentineled his bed. In sooth he was a peerless hound. The gift of royal John ; But now, no Gelert could be found. And all the chase rode on. , And now, as o'er the rocks and dells The gallant chidings rise. 208 THE SEW AMERIUAN SPEAKER. All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells The many mingled cries. That day Lewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare. And scant and small the booty proved — >■ For Gelert was not there. Unpleased Lewellyn homeward hied ; When, near the portal seat. His truant Gelert he espied. Bounding his lord to greet. But when he gained his castle door. Aghast the chieftain stood ; The hound all o'er was smeared with gore. His hps, his fangs ran blood. Lewellyn gazed with fierce surprise, Unused such looks to meet ; His favorite checked his joyful guise, And crouched and hcked his feet. Onward in haste Lewellyn past. And on went Gelert too, And still where'er his eyes he cast. Fresh blood-drops shocked his view. O'ertumed his infant's bed he found. With blood-stained covert rent ; And aU around the walls and ground. With recent blood besprent. He called his child — no voice replied; He searched with terror wild : Blood, blood he found on every side, But nowhere found his child. " Hellhound ! my child 's by thee devoured, The frantic father cried. And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side. His suppliant looks, as prone he fell. No pity could impart. But still his Gelert's dying yell Passed heavy o'er his heart. DEAMATIO AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 209 Arovised by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened mgh, What words the parent's joy could tell. To hear his infant cry. Concealed beneath a tumbled, heap. His hurried search had missed ; All glowing from his rosy sleep. The cherub boy he kissed. No wound had he, nor harm, nor dread ; But the same couch beneath, Lay a gaunt wolf, ah torn and dead, Tremendous stilL in death. All, what was then Lewellyn's pain ? For now the truth was clear ; His gallant hound the wolf had slain. To save Lewellyn's heir. Vain, vain was all Lewellyn's woe : " Best of thy kind, adieu !" The frantic blow that laid thee low. This heart shall ever rue." And now a gallant tomb they raise. With costly sculpture decked ; And marble, storied with his praise. Poor Gelert's bones protect. There, never could the spearman pass. Or forester, unmoved ; There, oft the tear-besprinkled grass Lewellyn's sorrow proved. And there he hung his horn and spear, And there, as evening fell. In fancy's ear he oft would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell. And 'till great Snowdon's rooks grow old. And cease the storm to brave, The consecrated spot shall hold The name of " Gelert's Grave." w. spencer. 14 210 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. THE MUMMY. And thou hast walked about (how strange a story !) In Thebes' streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are temendous. Speak ! for thou long enough hast acted dummy. Thou hast a tongue, come let us hear its tune : Thou 'rt standing on thy legs above gTOund, Mummy ! Revisiting tlie glimpses of the moon ; Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures. But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features. Tell us — for doubtless thou canst recollect, To whom should we assign the sphynx's fame ? Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect Of either pyramid tfiat bears his name ? Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer ? Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ? Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade, Then say what secret melody was hidden In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played ? Perhaps thou wert a priest — if so, my struggles Are vain ; — Egyptian priests ne'er owned their juggles. Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat, Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass ; Or dropped a half-penny in Homer's hat. Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass, Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, A torch at the great temple's dedication. I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed. Has any Pioman soldier mauled and knuckled, For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed, Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled : — Antiquity appears to have begun Long after thy primeval race was run. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 211 Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations ; The Roman empire has begun and ended ; New worlds have risen — we have lost old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled. While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, Marched armies o'er thy tomb, with thundering tread, O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder. When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed. The nature of thy private Kfe unfold ; — A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast. And tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled : — Have children climbed those Imees, and kissed that face ? What was thy name and station, age and race ? Statue of flesh — immortal of the dead ! Imperishable type of evanescence ! Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed. And standest undecayed within our presence. Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning. When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning. Why should this worthless tegument endure. If its undying guest be lost forever ? Oh, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In hving virtue ; that when both must sever. Although corruption may our frame consume, Th' immortal spirit in the skies may bloom. SMiTir. THE AMERICAN FLAG. When Freedom, from her mountain hight. Unfurled ber standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there ! She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies. 212 THE KEW A.ME1UCAN BPEAKER. And striped its pure celusli^J white With strcakini^^ of the morning light ; Then from his mansion in the sun, She c;i)led her eagle-bearer down, And gave into his miglity hand The symbol of her chosen band ! Majrslio monarch of the cloud ! Wlio rearest aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest trumping loud, *■ And see the lightning lances driven. When stride the warriors of the storm. And rolls the ihundcr-drum of heaven 1 Child of the sun ! to thee 't is gi\en To guard the banner of the free. To hover in the sulphur smoke. To ward away the battle-stroke. And bid its blendings shine afar. Like rainbows on the cloud of war — The harbingers of victory. Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high ! When speaks the signal trumpet tone. And the long line comes gleaming on, (Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet. Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,) Each soldier's ey« shall brightly turn To where thy meteor glories burn, And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and ^'engeance from the glance i And when the cannon's mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, And gory sabers rise and fall, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall. There shall thy victor glances glow. And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm, that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas ! on ocean's wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave. When Death, careering on the gale. Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back, Before the broadside's reelina- rack ; DRAMATIC AND DESCBIPTIVE PIECES. 313 The dying wand'rer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly, la triumph o'er his closing eye. nR. drake. PARTING OF DOUGLAS AND MARMION Not far advanced was morning day. When Mal-mion did his troops array. To Surrey's camp to ride ; He had safe-conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand, And Douglas gave a guide ; The ancient Earl, with stately grace. Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whispered, in an under tone, "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." The train from out the castle drew ; But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — " Though something I might plain," he said, " Of cold respect to stranger guest. Sent hither by your king's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I staid. Part we in friendship from your land. And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — But Douglas round him drew his cloak. Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : "My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my king's alone. From turret to foundation stone, — The hand of Douglas is his ot^ti, And never shall, in friendly grasp. The hand of such as Marmion clasp." Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire. And shook his very frame with ire. And — " This to me ! " he said, — " An 't were not for thy hoary beard. Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head ! 214 THE HEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. And, first, I IcU thee, hauj^bty peer. He, who does England's mcsisa'_;c here. Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Ang-us, be thy mate ; And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride. Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hands upon your sword,) I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! And if thou said'st, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age ; Fierce he broke forth — " And dar'st thou then To beard the lion in his den. The Douglas in his hall ? And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? — No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no ! — Up draw-biidge, grooms — what, warder, ho ! Let the portcullis fall." — Lord Marmion turned, ■ — well was his need. And dashed the rowels in his steed. Like arrow through the archway sprung. The ponderous grate behind him rung : To pass there was such scanty room, The bars, descending razed his plume. The steed along the draw-bridge flies. Just as it trembled on the lise ; Not lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim. And when Lord Marmion reached his band, He halts, and turns with clenched hand. And shout of "loud defiance pours. And shook his gauntlet at the towers. " Horse ! horse ! " the Douglas cried, " and chase ! " But soon he reined his fury's pace : " A royal messenger he came. Though most unworthy of the name. — Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood ; I thought to slay him where he stood. — DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 215 'Tis pity of him, too," he cried ; " Bold can he speak, and fairly ride : I warrant him a warrior tried." — With this his mandate he recalls, ■And slowly seeks his castle halls, scott. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood ! When fond recollection presents them to view ; The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; The wide spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it. The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it. And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well ; The old oaken bucket — the iron-bound bucket — That moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure. The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell ; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing. And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well ; The old oaken bucket — the iron-bound bucket — The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it. As poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from that loved situation. The tear of regret will intrusively swell. As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well ; The old oaken bucket — the u-on-bound bucket — Tha moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well. ■WOODWOBTH. 216 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. WARREN'S ADDRESS. Stand ! the ground 's your own, my braves i Will ye give it up to slaves ? Will ye look for greener graves ? Hope ye mercy still ? What 's the mercy despots feel ? Hear it in that battle peal ! Bead it on yon bristling steel ! Ask it — ye who will. Fear ye foes who kiU for hire ? Will ye to your homes retire ? Look behind you ! they 're afire ! And, before you, see Who have done it ! — From the vale On they come ! — and will ye quail ? — Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be ! In the God of battles trust ! Die we may — and die we must : — But, oh, where can dust to dust Be consigned so well. As where heaven its dews shall shed On the martyred patriot's bed. And the rocks shall raise their head, Of his deeds to tell ? peebpont, BATTLE OF WARSAW. When leagued Oppression poured to norttern wars Her whiskered panders and her fierce hussars. Waved her dread standard to the breeze of mom. Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her ti'umpet horn ; Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! Warsaw's last champion, from her hight surveyed. Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid — Oh, Heaven ! he cried, m^y bleeding country save 1 Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? DRAMATIC AND DESCEIPTIVE PIECES. 217 Yet, tliough destruction sweep these lovely plains^ Rise, fellow-men ! Our country yet remains ! By that dread name we wave the sword on high. And swear for her to live ! with her to die ! He said, and on the rampart-hights arrayed His trusty warriors, few, biit undismayed ; Firm paced, and slow, a horrid front they form, StUl as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly ; E«venge or death — the watchword and reply ; Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm. And the loud tocsin toUed their last alarm ! In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew : Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe. Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear. Closed her bright eye, and curbed the high career : — Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell ! Campbell. BROUGHAM AND CANNING. Upon that occasion, the oration of Brougham was, at the outset, disjointed and ragged, and apparently without aim or apphcation. He careered over the whole annals of the world, and collected every instance in which genius had degraded itself at the footstool of power, or principle had been sacrificed for the vanity or the lucre of place ; but still there was no allusion to Canning, and no connection that ordinary men could discover with the business before the house. When', however, he had collected every material which suited his purpose, — when the mass had become big and black, he bound it about and about with the cords of illustration and of argument ; when its union was secure, he swung it round and round, with the strength of a giant and the rapidity of a whirlwind, in order that its impetus and its effect might be the more tremendous ; and, while doing this, he ever and anon glared his eye, and pointed his finger, to make the aim and the direction sure. 19 '218 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEH. Canning himself was the first that seemed to be aware, where and how terrible was to be llie collision ; and lie kept writhing his body in agony, and rolling his eyes in fear, as if anxious to find some shelter from the impending bolt. The house soon caught the impression, and every man in it was glancing his eye fearfully, first toward the orator, and then toward the secretary. There was, save the voice of Brougham, which growled in that under tone of muttered thunder, which is so fearfully audible, and of which no speaker of the day was fully master but hunself, a silence as if the angel of retribution had been flaring in the face of all parties the scroll of their personal and political sins. A pen, which one of the secretaries dropped upon the matting, was heard in the remotest part of the house ; and the voting mem- bers, who often slept in the side galleries during the debate, started up as though the final trump had been sounding them to give an account of their deeds. The stiffness of Brougham's fio-ure had vanished ; his features seemed concentrated almost to a point ; he glanced toward every part of the house in succession ; and, sounding the death-knell of the secretary's forbearance and prudence, with both his clenched hands upon the table, he hurled at him an accusation more dreadful in its gall, and more torturing in its efi:ects, than ever had been hurled-at mortal man within the same walls. The result was instantaneous — was electric : it was as when the thunder-cloud descends upon some giant peak — one flash, one peal — the sublimity vanished, and all that remained was a small and cold pattering of rain. Canning started to his feet, and was able only to utter the unguarded words, "It is false !" to which followed a dull chapter of apologies. From that moment, the Louse became more a scene of real business, than of airy display and angry vituperation. anonymous. "EXCELSIOR." The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, "Ezcelsior 1" His brow was sad ; his eye, beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath ; DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 219 And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, " Excelsior ! " In happy homes he saw tlie light Of hoiisehoM fires gleam warm and bright : Above, the spectral glaciers shone ; And from his lips escaped a groan, "Excelsior!" " Try not the pass ! " the old man said, " Dark- lowers the tempest overhead ; The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " And loud that clarion voice replied, " Excelsior 1 " " Oh ! stay," the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast ! " — A tear stood in his bright blue eye ; But still he answered, with a sigh, "Excelsior!" " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last good-night ; — A voice replied, far up the Eight, " Excelsior ! " . At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, " Excelsior 1 " A traveler, by the faithful hound. Half buried in the snow was found. Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, "Excelsior !" There, in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star — "Excelsior ! " lONGrELLow. 220 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. WAR-SONG OF THE GREEKS, 1822. Again to the battle, Aohaians ! Our hearts bid the tyrants defiaiice ; Our land, — the first gardea of Liberty's tree — It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free ; For the cross of our faith is replanted. The pale dying crescent is daunted. And we march that the footprints of Mahomet's slaves. May be washed out in blood from our forefathers' graves Their spirits are hovering o'er us. And the sword shall to glory restore us. Ah ! what though no succor advances, Nor Christendom's chi\'alrous lances Are stretched in our aid ? — Be the combat our own ! And we '11 perish or conquer more proudly alone : For we 've sworn by our country's assaulters, By the virgins they 've dragged from our altars, By our massacred patriots, our children in chains, By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins. That living, we will be victorious. Or that dying, our deaths shall be glorious. A breath of submission we breathe not ; The sword that we 've dra-wn we will sheathe not ; Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid. And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade. Earth may hide — waves engulf — fire consume us, But they shall not to slavery doom us : If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves ; — But we 've smote them already with fire on the waves. And new triumphs on land are before us. To the charge ! — Heaven's banner is o'er us ! CAMPBELL. WHAT IS TIME ? I ASKED an aged man, a man of cares. Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs : " Time is tl e warp of Hfe," he said, " oh, tell The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well! " DRAMATIC AND DliSCRIPTIVE PIECES. 221 I asked the ancient, venerable dead, Sages who wrote, and warriors who had bled : From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed, " Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode ! " I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide Of hfe had left his veins : " Time ! " he replied; " I 've lost it ! Ah, the treasure I" — and he died. I asked the golden sun, and silver spheres, Those bright chronometers of days and years : They answered, " Time is' but a meteor glare ! " And bade us for eternity prepare. I asked the seasons, in their annual round. Which beautify, or desolate the groimd : And they replied, (no oracle more wise,) " 'T is folly's blank, and wisdom's highest prize ! " I asked a spirit lost : but oh, the shriek That pierced my soul ! I shudder while I speak ! It cried, " A particle, a speck, a mite Of endless years, duration infinite ! " Of things inanimate, my dial I Consulted, and it made me this reply : " Time is the season fan* of livinff well, The path of glory, or the path of hell." I asked my Bible : and methinks it said, " Time is the present hour, — the past is fled ; Live ! live to-day ! — to-morrow never yet On any human being rose or set." I asked old father Time himself, at last, But in a moment he flew swiftly past : His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind. MABSDEN. BOADICEA. When the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Eoman rods, Sought, with an indignant mein, .Counsel of her country's gods ; Sage beneath a spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief. Every burning word he spoke, Full of rage and full of grief :■ - 222 TUB NEW AMEHKJAN 6PEAKER. " Princess, if our aged eyes Weep upon tliy matchless ■wrongs, 'T is because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. " Rome shall perish — ■write that 'word In the blood that she has spilt ; Perish hopeless find abhorred, Deep in ruin as in guilt. " Rome, for empire far reno^wned, Tramples on a thousand states ; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates. " Other Romans shall arise. Heedless of a soldier's name. Sounds, not arms, shall ■win the prize. Harmony the path to fame. " Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land. Armed ■with thunder, clad ■with wings. Shall a ■wider world command. " Regions Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway, "Where his eagles never flew. None invincible as they." Such the bard's prophetic words. Pregnant with celestial fire ; Bending as he swept the chords. Of his sweet but awful lyre. Sflie ■with all a monarch's pride. Felt them in her bosom glow, — Rushed to battle, fought and died — Dying, hurled them at the foe : " Ruffians ! pitiless as proud 1 Heaven awards the vengeance due ! Empire is on us bestowed, — Shame and ruin wait on you ! " cowper. DRAMATIC AND DESCBIPTIVE PIECES. 223 THE BENDED BOW. There was heard tlie sound of a coming: foe, There was sent through Britain a bended bow ; And a voice was poured on the free winds far. As the land rose up at the sound of war : " Heard ye not the battle horn ? Reaper ! leave thy golden corn ! Leave it for the birds of heaven ; Swords must flash, and spears be riven ; Leave it for the winds to shed, — Arm ! ere Britain's turf grow red ! " And the reaper armed, hke a freeman's son ; And the bended bow and the voice passed on. " Hunter ! leave the mountain chase ! Take the falchion from its place ! Let the wolf go free to-day ; Leave him for a nobler prey ! Let the deer ungalled sweep by, — Arm thee ! Britain's foes are nigh ! " And the hunter armed, ere the chase was done • And the bended bow and the voice passed on. " Chieftain ! quit the joyous feast ! Stay not till the song hath ceased : 'Though the mead be foaming bright, Though the fire gives niddy light. Leave the hearth and leave the hall, — Arm thee ! Britain's foes must fall ! " And the chieftain armed, and the horn was blown ; And the bended bow and the voice passed on. " Prince ! thy father's deeds are told In the bower and in the hold ! Where the goatherd's lay is sung, Where the minstrel's harp is strung ! Foes are on thy native sea, — Give our bards a tale of thee ! " And the prince came armed, like a leader's son ; And the bended bow and the voice passed on. " Mother ! stay thou not thy boy ! He must leam the battle's joy. 224 THE NEW AMERIOAIi SrEAKEB. Sibkr ! bring the sword and spear, Give Uiy brotlicr words of cheer ! Maiden ! bid thy lover part ; Britain calls the strong in heart 1 " And the bended bow and the voice passed on ; And the bards made song of a battle won. MRS. HEMANS. LOCHINVAR. Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west. Through all the wide border his steed was the best, And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none. He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in ]o\e, and so dauntless in war. There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; But, ere he aUghted at Netherby gate. The bride had consented, the gallant came late ; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 'Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) " Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? " " I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — And now am I come, with this lost love of mine. To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far. That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up. He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh. With a smile on her hps, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar : — " Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar, DRAMATIC AND DESCEIPIIVE PIECES. -225 So stately his form, and so lovely her face, Tliat never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plxune ; And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'T were better by far T(5 have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. When they reached the hall door, where the charger stood near j So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! '• She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur : They 'U have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Greemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode, and they ran ; There was racing and chasing on Canoby lea. But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. scott. THE VISlOlSr OF BELSHAZZAR. The Mng was on Tiis throne, The satraps thronged the hall ; A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deemed divine — Jehovah's vessels — hold The godless heathen's wine 1 In that same hour and hall. The fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall. And wrote as if on sand : The fingers of a man, — A sohtary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them hke a wand. The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice ; AU bloodless waxed his look, And tremulous his voice : — 15 226 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKEB. " Let the men of lore appear, The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear, Which mar our royal mirth." Chaldea's seers are good. But here they ha-\e no skill ; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore ; But now they were not sage, They saw — but knew no more. A captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command. He saw that writing's truth ; The lamps around were bright. The prophecy in view ; He read it on that night, — The morrow proved it true. " Belshazzar's grave is made, His kingdom passed away ; He, in the balance weighed, Is light and worthless clay. The shroud his robe of state. His canopy the stone ; The Mede is at his gate ! The Persian on his throne ! " THE 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 muid. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers. And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; While memory stood sidewise, half covered with flowers. And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 227 Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young di'eamer in ecstasy rise — Now far, far behind him the green waters ghde, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. The jessamin clambers in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall ; AU trembling with transport, he raises the latch. And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with loots of delight. His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear. And the hps of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the hps of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'er, And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest — " God, thou hast blest me — I ask for no more." Ah ! whence is that flame, which now bursts on his eye ? Ah ! what is that sound which now larums his ear ? 'T is the hghtning's red glare, painting hell on the sky ! 'T is the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere I He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck ; Amazement confronts him with images dire — Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck — The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! like mountains the biUows tumultuously swell ; — In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell. And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave ! Oh, sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of deUght ; In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss— =- Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, Tliy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ? Oh, saOor-boy ! sailor -boy ! never again Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main. Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 828 THE KEW AMERICAN SP.IAKER. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for tlice. Or redeem form or frame from the merciless sui'ge ; But the white foam of waves shall thy windini;-sheet be. And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid ; Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; Of. thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made. And every part suit to thy mansion below. Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away. And still the vast waters above thee shall roll — Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye — Oh, sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! peace to thy soul. dimond. THE SPIDER AND THE BEE. With viscous thread, and finger fine. The spider spun his filmy line ; The extremes with stronger cordage tied. And wrought the web from side to side. Beneath the casement's pendant roof. He hung aloft the shadowy woof : — There in the midst compressed he lies, And patient waits the expe'oted prize. When, lo ! on sounding pinion strong, A bee, incautious, rushed along ; Nor of the gauzy net aware, Till all entangled in the snare. Enraged, he plies his buzzing wings. His far-resounding war-song sings ; Tears all that would his course control. And threatens ruin to the whole. With dread, with gladness, vrith surprise. The spider saw the dangerous prize ; Then rushed relentless on his foe, Intent to give the deadly blow. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 5i29 But as tlie spider came in view, The bee his poisoned dagger drew ; — Back at the sight the spider ran, And now his crafty work began. With lengthened arms the snares he plied, And turned the bee from side to side ; His legs he tied, his wings he bound, And whirled his victim round and round. And now with cautious steps and. slow, He came to give the fatal blow ; When, frightened at the trenchant blade, The bee one desperate effort made. The fabric breaks — the cords give way ; His wings resume then- wonted play ; Far off on gladsome plume he flies. And drags the spider through the skies. Shun vice's snares ; — but if you 're caught, Boldly resist, and parley not ; Then, though yoiu- foe you cannot kill. You 'U lead him captive where you wiE. ANONYMOUS. DEATH-SONG OF OUTALISSI. " And I could weep ; " — the Oneida chief His descant wildly thus begun ; " But that I may not stain with grief The death-song of my father's son ! Or bow this head in woe ; For by my wrongs, and by my wrath ! To-morrow Areouski's breath, (That fires yon heaven with storms and death,) Shall light us to the foe : And we shall share, my Christian boy ! The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy ! " But thee, my flower, whose breath was given By milder genii o'er the deep, The spirits of the white man's heaven Forbid not thee to weep : — 230 THE NEW AMERICAS SPEAKER. K'or will llie Christian host, Xor will thy father's spirit grieve To see tliee, on the battle's eve, Lamenting take a mournful leave Of her who loved tliee most : Slie was the rainbow to thy sight ! Thy sun — thy heaven — ■ of lost delight ! — " To-morrow let lis do or die ! But when the bolt of death is hurled, Ah ! whither then with thee to fly. Shall Outalissi roam the world ? — Seek we tliy once loved home ? The hand is gone that cropped its flowers ; Unheard their clock repeats its hours ! Cold is the hearth within their bowers ! And should we thither roam. Its echoes, and its empty tread. Would sound like voices from the dead ! " Or shall we cross yon mountains blue, Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed. And by my side, in battle true, A thousand warriors drew the shaft ? — Ah ! there in desolation cold. The desert serpent dwells alone. Where grass o'ergrows each moldering bone. And stones, themselves to ruin grown, Like me, are death-like old. Then seek we not their camp — for there — The silence dwells of my despair ! "But hark, the trump ! — to-morrow thou In gloiy's fires slialt diy thy tears : Even from the land of shadows now My father's awful ghost appears. Amid the clouds that round us roll ; He bids my soul for battle thirst. He bids me dry the last — the first — The only tear that ever burst From Outahssi's soul ; Because I may not stain with grief The death-song of an Indian chief." campbell. DRAMATIC AND DESCKIPTIVE. PIECES. 231 DAVID'S LAMENT FOR ABSALOM. The king stood still Till the last echo died ; then, throwing oif The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child. He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe : *' Alas ! my noble boy ! that thou shouldst die ! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ! That death should settle in thy glorious eye. And leave his stillness in this clustering hair ! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb. My proud boy, Absalom ! " Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am chUl, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee 1 How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet ' my father ! ' from those dumb And cold hps, Absalom ! " But death is on thee ; I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young ; And life will pass me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung ; — But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom ! " And oh ! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart. Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token ! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom ! " And now, farewell ! 'T is hard to give thee up, With death so hke a gentle slumber on thee ! — And thy. dark sin ! — oh ! I could drink the cup, If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, hke a wanderer, home, My lost boy,- Absalom !" 232 THE NEW ASIBEICAN SPEAICER. He covered up his face, and bowed himself A moment on his child ; then, giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasped His hands convulsively, as if in prayer. And, as if strength were given him of God, He rose up calmly, and composed the paU Firmly and decently — and left him there. As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. willis. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note. As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero was buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin inclosed his breast. Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay hke a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said. And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead. And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed. And smoothed down his lonely pillow. That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head. And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they 'U talk of the spirit that 's gone. And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he '11 reck, if they '11 let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done. When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 233 And we heard the distant aiid random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carred not a hne, and we raised not a stone — But we left him alone with his glory ! wolfk ABSALOM'S DREAM. Methought I stood again, at dead of night, In that rich sepulcher, viewing, alone. The" wonders of the place. Mj wondering eyes Rested upon the costly sarcophage Reared in the midst. I saw therein a form Like David : not as he appears, but young And mddy. In his lovely tinctured cheek. The vermil blood looked pure and fresh as life In gentle slumber. On his blooming brow Was bound the diadem. But while I gazed, The phantasm vanished, and my father lay there, As he is now, his head and beard in silver. Sealed with the pale fixed impress of the tomb, I knelt and wept. But, when I thought to kiss My tears from off his reverend cheek, a voice Cried, " Impious ! hold ! " — and suddenly there stood A dreadful and refulgent form before me. Bearing the Tables of the Law. It .spake not, moved not, but still sternly pointed To one command, which shone so fiercely bright, It seared mine eyeballs. Presently I seemed Transported to the desolate wUd shore Of Asphaltites, night, and storm, and fire. Astounding me with horror. All alone I wandered ; but where'er I turned my eyes, On the bleak rocks, or pitchy clouds, or closed them. Flamed that command. Then suddenly I sunk down, down, methought. Ten thousand cubits, to a wide And traveled way, walled to the firmament On either side, and filled with hurrying nations ; Hurrymg, or hurried by some spell, 20 234 THE KKW AMERICAN SPEAKEE. Toward a portentous adamantine gate, Towering before us to the emp^ican. Beside it Abraliam sat, in re>erend years And gracious majchty, snatching his seed From its devouring jaws. When I approached, He groaned forth, " Parricide ! " and stretched no aid — To me alone, of all his children. Tlien, What flames, what howling fiery billows caught me, Like the red ocean of consuming cities. And shapes most horrid ; all, methought, in crowns Scorching as molten brass, and every eyi_; Bloodshot with agt)ny, yet none had power To tear them olf. With frantic yells of joy. They crowned me too, and with the pang, I woke. HILLHO0SE. THE DOWNFALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY". Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the' state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening ■ — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured. Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me. Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye : I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin. More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again ! — Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. DEAMATIO AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 835 Let 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be. And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, 1 taught thee, — Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, — Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then. The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou faU'st, Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. shakspeabe. THE MURDERED TRAVELER. When spring, to woods and wastes around. Brought bloom and joy again. The murdered traveler's bones were found, Far down a narrow glen. The fragrant birch, above him, hung Her tassels in the sky ; And many a vernal blossom sprung. And nodded careless by. The red-bird warbled, as he wrought His hanging nest o'erhead ; And fearless, near the fatal spot. Her young the partridge led. But there was weeping far away ; And gentle eyes, for him. With watching many an anxious day. Grew sorrowful and dim. 236 THE i;ew American speaker. They Utile knew, wlio- lo\ed him so, The fearful death he met, When shouting o'er the de^Where early violets die. Under the willow. Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day. Cool streams are laving ; There, while the tempests sway. Scarce are boughs waving ; There thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever ; Never again to wake — Never, oh, never! Where shall the traitor rest. He the deceiver. Who could win maiden's breast. Ruin and leave her ? 244 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groa/is of the dying. There shall he be lyina;. Her wing shall the raven flap O'er the false-hearted ; His warm blood the wolf shall lap Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonor sit By his grave ever : Blessings shall hallow it Never ! oh, never ! bcott. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And Ms cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast. And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; And the eyes of the sleeper waxed deadly and chill. And their hearts but once heaved, and forever were stiU ! And there lay the steed with Ms nostrils all wide. But through them there rolled not the breath of Ms pride, And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf. And cold as the spray on the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale. With the dew on his brow and the rust on Ms mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone. The lances unlifte'd, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail. And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile,'unsmote by the sword. Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord. BTBOif. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. THE BATTLE OF BUSACO. Beyond Busaco's mountains dun When far had rolled tlie sultry sun, And night her pall of gloom had thrown On nature's still ooiivexiiy ; High on the heath our tents were spread. The cold turf was our cheerless bed, And o'er the hero's dew-chilled head The banners flapped incessantly. The loud war-trumpet woke the morn, — The quivering drum, the pealing horn, — From rank to rank the cry is borne, " Arouse for death or victory ! '' The orb of day, in crimson dye. Began to mount the morning sky ; Then, what a scene for warrior's eye- Hung on the bold declivity ! The serried bayonets glittering stood. Like icicles on hills of blood ; An aerial stream, a silver wood, Reeled in the flickeiing canopy. Like waves of ocean rolling fast. Or thunder-cloud before the blast, Massena's legions, stern and vast, Rushed to the dreadful revelry. The pause is o'er : the fatal shock A thousand thousand thunders woke ; The air grows thick ; the mountains rock ; Red ruin rides triumphantly. Light rolled the war-cloud to the sky. In phantom towers and columns high, But dark and dense their bases lie Prone on the battle's boundary. The thistle waved her bonnet blue, The harp her wildest war-notes threw, The red rose gsfcied a fresher hue, Busaco, in thy heraldry. 840 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEB. Hail, gallant brotliers ! Woe befall The foe that braves thy triple wall ! — Thy sons, wretched PortuL;al ! Eoused at their feats of chivalry, anonymous,. PULASKI'S BANNER. " The standard of Count Pulaskiftlie ncVie Pole, who fell in the attack on Savannah, during the American revohitiou, was of crimson silk, em- broidered by the Moravian nuns of Bethelem, Pennsylvania." When the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowled head, And the censer burning swimg, Where before the altar hung That round banner, which, with prayer, Had been consecrated there ; And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while Sung low in the deep mysterious aisle. " Take thy banner. May it wave Proudly o'er the good and brave, When the battle's distant wail Breaks the sabbath of our vale. When the clarion's music thrills To the hearts of these lone hills, When the spear in conflict shakes. And the strong lance shivering breaks. ■•' Take thy banner ; and beneath The war-cloud's encircling wreath. Guard it till our homes are free — Guard it — God will prosper thee ! In the dark and trying hour. In the breaking forth of power. In the rush of steeds and men, His right hand will shield thee ther.. " Take thy banner. But when night Closes round the ghastly fight. If the vanquished wanior bow, Spare him ; by our holy vow. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 247 By our prayers and many tears, By the mercy that endears, Spare him ; he our love hath shared. Spare him — as thoii wouldst be spared.' " Take thy banner ; and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier. And the muffled drum should beat To the tread of mournful feet. Then this crimson flag shall be Martial cloak and shroud for thee ! " And the vfarrior took that banner proud. And it was his martial cloak and shroud, anonymous. GINEVRA. She was an only child, her name Ginevra, The joy, the pride of an indulgent father ; And in her fifteenth year became a bride. Marrying an only son, Francisco Doria, Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. She was all gentleness, all gayety, Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; Now frowning, smiling for the hundredth time. The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ; And in the luster of her youth she gave Her hand, with her heart ia it, to Francisco. Great was the joy ; but at the nuptial feast. When all sat down, the .bride herself was wanting, Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried, " 'T is but to make a trial of our love ! " And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook. And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 'T was but that instant she had left Francisco, Laughing and looking back and flying still. Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger ; But, now, alas ! she was not to be found ; Nor from that hour could anything be guessed, But that she was not ! « Weary of his life, Francisco flew to Venice, and embarking. Flung it away in battle with the Turk. 248 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. The father li^'ed, and long might you hare sieen An old man wandering as if in quest of something — Something he could not find, he knew not what. When he waa gone, the house remained awhile Silent and tenantless — then went to strangers. Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, When on an idle day, a day of search, 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, That moldering chest was noticed, and 't was said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, " Why not remove it from its lurking place ? " 'T was done as soon as said, but on the way It burst, it fell ; and lo, a skeleton; With here and tliere a pearl, an emerald stone, A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. All else had perished — save a wedding ring And a small seal, her mother's legacy, Engi-aven with a name, the name of both, " Ginevra." There then she had found a grave ! Within that chest had she concealed herself, Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy, When a spring lock that lay in ambush there, Fastened her down forever ! EOGERa. THE VULTURE OF THE ALPS. I 'VE been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their vales. And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales, As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was o'er. They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of more And there I, from a shepherd, heard a narrative of fear, A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear ; The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous ; But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus : — " It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells, Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells ; But, patient, watching hour on hour, upon a lofty rock. He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock. " One cloudless sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high. When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry. As if some awful deed were done — a shriek of grief and pain, A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 249 " I hurried out to learn the cause ; but, overwhelmed w th fright. The children never ceased to shriek, and from my freniiied sight I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care ; But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing through the air. " Oh ! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye, — His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry* And now, with agonizing heart, and with a maniac rave. That earthly power could not avail that innocent to save ! " My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me. And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly, to get free ; At intervals I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and screamed ! Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed. The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he flew ; A mote, upon the sun's broad face, he seemed unto my view ; But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight, — 'T was only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite. " All search was vain, and years had passed ; that child was ne'er forgot, When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot. From thence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached. He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleached ! " I clambered up that rugged cliff, — I could not stay away, — I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay ; A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred ; The crimson cap he wore that.morn was still upon his head." That dreary spot is pointed out to travelers passing by. Who often stand, and musing gaze, nor go without a sigh. And as I journeyed the next morn, along my sunny way. The precipice was shown to me whereon the infant lay. ANONYMOUS. THE CLOSE OF. AUTUMN. The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year. Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead. They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay. And from the wood top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day. 250 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprungf and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a heauteous sisterhood ! Alas ! they all are in their graves — the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours : The rain is falling where they lie — but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago. And the brier-rose, and the orchis died, amid the summer's glow ; But on the hill the golden rod, and the aster in the wood. And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood. Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men. And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen. And now when comes the calm mild day — as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still. And twinkle in the hazy light the waters of the rill. The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died. The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf. And we wept that one so lovely should have a lot so brief ; Yet not unmeet it was, that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. BRYANT. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY AND OF HOME There is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside ; Where brighter suns dispense serener light. And milder moons imparadise the night ; A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth. The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores. Views not a realm so bountiful and fair. Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; DRAMATIC AND DBSOEIPTIVE PIECES. 251 In every clime, the magnet of bis soul, Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole : For in this land of heaven's pecuUar grace, The heritage of nature's noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than aU the rest. Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and scepter, pageantry and pride. While, in his softened looks, benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend. Here woman reigTis ; the mother, daughter, wife, Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; In the clear heaven of her delightful eye. An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found ? Art thou a man ? a patriot ? look around ; Oh ! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam. That land thy country, and that spot thy home. MONTGOMERr. THE HURRICANE. The golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze. And he sends through the shade a funeral ray - A glare that is neither night nor day, A beam that touches, with hues of death. The clouds above and the earth beneath. To its covert glides the silent bird, While the hurricane's distant voice is heard, UpUfted among the mountains round. And the forests hear and answer the sound. He is come ! he is come ! do ye not behold His ampk robes on the wind unroUed ? Giant of air' ! we bid thee hail ! How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale 1 How his huge and writhing arms are bent. To clasp the zone of the firmament, And fold at length in tke dark embrace, From mountain to mountain the visible space ! 252 THE NEW AMEWCAN SPiSAliER. Darker — still darker! the whirlwinds bear The dust of the plains to the middle air : And hark to the crashing, long and loud. Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud 1 You may trace its path by the flashes that start From the rapid wheels where'er they dart. As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, And flood the sky with a lurid glow. What roar is that ? — 't is the rain that breaks, In torrents away from the airy lakes, Heavily poured on the shuddering ground, And shedding a nameless horror round. Ah ! well-knoA\Ti woods, and mountains, and skies, With the very clouds ! — ye ar« lost to my eyes. I seek ye vainly, and see in your place The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space, A whirhng ocean that fills the wall Of the crystal heaven, and buries all ; And I, cut off from the world, remain Alone with the terrible hurricane. bryant. THE AFRICAN CHIEF. Chaiked in the market-place he stood, A man of giant frame. Amid the gathering multitude That shrunk to hear his name, — All stem of look and strong of limb. His dark eye on the ground ; And silently they gazed on him. As on a lion bound. Vainly, but well, that chief had fought - He was a captive now ; Tet pride, that fortune humbles not. Was written on his brow : The scars his dark broad bosom wore Showed warrior true and brave : A prince among his tribe before, He could not be a slave. Then to his conqueror he spake — ' " My brother is a king : DRAMATIC AND DBSCBIPTIVB PIECES. 253 Undo this necklace from my neck, And take this bracelet ring. And send me where my brother reigns. And I will fill thy hands With store of ivory from the plains. And gold dust from the sands." " Not for thy ivory nor thy gold Will I unbind thy chain ; That bloody hand shall never hold The battle-spear again. A price thy nation never gave Shall yet be paid for thee ; For thou shalt be the Christian's slave. In land beyond the sea." Then wept the warrior chief, and bade To shred his locks away, And, one by one, each heavy braid Before the victor lay. Thick were the platted locks, and long. And deftly hidden there Shone many a wedge of gold among The dark and crisped hair. " Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold, Long kept for sorest need : Take it — thou askest sums untold — And say that I am freed. Take it — my wife, the long, long day. Weeps by the cocoa-tree. And my young children leave their play, And ask in vain for me." " I take thy gold, — but I have made Thy fetters fast and strong. And ween that by the cocoa shade Thy wife shall wait thee long." Strong was the agony that shook The captive's frame to hear. And the proud meaning of his look Was changed to mortal fear. His heart was broken — crazed his brain — At once his eye grew wild : 254 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. He struggled fiercely with liis chain, AVhispered, — and wept, — and smiled ; Yet wore not long those fatal bands. And once, at shut of day, They drew him forth upon the sands, The foul hyena's prey. bryant. GOODY BLAKE AND IIARRY GILL. YouNO Harry was a lusty drover. And who so stout of limb as he ? His cheeks were red as niddy clover. His voice was like the voice of three. J^.uld Goody Blake was old and poor, 111 fed she was, and thinly clad ; And any man who passed her door. Might see how poor a hut she had. Now when the frost was past enduring. And made her poor old bones to ache, Could anything be more alluring Than an old hedge to Goody Blake ? And now and then it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill. She left her fire, or left her bed. To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. Now Harry he had long suspected This trespass of old Goody Blake, And vowed that she should be detected, "And he on her would vengeance take. And oft from his warm fire he 'd go. And to the fields his road would take. And there, at night, in frost and snow. He watched to seize old Goody Blake. And once behind a rack of barley. Thus looking out did Harry stand ; The moon was full and shining clearly. And crisp with frost the stubble land. — He hears a noise — he 's all awake — Again ! — on tiptoe down the hill DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 255 He softly creeps — 'T is Goody Blake ! She 's at the hedge of Harry GDI. Eight glad was he when he beheld her : Stick after stick did Goody pull ; He stood behind a bush of elder, Till she had filled her apron full. When with her load she tur^d about. The by-road back again to take ; He started forward with a shout. And sprang upon poor Goody Blake. And fiercely by the arm he took her. And by the arm he held her fast, And fiercely by the arm he shook her. And cried, " I 're caught you then at last ! " Then Goody, who had nothing said. Her bundle from her lap let fall ; And kneeling on the sticks, she prayed To God that is the Judge of all. She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, While Harry held her by the ann — " God ! who art never out of hearing, may he ne^er more be warm ! " The cold, cold moon above her head. Thus on her knees did Goody pray. Young Harry heard what she had said. And icy cold he turned away. He went complaining all the moiTow, That he was cold and very chUl : His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow, Alas that day for Harry Gill ! That day he wore a riding coat. But not a whit the warmer he : Another was on Thursday brought. And ere the- sabbath he had three. 'T was all in vain, a useless matter. And blankets were about him pinned : Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter. Like a loose casement in the wind. And Harry's flesh it fell away ; And all who see him say 't is plain. That live as long as five he may. He never will be warm again. wordswgrth 256 TUB NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. WHAT 'S HALLOWED GROUND 1 What 's hallowed ground ? EDas earth a clod Its Maker meant not should be trod By man, the image of his God, Erect and free, Unscourged by superstition's rod To bow the knee ? That 's hallowed ground — where, mourned and missed, The lips repose our love has kissed ; — But where 's their memory's mansion ? Is 't Yon churchyard's bowers? No ! in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours. What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 'T is not the sculptured piles you heap : In dews that heavens far distant weep Their turf may bloom ; Or genii twine beneath the deep Their coral tomb. Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right ? He 's dead alone that lacks her light ! And murder sullies in heaven's sight, The sword he draws : — What can alone ennoble fight? A noble cause ! Give that : and welcome war to brace Her drums ! and rend heaven's reeking space ! The colors planted face to face. The charging cheer. Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear. What 's hallowed ground ? 'T is what gives birth To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth Earth's compass round ; And your high-priesthood shall make earth AJl hallowed ground ! campbeil. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 257 PLEASURES OF HOPE. At summer's eve, Vhen lieaven's aerial bow Spans, with bright arch the ghttering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye. Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky ? Why do those hills of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ? 'T is distance lends enchantment to the view. And robes the mountain with its azure hue. Thus, with delight, we linger to survey The promised joys of life's unmeasured way : Thus, from afar, each dim discovered scene More pleasing seems than all the past hath been ; And every form that fancy «an repair From dark obhvion, glows divinely there. What potent spirit guides the raptured eye To pierce the' shades of dim futuiity ? Can Wisdom lend, with all her boasted power, The pledge of joy's anticipated hour ? Ah, no ! she darkly sees the fate of man. Her dim horizon boimded to a span ; Or if she holds an image to the view, 'T is nature, pictured too severely true. With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light That pours remotest rapture on the sight ; Thine is the charm of hfe's bewildered way. That calls each slumbering passion into play. Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time. Thy joyous youth began, but not to fade. When all the sister planets have decayed, — When wrapt in fire, the realms of ether glow. And heaven's last thunder shakes the world below, — Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile. And light thy torch at nature's funeral pUe. campbelij. PATRIOTISM. Breathes there a man with soul so dead. Who never to himself hath said, " This is my own — my native land ! " 17 258 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned. As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a I'jrcigu strand ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well ! For him no minstrel's raptures swell. High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wi.sh can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch concentered all in self, Living shall forfeit fair renown. And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprang, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. scott. GREECE. Clime of the unforgotten brave ! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was freedom's home, or glory's grave ! Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, That this is all remains of thee ? Approach, thou craven, crouching slave, Say, is not this Thermopylae ? These waters blue that round you lave, servile offspring of the free — Pronounce what sea, what shore is this : The gulf, the rock, of Salamis ! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own : Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires ; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear. That tyranny shall quake to hear. And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame ; For fi-eedom's battle, once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son. Though baffled oft, is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy hving page ! Attest it, many a deathless age ! While kings, in dusty darkness Md, DRAMATIC AND DESCKIPTIVE PIECES. 259 Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy lieroes-, thougli the general doom Hath swept the column from then- tomb, A mightier monument command — The mountains of their native land ! There points thy muse, to stranger's eye. The graves of those that cannot die ! 'T were long to teU. and sad to trace, Each step from splendor to disgrace : Enough, no foreig-n foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell. Yes ! self-abasement paved the way To vOlain bonds and despot sway. bykon. THE ISLES OF GREECE. The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, — Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet ; But aU, except their sun, is set. The mountaias look on Marathon — And Marathon looks on the sea ; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free ; For, standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. 'T is something, in the dearth of fame. Though linked among a fettered race. To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; For what is left the poet here ? For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. Must we but weep o'er days more blessed ? Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled- Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead 1 Of the three hundred grant but three. To make a new Thermopylae. 260 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. What ! silent still ? and silent all ? Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, " Let one living head, But one, arise, — we come, we come 1 " 'T is but the living who are dumb. In vain — in vain : strike other chords ; Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! — Hark ! rising to the ignoble call, How answers each bold bacchanal ! The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend : That tyrant was Miltiades ! O that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind ! Such chains as his were sure to bind. Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells. In native swords and native ranks The only hope of courage dwells ; But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep. Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; There, swan-like, let me sing and die : A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine : — Dash dovni yon cup of Samian wine ! THE RAISING OF SAMUEL. " Thou, whose spell can raise the dead. Bid the prophet's form appear." " Samuel, raise thy buried head ! King, behold the phantom seer ! " Earth yawned, — he stood the center of a cloud, Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud : DRAMATIC AND DESCKIPTIVE PIBCBS. 261 Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; His hand was withered and his veins were dry ; His foot, in bony whitenss, glittered there, Shrunken, and sinewless, and ghastly bare : From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, Like caverned winds the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak. At once, and blasted by the thunder stroke. " Why is my sleep disquieted ? Who is he that calls the dead ! Is it thou ! king ? Behold, Bloodless are these hmbs, and cold : Such are mine ; and such shall be Thine, to-morrow, when with me, Ere the coming day is done, Such shall thou be, such thy son. " Fare thee well, but for a day ; Then we mix our moldering clay ; Thou, thy race, he pale and low, Pierced by shafts of many a bow ; And the falchion by thy side ' To thy heart, thy hand shall guide, — Crownless, breathless, headless fall. Son and sire, the house of Saul ! " byrgn. THE SERPENT OF THE STILL. They tell me of the Egyptian asp, The bite of which is death ; The victim yielding with a gasp His hot and hurried breath. The Egyptian queen, says history, The reptUe vile applied ; And in the arms of agony Victoriously died. They tell me that, in Italy, There is a reptile dread. The sting of which is agony, And dooms the victim dead. 262 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. But it is said that music's sound May soothe the poisoned part, Yea, heal the galling, ghastly wound. And save the sinking heart. They tell me, too, of serpents vast, That crawl on Afric's shore. And swallow men — historians past Tell us of one of yore : — But there is yet one of a kind More fatal than the whole. That stings the body and the mind ; Yea, it devours the soul. "I is found almost o'er all the earth. Save Turkey's wide domains ; And there, if e'er it had a birth, 'T is kept in mercy's chains, 'T is found in our o^^^l gardens gay. In our own flowery fields ; Devouring, every passing day. Its thousands at its meals. The poisonous venom withers youth, Blasts character and health ; All sink before it — hope, and truth, And comfort, joy, apd wealth. It is the author, too, of shame ; And never fails to kill. Keader, dost thou desire the name ? — The Serpent of the Still ! milford bard. VIRGINIUS AND HIS DAUGHTER. Straightway Virginius led the maid a little pace aside. To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide, Close to yon low dark archway, where, in a crimson flood, Leaps down to the gTeat sewer tlie gurgling stream of blood. Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down : Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown. And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell, And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, " Farewell, sweet child ! Farewell ! DRAMATIC AlTD DESCEIPTIVE PIECES. 363 Oil ! how I loved my darling ! Though stern I sometimes be, To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. Who could be so to thee ? And how my darling loved me ! How glad she was to hear My footstep on the threshold when I came back last year 1 And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic crown, And took my sword, and hung it up, and brought me forth my gown ! Now, all those things are over — yes, all thy pretty ways, Thy needle-work, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays ; And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I return. Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn. The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls. The house that emded not the wealth of Capua's marble halls, Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom. And for the music, of thy voice, the silence of the tomb. The time is come. See how he points his eager hand this way ! See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey 1 With all his wit, he little deems, that, spm'ned, betrayed, bereft. Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left. He httle deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave ; Tea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow — Foul outrage which thou knowest not, which thou shalt never know. Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss ; And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this." With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side. And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died. Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath ; And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death ; And in another moment brake forth from one and all A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall. Some with averted faces shrieking fled home amain ; Some ran to call a leech, and some ran to lift the slain : Some felt her lips and little wrist, if hfe might there be found ; And some tore up their garments fast, and strove to stanch the wound. In vain they ran, and felt, and stanched ; for never truer blow That good right arm had dealt in fight against a .Volscian foe. When Appius Claudius saw that deed, he shuddered and sunk down. And hid his face some little space with the corner of his gown, 264 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Vir^-inius tottered nigh, And stood before the judgment-seat, and held the knife on high. " O dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain. By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain ; And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine, Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line ! " So spake the slayer of his child, and turned, and went his way ; But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body lay. And writhed, and groaned a fearful groan, and then, with stead- fast feet, Strode right across the market-place unto the Sacred Street. Then up sprang Appius Claudius — " Stop him, alive or dead ! Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head ! " He looked upon his clients ; but none would work his will. He looked upon his lictors, but they trembled, and stood still. And, as Virginius through the press his way in silence cleft. Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. And he hath passed in safety unto his woeful home ; And there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rome. MAOAULAY HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. But meanwhile ax and lever Have manfully been plied. And now the bridge hangs tottering Above the boiling tide. " Come back, come back, Horatius ! " Loud cried the Fathers all : " Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius 1 Back, ere the ruin fall ! " Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminius darted back : And, as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. But when they turned their faces, And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more. But with a crash like thunder Fell every loosened beam. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 265 And, like a dam, tlie migLty wreck Lay right athwart the stream : And a long shout of triumph Rose from the ■walls of Kome, As to the highest turret-tops Was splashed the yellow foam. And, like a horse unbroken When first he feels the rein. The furious river struggled hard, And tossed his tawny mane : And burst the curb, and bounded. Rejoicing to be free ; And whirling down, in fierce career, Battlement, and plank, and pier, Rushed headlong to the sea. Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind ; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. " Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace." Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see ; Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus nought spake he ; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home ; And he spake, ito the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome. " Oh, Tiber ! father Tiber ! To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms. Take thou in charge this day ! " So he spake, and speaking sheathed The good sword by his side. And, with his harness on his back. Plunged headlong in the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank ; 23 ?66 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEIl. But friends and foes in dumb surprise. With parted lips and straining eyes. Stood gazing where he sank ; And when above the surges They saw his crest appear, All Eome sent forth a rapturous cry. And even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer. But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain : And fast his blood was flowing ; And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, And spent with changing blows : And oft they thought him sinking. But still again he rose. Never, I ween, did swimmer. In such an evil case, Straggle through such a raging flood Safe to the landing place : But his hmbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within. And our good father Tiber Bare bravely up his chin. " Curses on him ! " quoth false Seztus ; " Will not the villain drown ? But for this stay, ere close of day We should have sacked the town ! " " Heaven help him ! " qudth Lars Porsena, " And bring him safe to shore ; For such a gallant feat of arms Was never seen before." And now he feels the bottom ; Now on dry earth he stands : Now round him throng the Fathers To press his gory hands : And now with shouts and clapping, And noise of weeping loud. He enters through the River Gate, Borne by the joyous crowd. maoaulat. DRAMATIC AND DESCEIPTIVE PIECES. 267 A ROMAN BATTLE. Right glad were all tlie Romans Who, in that hour of dread, Against great odds bare up the war Around Valerius dead. When from the south, the cheering Rose with a mighty swell — "Herminius comes ! Herminius, Who kept the bridge so well ! " Mamilius spied Herminius, And dashed across the way — " Herminius ! I have sought thee Through many a bloody day. One of us two, Herminius, Shall never more go home : I will lay on for Tusculum, And lay thou on for Rome ! " All round them paused the battle. While met in mortal fray The Roman and the Tusculan, The horses black and gray. Herminius smote Mamilius Through breastplate and through breast. And fast flowed out the purple blood Over the purple vest. Mamilius smote Herminius Through head-piece and through head ; And side by side those chiefs of pride Together fell down dead. Down fell they dead together In a great lake of gore ; And still stood all who saw them fall While men might count a score. Fast, fast, with heels wild spurning. The dark-gray charger fled : He burst through ranks of fighting men. He sprang o'er heaps of dead. His bridle far out-streaming. His flanks all blood and foam, 268 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. He sou"'ht the soulhern mountains, The mountains of liis home. The pass was steep and rugycd, The wolves they howled and whined ; But he ran like a whirlwind up the pass. And h : left the wolves behind. Through many a startled hamlet Thundered his flying feet ; He rushed through the gate of Tusculum, He rushed up the long white street ; He rushed by tower and temple, And paused not from his race Till he stood before his master's door In the stalely market-place. And straightway round him gathered A pale and trembling crowd, And when they knew him cries of rage Brake forth, and wailing loud : And women rent their tresses For their great prince's fall ; And old men girt on their old swords, And went to man the wall. But like a graven image, Black Auster kept his place, And ever wistfully he looked Into his master's face. The raven mane that daily, With pats and fond caresses, The young Herminia washed and combed. And twined in even tresses. And decked with colored ribbons, From her own gay attire. Hung sadly o'er her father's corpse In carnage and in mire. Forth with a shout sprang Titus, And seized black Auster's rein. Then Aulus sware a fearful oath. And ran at him amain : — " The furies of thy brother With me and mine abide. If one of your accursed house Upon black Auster ride 1 " As on an Alpine watch-tower From heaven comes down the flame. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 269 Full on the neck of Titus The sword of Auliis came ; And out the red blood spouted. In a wide arch and tall, As spouts a fountain in the court Of some rich Capuan's hall. The knees of aU the Latines Were loosened with dismay. When dead, on dead Herminius, The bravest Tarquin lay. And Auhis, the dictator. Stroked Auster's raven mane. With heed he looked unto the girths, With heed unto the rein : — " Now bear me well, black Auster, Into yon thick array ; And thou and I will have revenge For thy good lord this day." macaulat. THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS. ^ It was the wild midnight — a storm was on the sky ; The lightning gave its light, and the thunder echoed by. The torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the shore ; Then rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in gore ! Swift from the deluged ground three hundred took the shield ; Then in silence gathered round the leader of the field ! All up the mountain's side, all down the woody vale, All by the rolling tide waved the Persian banners pale. And foremost from the pass, among the slumbering band. Sprang King Leonidas, like the lightning's hving brand. Then double darkness fell, and the forest ceased its moan ; But there came a clash of steel, and a distant dying groan. Anon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery sheet burst high. That o'er the midnight threw a blood-red canopy. A host glared on the hill ; a host glared by the bay ; But the Greeks rushed onward still, like leopards in their play The air was all a yell, and the earth was all a iiame, Where the Spartan's bloody steel on the silken turbans came ; 270 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. And still the Greek rushed on, where tlie fiery torrent rolled, Till like a rising sun, shone Xerxes' tent of gold. They found a royal feast, his midnight banquet there ; And the treasures of tlie East lay beneath the Doric spear. Then sat to the repast the bravest of the brave ! That feast naust be their last, that spot must be their grave. Up rose the glorious rank, to Greece one cup poured high. Then hand in hand they drank, " To immortality ! " Fear on King Xerxes fell, when, like spirits from the tomb, With shout and tnimpet knell, he saw the warriors come. But down swept all his power, with chariot and with charge ; Down poured the arrows' shower, till sank the Spartan targe. Thus fought the Greek of old ! thus will he light again 1 Shall not the self-same mold bring forth the self-same men ? SONG OF MAC MURROUGII. Mist darkens the mountains, night darkens the vale. But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael : A stranger commanded — it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand ! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust. The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust ; On the hill, or the glen, if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse. Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone. That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past. The mom on our mountains is dawning at last ; Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the rays. And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze. high-minded Moray ! — the exiled ! — the dear ! — In the blush of the dawning the standard uprear. Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly, Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh ! DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 271 Ye sons of the strong, when the dawning shall break, Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? That dawn never beamed on your forefathers' eye But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. Awake on your hills, on your islands awake. Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake ! 'T is the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 'T is the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the hall. 'T is the summons of heroes to conquest or death. When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath ; They call to the dirk, the claymore, the targe. To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire ! Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore. Or die Hke your sires and endure it no more ! scott. ELIJAH'S INTERVIEW WITH GOD. On Horeb's rock the prophet stood — The Lord before him passed ; A hurricane in angry mood Swept by him strong and fast ; The forest fell before its force. The rocks were shivered in its course, — God was not in the blast : Announcing danger, wreck, and death, 'T was but the whirlwind of his breath. It ceased. The air grew mute — a cloud Came, muffling up the sun ; When, through the mountain, deep and loud An earthquake thundered on ; The frighted eagle sprang in air. The wolf ran howling from his lair, — God was not in the storm : 'T was but the rolling of his car. The tramphng of his steeds from far. 273 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 'Twas still again, and nature stood And calmed her ruffled frame ; When swift from heaxen a fiery flood To earth devouring came ; Down to the depth the ocean fled ; The sickening sun looked wan and dead, — Yet God fiUed not the flame : 'T was but the terror of his eye That lightened through the troubled sky. At last a voice all still and small Rose sweetly on the ear, Yet rose so shrill and clear, that all In heaven and earth might hear : It spoke of peace, it spoke of love, It spoke as angels speak above, — And God himself was there ; For oh ! it was a Father's voice. That bade the trembling world rejoice. Campbell. BYRON. He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced. As some vast river of unfailing source, Eapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed. And oped new fountains in the human heart. Where fancy halted, weary in her. flight. With nature's self He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest At will with all her glorious majesty. He laid his hand upon " the ocean's mane." And played familiar with his hoary locks. Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines ; And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend ; And wore his garland of the lightning's wing, In sportive twist — the lightning's fiery wing. Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, Marching upon the storm in vengeance, seemed — Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were ; Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 273 His brothers — younger brothers, ■whom he scarce As equals deemed. As some fierce comet of tremendous size, To which the stars did reverence as it passed ; So he through learning and through fancy took His flight sublime, and on the loftiest top Of fame's dread mountain sat : not soiled, and worn. As if he from the earth had labored up ; But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair, He looked, which down from higher regions came. And perched it there, to see what lay beneath. Great man ! the nations gazed, and wondered much. And praised ; and many called his evil good. Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness : And kings to do him honor took delight. Thus full of titles, flatteiy, honor, fame ; Beyond desire, beyond ambition full, — He died — he died of what ? Of wretchedness. Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump Of fame ; drank early, deeply drank ; drank draughts That common millions might have quenched — then died Of thirst, because there was no more to drink. pollok. PARRHASIUS. " Parrhasius, a painter of Athens, among those Olynthian captives Philip of Macedon brought home to sell, bought one very old man ; and, wheu he had him at his house, put him to death with extreme torture and tor- ment, the better by his example to express the pains and passions of his Prometheus, whom he was then about to paint." Parrhasius stood, gazmg forgetfully Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay. Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus, The vulture at his vitals, and the links Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh ; And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim. Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows wild Forth with its reaching fancy, and with form And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl Of his thin nostril, and his quivering hp. Were hke the winged god's breathing from his flight. 18 274 , TUE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. " Bring me the captive now ! My hand feels skillful, and the shadows hft From my waked spirit airily and swift ; And I could paint the bow Upon the bended heavens — around me play Colors of such divinity to-day. " Ha ! bind him on his back ! Look ! as Prometheus in my picture here — Quick, or he faints ! — stand with the cordial near ! Now— bend him to the rack ! Press down the poisoned links into his flesh ! And tear agape that heahng wound afresh ! " So — let him writhe ! How long Will he live thus ? Quick, my good pencil, now ! What a fine agony works upon his brow ! Ha ! gray-haired, and so strong ! How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! " ' Pity ' thee ! So I do ! I pity the dumb victim at the altar ■ — But does the robed priest for his pity falter ? I 'd rack thee, though I knew A thousand lives were perishing in thine — What were ten thousand to a fame hke mine ? " Ah ! there 's a deathless name ! — A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, And, hke a steadfast planet, mount and bum — And though its crown of flame Consumed my brain to ashes as it won me — By an the fiery stars ! I 'd pluck it on me ! "Ay — though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first — Though it should bid me stifle The yearning in my throat for my sweet child. And taunt its mother till my brain went wild — "All — I would do it all — Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot ; Thrust foully in the earth to be forgot. heavens — but I appall DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 275 Your heart, old man ! — forgive — ha ! on your lives Let him not faint ! — rack him till he revives ! " Vain — vain — give o'er. His eye Glazes apace. He does not feel you now — Stand back ! I '11 paint the death-dew on his brow 1 Gods ! if he do not die ^ But for one moment — one — till I eclipse Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! " Shivering ! Hark ! he mutters Brokenly now — that was a dif&cult breath — Another ? Wilt thou never come, Death ? Look ! how his temple flutters ! Is his heart still ? Aha ! lift up his head ! He shudders — gasps — Jove help him — so — he 's dead." How like a mountain devil in the heart Rules the unreined ambition ! Let it once But play the monarch, and its haughty brow Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought And unthrones peace forever. Putting on The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns The heart to ashes, and with not a spring Left in the desert for the spirit's hp. We look upon our splendor, and forget The thirst of which we perish ! willis. MARCO EOZZARIS. At midnight, in his guarded tent. The Turk was di'eaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power : In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard ; Then wore his monarch's sign«t ring, — Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king : As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. As Eden's garden bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band ; 276 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Tnie as the steel to their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian thousands stood — There had the glad earth drank their blood. On old Platea's day ; And now there breathed that haunted air, The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far as they. An hour passed on : the Turk awoke ; That bright dream was his last ; He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, " To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! ' He woke — to die 'midst flame and smoke. And shout, and groan, and saber stroke. And death-shots falling thick and fast. As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band — " Strike — till the last armed foe expires ; Strike — for your altars and your fires ; Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; God — and your native land ! " They fought — Uke brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; They conquered — but Bozzaris fell. Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile, when rang their proud hurrah. And the red field was won ; Then saw in death his eyelids close Calmly, as to a night's repose. Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! Come to the mother, when she feels For the first time her first-born's breath ; — Come when the blessed seals Which close the pestilence are broke. And crowded cities wail its stroke ; — Come in consumption's ghastly form. The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; Come when the heart beats high and warm. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 277 With banquet-song, and dance, and wine, And thou art terrible : the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free. Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word. And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of milhons yet to be. Bozzaris ! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, B.est thee — there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art freedom's now, and fame's — One of the few, the immortal names. That were not bom to die. haileck. ODE TO THE PASSIONS. When Music, heavenly maid ! was young, - While yet in early Greece she sung, — The Passions oft, to hear her shell. Thronged around her magic cell ; Exulting — trembling — raging — fainting, ■ Possessed beyond the muse's painting : By turns, they felt the glowing mind Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; Till once, 't is said, when all were fired. Filled with fury, rapt, inspired ; From the supporting myrtles round. They snatched her instruments of sound ; And, as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each — (for madness ruled the hour) — Would prove his own expressive power. First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try. Amid the chords bewildered laid ; And back recoiled, he knew not why. E'en at the sound himself had mad". 278 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Next Anger ruslied — liis eyes, on fire, In lightnings owned his secret stings ; In one rude clash he struck the lyre — And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woeful measures, wan Despair — Low sullen sounds his grief beg-uiled ; A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 'T was sad by fits — by starts 'twas wild. But thou, Hope ! with eyes so fair. What was thy delighted measure ! Still it whispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch the strain prolong ; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale. She called on Echo still through all her song ; And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope, enchanted, smiled and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung — but with a frown. Revenge impatient rose. He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, And with a withering look. The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast, so loud and dread. Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ; And ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum with furious heat ; And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien ; [head. While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fixed — Sad proof of thy distressful state ; Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ; And now it courted love, now, raving, called on hate. With eyes upraised as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired ; And from her wild sequestered seat, In notes by distance made more sweet. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 279 Poured througli the mellow horn her pensiye soul, And dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound : Through glades and glooms the mingled measures stole. Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay, (Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lonely musing,) In hollow murmurs — died away. But, oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness — a nymph of healthiest hue — ■ Her bow across her shoulder flung. Her buskins gemmed with morning dew. Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung ! — The hunter's call to faun and dryad known. The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green ; Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And Sport leaped up and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : — He with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addressed ; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol. Whose sweet, entrancing voice he loved the best. They would have thought who heard the strain. They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids. Amidst the festal sounding shades. To some unwearied minstrel dancing : While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round, (Loose were her tresses seen, her zone imbound,) And he, amidst his frohc play. As if he would the charming air repay. Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings, colijns. ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 'T WAS at the royal feast for Persia won By PhiHp's warlike son. — Aloft, in awful state. The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne. 280 TUB NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEB. His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound ; So should desert in arms be crowned. The lovely Thais, by his side. Sat like a blooming eastern bride, In flower of youth, and beauty's pride. — Happy, happy, happy pair ! None but the brave. None but the brave, None but the brave, deserves the fair. Timotheus, placed on high, Amid the tuneful choir, With flying fingers touched the lyre : The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. — The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seat above — Such is the power of mighty love ! — A dragon's fiery form belied the god : Sublime on radiant spheres he rode, When he to fair Olympia pressed. And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world ! The hstening crowd admire the lofty sound ; "A present deity ! " they shout around ; " A present deity ! " the vaulted roofs rebound. — With ravished ears The monarch hears. Assumes the god, Affects to nod. And seems to shake the spheres ! The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung, Of Bacchus, ever fair and ever young ! The jolly god in triumph comes ! Sound the trumpets ! beat the drums ! Flushed with a purple grace He shows his honest face. Now give the hautboys breath ! — he comes ! he comes I Bacchus ever fair and young. Drinking joys did first ordain : Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : Rich the treasure ; Sweet the pleasure ; Sweet is pleasure after pain ! DRAHATIO AND DESCBlfTIVE PIEOBS. 281 Soothed with the sound the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again ; And thrice he routed all liis foes, and thrice he slew the slain. The master saw the madness rise ; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ! And, while he heaven and earth defied — Changed his hand and checked his pride. He chose a mournful muse. Soft pity to infuse : He sang Darius, great and good. By too "severe a fate. Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! Fallen from his high estate. And weltering in his blood ! Deserted in his utmost need By those his former bounty fed, On the bare earth exposed he lies. With not a friend to close his eyes ! With downcast looks the joyless victor sat. Revolving, in his altered soul. The various turns of fate below ; And now and then a sigh he stole. And tears began to flow. The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree ; 'T was but a kindred strain to move ; For pity melts the soul to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures. Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures, War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; Honor but an empty bubble ; Never ending, still beginning. Fighting still and still destroying. If the world be worth thy winning. Think, oh ! think it worth enjoying ; Lovely Thais sits beside thee ; Take the good the gods provide thee. — ■ The many rend the skies with loud applause. So Love was crowned, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain. Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, Sighed and looked, and sighed again : 24 282 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, The vanquished victor — sunk upon her breast. Now strike the golden lyre again ; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ; Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark ! hark ! — the horrid sound Has raised up his head. As awaked from tlie dead ; And amazed he stares around. Revenge, revenge ! Timotheus cries — See the furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair. And the sparkles- that flash from their eyes ! - Behold a ghastly band. Each a torch in his hand ! These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain. And, unburied, remain Inglorious on the plain. Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew. Behold how they toss their torches on high. How they point to the Persian abodes. And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! The princes applaud, with a furious joy ! A.nd the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy : Thais led the way, To light him to his prey. And, like another Helen - — fired another Troy. Thus long ago. Ere heaving bellows learned to blow. While organs yet were mute ; Timotheus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre, Cculd swell the soul to rage — or kindle soft desire. At last, divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame. The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds. And added strength to solemn sounds. With nature's mother wit, and arts unknown befc , DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 383 Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or \>oth. divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies. She drew an angel down. ' drtden. THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. The fame of the fearless De Courcy Is boundless as the air ; With his own right hand he won the land Of Ulster, green and fair ! But he lleth low in a dungeon flow, Powerless, in proud despair ; For false King John hath cast him in. And closely chained him there. The false King sat on his throne of state, 'Mid knights and nobles free ; "Who is there," he cried, "who will cross the tide. And do battle in France for me ? There is cast on mine honor a fearful stain — The death of the boy who ruled Bretagne ; And the monarch of France, my bold suzerain. Hath bidden a champion for me to appear. My fame from this darkening blot to clear. Speak — is your silence the silence of fear. My knights and my nobles ? Frowning and pale Your faces grow as I tell my tale ! Is there not one of this knightly ring, Who dares to battle for his king ? " Oh ! out then spake the beauteous queen : " A captive knight I know. Whose loyal heart hath ever been Eager to meet the foe : Were true De Courcy here this day. Freed from his galling chain, Never, oh never, should scoffers say. That amid all England's rank and might. Their king had sought him a loyal knight. And sought such knight in vaia ! " Up started the monarch, and cleared his brow. 284 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. And bade them summon De Courcy now. Swiftly his messengers hasted away, And sought the ceU where the hero lay ; Then bade lilm arise at his master's call, And follow their steps to the stately haU. He is brought before the council — There are chains upon his hands ; With his silver hair, that aged knight. Like a rock o'erhung with foam-wreaths white. Proudly and calmly stands. He gazes on the monarch With stern and star-like eye ; And the company muse and marvel much, That the light of the old man's eye is such. After long captivity. His fetters hang upon him Like an unheeded thing ; Or like a robe of purple worn With graceful and indifferent scorn By some great-hearted king. And strange it was to witness How the false King looked aside ; For he dared not meet his captive's eye ! The false King spake to his squires around, And his lifted voice had an angry sound : " Strike ye the chains from each knightly limb ! Who was so bold as to fetter him ? Warrior, believe me, no hest of mine Bade them to fetter a form like thine ; Thy sovereign knoweth thy fame too well." He paused, and a cloud on his dark brow fell ; For the- knight still gazed upon him, And his eye was like a star ; And the words on the lips of the false King died, Like the murmuring sounds of an ebbing tide By the traveler heard afar. Not long did the heart of the false King thrill To the touch of passing shame. For it was hard, and mean, and chill ; As breezes sweep o'er a frozen rill. Leaving it cold and unbroken still, That feeling went and came. DRAMATIC AKD DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 285 And now to the knight he made reply, Pleading his cause right craftily ; Skilled was his tongue in specious use Of promise fair and of feigned excuse, Blending with words of strong appeal To love of fame and to loyal zeal. At length he ceased ; and every eye Gazed on De Courcy wistfully. " Speak ! " cried the king in that fearful pause ; "Wilt thou not champion thy monarch's cause ? " The old knight struck his foot on the ground. Like a war-horse hearing the trumpet sound ; And he spake with a voice of thunder. Solemn and fierce in tone, Waving his hand to the stately band Who stood by the monarch's throne, As a warrior might wave his flashing glaive When cheering his squadrons on — "I will fight, for the honor of England, Though not for false King John ! " He hath crossed the booming ocean ; On the shore he plants his lance ; And he sends his daring challenge Into the heart of France : — "Lo ! here I stand for England, Queen of the silver main ! To guard her fame, and to cleanse her name From slander's darkening stain ! Advance ! advance ! ye knights of France, Give answer to my call ; Lo ! here I stand for England, And I defy you all ! " From the east and the north came champions forth — They came in a knightly crowd ; From the south and the west each generous breast Throbbed at that summons proud. But though brave was each lord, and keen each sword, No warrior could withstand The strength of the hero-spirit Which nerved that old man's hand. He is conqueror in the battle — He hath won the wreath of bay ; 286 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. To the shining crown of his fair renown He hath added another ray : He hath drawn his sword for England ; He hath fought for her spotless name ; And the isle resounds to her farthest bounds With her gray-haired hero's fame. In the ears of the craven King Oft must this burthen ring — " Though the crown be thine, and the royal line, He is in heart thy king ! " THE FIREMA.N. Hoarse wintry blasts a solemn requiem sung To the departed day, Upon whose bier The velvet pall of midnight had been flung, And nature mourned through one wide hemisphere. Silence and darkness held their cheerless sway. Save in the haunts of riotous eicess ; And half the world in dreamy slumbers lay. Lost in the maze of sweet forgetfulness. When lo ! upon the startled ear, There broke a sound so dread and drear — As, hke a sudden peal of thunder. Burst the bands of sleep asunder. And filled a thousand throbbing hearts with fear. Hark ! the faithful watchman's cry Speaks a conflagration nigh ! — See ! yon glare upon the sky. Confirms the fearful tale. The deep-mouthed bells, with rapid tone, Combine to make the tidings known ; Affrighted silence now has flown. And sounds of terror fright the chilly gale ! At the first note of this discordant din. The gallant fireman from his slumber starts ; Keckless of toil and danger, if he win The tributary meed of grateful hearts. From pavement rough, or frozen ground, His engine's rattling wheels resound, BEAMATIC AND DESCKIPTIVB PIECES. 287 And soon before Ms eyes The lurid flames, witli horrid glare, Mingled -with murky vapors rise. In ■wreathy folds upon the air. And vaal the frowning skies ! Sudden a shriek assails his heart — A female shriek, so piercing wild. As makes his very life-blood start : — " My child ! Ahnighty God, my child ! " He hears. And 'gainst the tottering wall. The ponderous ladder rears ; While blazing fragments round him fall. And crackling sounds assail his ears. His sinewy arm, with one rude crash, Hurls to the earth the opposing sash ; And heedless of the startling din, — Though smoky volumes round him roll. The mother's shriek has pierced his soul. See ! see ! he plunges in ! The admiring crowd, with hopes and fears, In breathless expectation stands. When lo ! the daring youth appears. Hailed by a burst of warm, ecstatic cheers. Bearing the child triumphant in his hands ! ANONTMOUS. BATTLE OF WATERLOO. Theke was a sound of revehy by night. 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 ; But hush ! hark ! — a deep sound strikes like a rising knell I Did ve not hear it ? — No ; 't was but the wind. Or tne car rattling o'er the stony street : 288 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. On -with the dance ! let joy be unconfincd ; No sleep till mom, "u'hen youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying fleet. — But, hark! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat. And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and trembhngs 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 — who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ? 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 ! " byron. THE AVENGING CHILDE. Hurrah ! hurrah ! avoid the way of the Avenging Childe ; His horse is swift as sands that drift, — an Arab of the wild ; His gown is twisted round his arm, — a ghastly cheek he wears ; And in his hand, for deadly harm, a hunting knife he bears. Avoid that knife in battle-strife : — that weapon short and thin, The dragon's gore hath bathed it o'er, seven times 't was steeped therein ; Seven times the smith hath proved its pith, — it cuts a coulter through; In France the blade was fashioned, — from Spain the shaft it drew. He sharpens it, as he doth ride, upon his saddle-bow, — He sharpens it on either side, he makes the steel to glow : DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 289 He rides to find Don Quadros, that false and faitour knight; His glance of ire is hot as fire, although his cheek be white. He found him standing by the king within the judgment-hall ; He rushed within the baron's ring, — he stood before them all ; Seven times he gazed and pondered, if he the deed should do ; [flew. Eight times distraught he looked and thought — then out his dagger He stabbed therewith at Quadros : — the king did step between ; He pierced his royal garment of purple wove with green : He fell beneath the canopy, upon the tiles he lay — [thou slay ■! " " Thou traitor keen, what dost thou mean ? thy king why wouldst " Now pardon! pardon! " cried the Childe, " I stabbed not, king, at thee, But him, that caitifi", blood-defiled, who stood beside thy knee : Eight brothers were we, — in the land might none more loving be, — They all are slain by Quadros' hand, — they all are dead but me ! " Good king, I fain would wash the stain, — for vengeance is my cry; This murderer with sword and spear to battle I defy ! " — But all took part with Quadros, except one lovely May, — Except the king's fair daughter, none word for him would say. She took their hands, she led them forth into the court below; She bade the ring be guarded, — she bade the trumpet blow; From lofty place for that stern race the signal she did throw: — " With truth and right the Lord will fight, — together let them go." The one is up, the other down : the hunter's knife is bare ; It cuts the lace beneath the face, — it cuts through beard and hair; Right soon that knife hath quenched his life, the head is sundered sheer ; Then gladsome smiled the Avenging Childe, and fixed it on his spear. But when the king beholds him bring that token of his truth, Nor scorn nor wrath his bosom hath : — " Kneel down, thou noble youth ; Kneel down, kneel down, and kiss my crown, I am no more thy foe; My daughter now may pay the vow she plighted long ago ! " LOCKHART. THE POUNDER. The Ckristians have beleaguered the famous walls of Xeres, Among them are Don Alvar and Don Diego Perez, And many other gentlemen, who, day succeeding day. Give challenge to the Saracen and all his chivalry. 25 290 THE HEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. When rages the hot battle before the gates of Xeros, By trace of gore ye may explore the dauntless path of Perez. No knight like Don Diego, — no sword like his is found In all the host, to hew the boast of paynims to the ground. It fell one day when furiously they battled on the plain, Diego shivered both his lance and trusty blade in twain ; The Moors that saw it shouted, for esquire none was near, To serve Diego at his need with falchion, mace, or spear. Loud, loud he blew his bugle, sore troubled was his eye,_ But by God's grace before his face there stood a tree full nigh, •— An ohve-tree with branches strong, close by the wall of Xeres, — " Yon goodly bough will serve, I trow," quoth Don Diego Perez. A gnarled branch he soon did wrench down from that olive strong, Which o'er his head-piece brandishing, he spurs among the throng. God wot 1 full many a pagan must in his saddle reel ! — What leech may cure, what beadsman shrive, if once that weight ye feel ? But when Don Alvar saw him thus bruising down the foe. Quoth he, " I 've seen some flail-armed man belabor barley so, Sure mortal mold did ne'er enfold such mastery of power ; Let 's call Diego Perez the founder, from this hour." LOCKHABT, THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL. Kins Almanzoe of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound, He hath summoned all the Moorish lords, from the hills and plains around ; From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil, They have come with helm and cuirass of gold and twisted steel. 'T is the holy Baptist's feast they hold in royalty and state. And they have closed the spacious lists beside the Alhambra's gate ; In gowns of black with silver laced, within the tented ring, Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed, in presence of the king. Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stalwart arm and true, The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through ; The deeds they 've done, the spoils they 've won, fill all with hope and trust, Yet, ere high in heaven appears the sun, they all have bit the dust ! DRAMATIC AND DESCEIPTIVB PIECES. 291 Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tambour, Make room, make room for Gazul ! — throw wide, throw wide the door ! Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still ! more loudly strike the drum ! The Alcayde of Algava to fight the bull doth come. And first before the King he passed, with reverence stooping low, And next he bowed him to the Queen, and the Infantas all a-row ; Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to him did throw A scarf from out her balcony was whiter than the snow. With the life-blood of the slaughtered lords all slippery is the sand. Yet proudly in the center hath Gazul ta'en his stand ; And ladies look with heaving breast, and lords with anxious eye. But firmly he extends his arm, — his look is calm and high. Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and two come roaring on, He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his rejon ; Each furious beast upon the breast he deals him such a blow, He bhndly totters and gives back across the sand to go. "Turn, Gazul — turn !" the people cry; the third comes up Ije- hind, Low to the sand his head holds he, his nostrils snuff the wind ; — The mountaineers that lead the steers without stand whispering low, " Now thinks this proud Alcayde to stun Harpado so 1 " From Guadiana comes he not, he comes not from Xenil, From Gaudalarif of the plain, or Barves of the hill ; But where from out the forest burst Xarama's waters clear. Beneath the oak trees was he nursed, — this proud and stately steer. Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood within doth boil. And the dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he paws to the turmoil. His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal rings of snow ; But now they stare with one red glare of brass upon the foe. Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand close and near. From out the broad and wrinkled skull like daggers they appear ; His neck is massy, like the trunk of some old knotted tree. Whereon the monster's shagged main, like billows curled, ye see. His legs are short, his hams are thick, his hoofs are black as night, Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierceness of his might ; Like something molten out of iron, or hewn from forth the rock, Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the Alcayde'a shock. 292 THE NBW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Now stops the drum ; close, close they come ; thrice meet, and thrice give back ; The white foam of Harpado lies on the charger's breast of black, — The white foam of the charger on Harpado's front of dun ; — Once more advance upon his lance — once more, thou fearless one ! Once more, once more 1 — in dust and gore to ruin must thou reel 1 — In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with fwious heel ! — In vain, in vain, thou noble beast ! — I see, I see thee stagger, Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the stern Alcayde'a dagger ! They have slipped a noose around his feet, six horses are brought in. And away they drag Harpado with a loud and joyful din. Now stoop thee, lady, from thy stand, and the ring of price bestow Upon Gazul of Algava, that hath laid Harpado low ! lookhabt. ANTONY'S ORATION OVER CiESAR'S BODY. Friends, Komans, countrymen ! Lend me your ears ; I come to bury Csesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones : So let it be with Csesar ! Noble Brutus Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, For Brutus is an honorable man, So are they all, all honorable men. Come I to speak at Cassar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me : But Brutus says he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept ; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man. Tou all did see, that, on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown ; Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus s^ys he was ambitious ; DRAMATIC AXD DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 293 And sure, lie is an honorable man ? I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once ; not without cause : What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? judgment ! thou art iied to brutish beasts. And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me : My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ; And I must pause till it come back to me. But yesterday, the word of Ceesar might Have stood against the world ! now lies he there. And none so poor to do him reverence. masters ! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong ; Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong. I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you. Than I will wrong such honorable men. But here 's a parchment with the seal of Csesar ; I found it in his closet ; 't is his will : Let but the commons hear this testament, Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read. And they would go and kiss dead Ceesar's wounds. And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. And dying, mention it within their wills. Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy. Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the ISTervii : Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through ! See what a rent the envious Casca made ! Through this the well beloved Brutus stabbed, And as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it ! — This was the most unkiadest cut of all ! For when the noble Caesar saw him stab. Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart ; And in his mantle muffling up his face. Even at the base of Pompey's statue. 294 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Which all the while ran blood, great Cassar fell. Oh what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I and you, and all of us, fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. Oh! now you weep ; and 1 percei\ c you feel The dint of pity ; these are gracious drops. Kind souls ! what weep you, when you but behold Our Ca3sar's vesture wounded ? Look you here ! Here is himself, marred as you see, by traitors. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny : They that have done this deed are honorable : What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, That made them do it ; they are wise, and honorable. And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away jowr hearts ; I am no orator, as Brutus is ; But as you know me aU, a plain blunt man. That love my friend, and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him ; For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech, To stir men's blood. I only speak right on : I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; Show your sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Ceesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise in mutiny. bhakspearb. THE VENGEANCE OF MUDARA. To the chase goes Kodrigo, with hound and with hawk ; But what game he desires is revealed in his talk : " Oh, in vain have I slaughtered the Infants of Lara ; There 's an heir in his hall, — there 's the bastard Mudara — There 's the son of the renegade, — spawn of Malioun : If I meet with Mudara, my spear brings him down." While Rodrigo rides on in the heat of his wrath, A stripling, armed cap-a-pie, crosses his path : " Good morrow, yoiing esquire." — " Good morrow, old knight." DRAMATIC A^D DESCRIPTI\li HKCKS. 295 " Will yow ride with our party, and share our delight ? " — "Speak your name, courteous stranger," the stripling repUed ; " Speak your name and your lineage, ere with you I ride." — " My name is Bodrigo," thus answered the knight ; " Of the line of old Lara, though barred from my right ; For the kinsman of Salas proclaims for the heir Of our ancestor's castles and forestries fair, A bastard, a renegade's offspring — Mudara — Whom I '11 send, if I can, to the Infants of Lara." — " I behold thee, disgrace to thy lineage ! — with joy I behold thee, thou murderer ! " answered the boy : " The bastard you curse, you behold him in me ; But his brothers' avenger that bastard shall be. Draw ! for I am the renegade's oflfspring, Mudara ; We shall see who inherits the life-blood of Lara ! " — " I am armed for the forest chase — not for the fight ; Let me go for my shield and my sword," cries the knight. — " Now the mercy you dealt to my brothers of old. Be the hope of that mercy the comfort you hold : Die, foeman to Sancha — die, traitor to Lara ! " — As he spake, there was blood on the spear of Mudara. LOCEHART. THE BATTLE IN HEAVEN. Now when fair morn orient in Heaven appeared. Up rose the victor- Angels, and to arms The matin-trumpet sung : in arms they stood Of golden panoply, refulgent host, Soon banded : others from the dawning hills Look round, and scouts each coast hght-armed scoui. Each quarter, to descry the distant foe. Where lodged, or whither fled, or if for fight In motion or in halt : him soon they met Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow But firm battalion : back with speediest sail Zophiel, of Cherubim the swiftest wing. Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cried : Arm, warriors, arm for fight ; the foe at hand. Whom fl«d we thought, will save us long pursuit 5,96 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. This day ; fear not his flight ; so thick a cloud He comes, and settled in his face I see Sad resolution, and secure : let each His adamantine coat gird will, and eacli Fit Avell his helm, gripe fast his orbed shield. Borne even or high ; for this day will pour do"\vii, If I conjecture right, no drizzling shower, But rattling storms of arrows barbed with fire. So warned he them, aware themselves, and soon In order, quit of all impediment ; Instant without disturb they took alarm, And onward moved embattled : when, behold ! Not distant far with heavy pace the foe Approaching gross and huge, in hollow cube Training his devilish enginery, impaled On every side with shadowing squadrons deep. To hide the fraud. At interview both stood Awhile ; but suddenly at head appeared Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud : Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold. That all may see who hate us, how we seek Peace and composure, and with open breast Stand ready to receive them if they like Our overture, and turn not back perverse ; But that I doubt ; however, witness, Heaven ! Heaven, witness thou anon ! while we discharge Freely our part : ye who appointed stand, Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch What we propound, and loud, that all may hear ! milton. THE SAME, CONTINUED. To whom, in brief, thus Abdiel stem replied : Keign thou in Hell, thy kingdom ; let me serve In Heaven, God ever blessed, and his divine Behests obey, worthiest to be obeyed ; Yet chains in Hell, not realms, expect ; meanwhile From me, returned, as erst thou saidst, from flight. This greeting on thy impious crest receive. So saying, a noble stroke he hfted high. Which hung not, but so swift with tempest feU On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 397 Such iTiin intercept : ten paces huge He back recoiled ; the tenth on bended knee His massy spear upstaid : as if on earth Winds under ground, or waters forcing way. Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his seat. Half sunk with all his pines. Amazement seized The rebel thrones, but greater rage, to see Thus foiled their mightiest ; ours joy filled, and shout. Presage of victory, and fierce desire Of battle : whereat Michael bid sound The archangel trumpet ; through the vast of Heaven It sounded, and the faithful armies sung Hosanna to the Highest : nor stood at gaze The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined The horrid shock. Now storming fiiry rose, And clamor such as heard in Heaven till now Was never ; arms on armor clashing brayed Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots raged ; dire was the noise Of conflict ; overhead the dismal hiss Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew, And flying vaulted either host with fire. So imder fiery cope together rushed Both battle's main, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage. All Heaven Resounded ; and had earth been then, all earth Had to her center shook. What wonder ? when Millions of fierce encountering Angels fought On either side, the least of whom could wield These elements, and arm him with a force Of all their regions : how much more of power Army against army numberless to raise Dreadful combustion warring, and disturb. Though not destroy, their happy native seat ; Had not the Eternal King Omnipotent, From his stronghold of Heaven, high overniled And limited their might. miltoh THE SAME, CONTINUED. Long time in even scale The battle hung ; till Satan, who that day Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms 298 THE NEW AMERIOAK SPEAKER. No equal, ranging through the dire attack Of fighting Sutaphim confused, at length Saw where the sword of Llichael smote, and felled Squadrons at once ; with huge two-handed sway Brandished aloft, the horrid edge came down Wide wasting : such destruction to withstand He hasted, and opposed the rooky orb Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield, A vast circumference. At lois approach The great Archangel from his warhke toil Surceased, and glad, as hoping here to end Intestine war in Heaven, the arch-foe subdued Or captive dragged in chains, with hostile frown And visage all inflamed, first thus began : Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt, Unnamed in Heaven, now plenteous as thou seest These acts of hateful strife, hateful to all, Though heaviest by just measure on thyself And thy adherents ! how hast thou disturbed Heaven's blessed peace, and into nature brought Misery, uncreated till the crime Of thy rebelHon ! how hast thou instilled Thy malice into thousands, once upright And faithful, now proved false ! But think not here To trouble holy rest ; Heaven casts thee out From aU her confines. Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war. Hence, then, and evil go with thee along. Thy ofi^spring, to the place of evil. Hell ; Thou and thy wicked crew ! there mingle broils. Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom. Or some more sudden vengeance, winged from God, Precipitate thee with augmented pain. So spake the Prince of Angels ; to whom thus The Adversary : — Nor think thou with wind Of airy threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not. Hast thou turned the least of these To flight, or if to fall, but that they rise Unvanquished, easier to transact with me That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats To chase me hence ? Err not, that so shall end The strife which thou call'st evil, but we style The strife of glory ; which we mean to win. Or turn this Heaven itself into the Hell Thou fablest ; here, however, to dwell free, DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 299 If not to reign : meanwhile thy utmost force, And join him named Almighty to thy aid, I fly not, but have sought thee far and nigh. They ended parley, and both addressed for fight Unspeakable , for who, though with the tongue Of Angels, can relate, or to what things Liken on earth conspicuous, that may lift Human imagination to such hight Of godhke power ? for likest gods they seemed. Stood they, -or moved, in stature, motion, arms, Fit to decide the empire of great Heaven. Now waved their fiery swords, and in the air Made horrid circles ; two broad suns their shields Blazed opposite, while Expectation stood In horror : from each hand with speed retired. Where erst was thickest fight, the angeUc throng. And left large field, unsafe within the wind Of such commotion ; such as, to set forth Great things by small, if, nature's concord broke, Among the constellations war were sprung, Two planets rushing from aspect malign Of fiercest opposition, in mid sky Should combat, and their jarring spheres confound, milton. SATAN IN HELL. The infernal Serpent ; he it was, whose guile, Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived The mother of mankind, what time his pride Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host Of rebel Angels ; by whose aid, aspiring To set himself in glory above his peers. He trusted to have equaled the Most High, If he opposed ; and, with ambitious aim Against the throne and monarchy of God, Raised impious war in Heaven, and battle proud. With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky. With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition ; there to dwell In adamantine ihains and penal fire. Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms. 300 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, Confounded, though immortal. But his doom Reserved him to more wrath ; for now the thought Both of lost happiness, and lasting pain, Torments him ; round he throws his baleful eyes. That witnessed huge afHiction and dismay Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate : At once, as far as Angel's ken, he views The dismal situation waste and wild : A dungeon horrible on aU sides round As one great furnace flamed ; yet from those flames No hght ; but rather darkness visible Served only to discover sights of woe. Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell ; hope never comes That comes to all ; but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever burning sulphur unconsumed : Such place Eternal Justice had prepared For those rebeUious ; here their prison ordained In utter darkness, and their portion set As far removed from God and light of Heaven As from the center thrice to the utmost pole. Oh, how unlike the place from whence they fell ! There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire. He soon discerns ; and weltering by his side, One next himself in power, and next in crime. Long after known in Palestine, and named Beelzebub. MILION. THE SAME, CONTINUED. Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate With head uplift above the waves, and eyes That sparkling blazed ; his other parts besides Prone on the flood, extended long and large Lay floating many a rood ; in bulk as huge. As whom the fables name of monstrous size, Titanian, or Earth-born, that warred on Jove ; Briareus or Typhon, whom the den DRAMATIC AND DESCEIPTIVE PIECES. 301 By ancient Tarsus held ; or that sea-beast Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean stream : Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool His mighty stature : on each hand the flames, Driven backward, slope their pointing spires, and rolled In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale. Then with expanded wings he steers his flight Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air. That felt u.nusual weight ; till on dry land He hghts, if it were land that ever burned With sohd, as the lake with Hquid iire : And such appeared in hue, as when the force Of subterranean wind transports a hill Tom from Pelorus, or the shattered side Of thundering ^tna ; whose combustible And fueled entrails thence conceiving fire, SubUmed with mineral fury, aid the winds And leave a singed bottom all involved' "With stench and smoke : such resting found the sole Of unblessed feet. Him followed his next mate : Both glorying to have 'scaped the Stygian flood As gods, and by their own recovered strength. Not by the suff'eranoe of supernal Power. Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, — Said then the lost Archangel, ■ — ■ this the seat That we must change for Heaven ; this mournful gloom For that celestial light ? Be it so ! since he. Who now is sovereign, can dispose and bid What shaU be right : furthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equaled, force hath made supreme Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields. Where joy forever dwells ! Hail horrors ! hail Infernal world ! And thou, profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor ! one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time : The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same. And what I should be ; all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater ? Here at Inas* We shall be free ; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy ; will not drive us hence : Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice. To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell : 302 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Better to reign in Hell than ser^e in Heaven ! But wLerefoi-e let we then our faithful friends, The associates and copartners of our loss, Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool. And call them not to share with us their part In this unhappy mansion ; or once more With rallied arms to try what may be yet Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell ? THE SAME, CONTINUED. He scarce had ceased, when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore : his ponderous shield. Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round. Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hiUs, to be the mast Of some great admiral, were but a wand, He walked with, to support uneasy steps Over the burning marie, not like those steps On Heaven's azure ; and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire : Nathless he so endured, till on the beach Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called His legions. Angel forms, who lay entranced Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallambrosa, where the Etrurian shades. High overarched, embower ; or scattered sedge Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, WhOe with perfidious hatred they pursued The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld From the safe shore their floating carcasses And broken chariot wheels : so thick bestrown, Abject and lost lay these, covering the flood. Under amazement of their hideous change. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 303 He called so loud, that all the hollow deep Of Hell resounded ! Princes, Potentates, Warriors, the flower of Heaven ! once yours, now lost. If such astonishment as this can seize Eternal Spirits ; or have ye chosen this place After the toil of battle to repose Tour wearied virtue, for the ease you find To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven ? Or in this abject posture have ye sworn To adore the Conqueror ! who now beholds Cherub and Seraph rolhng in the flood. With scattered arms and ensigns ; till anon His swift pursuers from Heaven's gates discern The advantage, and descending, tread us down Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts Transfix us to the bottom of this g-ulf. Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen ! milton. DEFEAT OF THE REBEL ANGELS. So spake the Son, and into terror changed His countenance too severe to be beheld. And full of wrath bent on his enemies. At once the Four spread out their starry wings With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. He on his impious foes right onward drove. Gloomy as night ; under his burning wheels The steadfast empyrean shook throughout, All but the throne itself of God. Full soon Among them he arrived ; in his right hand Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent Before him, such as in their souls infixed Plag-ues : they, astonished, all resistance lost. All courage ; down their idle weapons dropped : O'er shields and helms and helmed heads he rode Of Thrones and mighty Seraphim prostrate. That wished the mountains now might be again Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire. Nor less on either side tempestuous fell His arrows, from the fourfold -visaged Four 304 THE NEW AMEBICAN SPEAKER. Distinct with e)-es, and from tlie living wlieels Distinct alike with multitude of eyes ; One spirit in them ruled ; and every eye- Glared Ughtning, and shot forth pernicious fire Among the accursed, that withered all their strength, And of their wonted vigor left them drained, Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen : Yet half liis strength he put not forth, but checked His thunder in mid volley ; for he meant Not to destroy, but root them out of Heaven : The overthrown he raised ; and, as a herd Of goats or timorous flock together thronged. Drove them before him thiuiderstruck, pursued With terrors, and with furies, to the bounds And crystal wall of Heaven ; which, opening wide, EoUed inward, and a spacious gap disclosed Into the wasteful deep : the monstrous sight Struck them with horror backward, but far worse Urged them behind : headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of Heaven ; eternal wrath Burned after them to the bottomless pit. Hell heard the unsufferable noise. Hell saw Heaven running from Heaven, and would have fled Affrighted ; but strict Fate had cast too deep Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. Nine days they fell : confounded Chaos roared, And felt tenfold confusion in their fall Through his wild anarchy, so huge a rout Encumbered him with ruin : Hell at last Yawning received them whole, and on them closed Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain. Disburdened Heaven rejoiced, and soon repaired Her mural breach, returning whence it rolled. Sole victor, from the expulsion of his foes, Messiah his triumphal chariot turned. miltom. GABRIEL AND SATAN. To whom the warrior Angel soon replied : To say and straight unsay, pretending first Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy, DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 305 Argues no leader but a liar traced, Satan, and couldst tliou "faithful" add ? name, sacred name of faithfulness profane ! Faithful to whom ? to thy rebellious crew ? Army of Fiends, fit body to fit head. Was this your discipHne and faith engaged, Your mihtary obedience, to dissolve Allegiance to the acknowledged Power supreme ? And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem Patron of Uberty, who more than thou Once fawned, and cringed, and servilely adored Heaven's awful Monarch ? wherefore, but in hope To dispossess him, and thyself to reign ? But mark what I arede thee now, avaunt ! Fly thither whence thou fiedst ! If from this hour Within these hallowed limits thou appear, Back to the infernal pit I drag thee chained, And seal thee so as henceforth not to scorn The facile gates of Hell too shghtly barred. So threatened he ; but Satan to no threats Gave heed, but wazing more in rage replied Then when I am thy captive talk of chains, Proud limitary Cherub ! but ere then Far heavier load thyself expect to feel From my prevaiHng arm, though Heaven's King Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers. Used to the yoke, draw'st his triumphant wheels In progress through the road of Heaven star-paved. While thus he spake, the angehc squadron bright Turned fiery red, sharpening in mooned horns Their phalanx, and began to hem him round With ported spears, as thick as when a field Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends Her bearded grove of ears, which way the wind Sways them ; the careful plowman doubting stands Lest on the threshing-floor his hopeless sheaves Prove ohaflf. On the other side, Satan, alarmed. Collecting all his might, dilated stood Like Teneriffe or Atlas, unremoved : His stature reached the sky, and on his crest Sat Horror plumed ; nor wanted in his grasp What seemed both spear and shield : Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the Fiend : Satan, I know thy strength, and ihaa know'st mine ; Neither our own, but given : what folly then 20 306 THE NEW AMKRICAK SPEAKER. To boast what arms can do ? since thine no more Than Heaven permits, nor mine, thougli doubled now To trample thee as mire': for proof look up, And read thy lot in yon celestial sign ; Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak If thou resist. The Fiend looked up, and knew His mounted scale aloft : nor more ; but fled Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night. MILTON PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA. 'Mid the light spray their snorting camels stood, Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood : He comes — their leader comes ! the man of God O'er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod, And onward treads. The circling waves retreat. In hoarse, deep murmurs, from his holy feet ; And the chased surges, inly roaring, show The hard wet sand, and coral hills below. With hmbs that falter, and with hearts that swell, Down, down they pass — a steep, and slippery dell. Around them rise, in pristine chaos hurled. The ancient rooks, the secrets of the world ; And flowers, that blush beneath the ocean green. And cares, the sea-calves' low-roofed haunts, are seen. Down, safely down the narrow pass they tread ; The beethng waters storm above their head ; While far behind, retires the sinking day, And fades on Edom's hills its latest ray. Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light. Or dark to them, or cheerless came the night ; S'iU, in their van, along that dreadful road. Blazed broad and fierce the brandished torch of God. Its meteor glare a tenfold luster gave On the long mirror of the rosy wave ; While its blest beams a sunlike heat supply. Warm every cheek, and dance in every eye. To them alone — for Misraim's wizard train Invoke, for light, their monster-gods in vain : Clouds heaped on clouds, their struggling sight confine, And tenfold darkness broods above their line- DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECBS. 307 Yet on they press, by reckless vengeance led, And range, unconscious, through the ocean's bed, Till midway now — that strange and fiery Form Showed his dread visage, lightning through the storir ; With withering splendor blasted all their might, [flight. And brake their chariot- wheels, and marred their coursers' " Fly, Misraim, fly ! " The ravenous floods they see. And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity. " Fly, Misraim, fly ! " From Edom's coral strand. Again the prophet stretched his dreadful wand : With one wild crash, the thundering waters sweep. And aU is waves — a dark and lonely deep : — Yet o'er these lonely waves such murmurs past. As mortal waihng swelled the nightly blast ; And strange, and sad, the whispering breezes bore The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore. heber. KING HENRY TO HIS SON. For all the world. As thou art to this hour, was Kichard then When I from France set foot at Eavensburg ; And even as I was then, is Percy now. Now by my scepter, and my soul to boot. He hath more worthy interest to the state. Than thou, the shadow of succession : For, of no right, nor color like to right. He doth fill fields with harness in the realm ; Turns head against the lion's armed jaws ; And, being no more in debt to years than thou. Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on. To bloody battles, and to bruising ai-ms. What never-dying honor hath he got Against renowned Douglas ; whose high deeds. Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms. Holds from all soldiers chief majority. And mihtary title capital, Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ ! Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes, This infant warrior in his enterprises, Discomfited great Douglas : ta'en him once, Enlarged him, and made a friend of him. 308 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKJSE. To fill the mouth of deep defiance up. And shake the peace and sal'etj' of our throne. And what say you to this ? Percy, Northumberland, The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, Capilidate against us, and are up. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. Which art my nearest and dearest enemy ? Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear. Base inclination, and the start of spleen, — To fight against me under Percy's pay, To dog his heels, and courtesy at his frowns, To show how much dee-enerate thou art. shakspeare. MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank 1 Here will we sit, and let- the sounds of music Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night, Become tlie touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; There 's not the smallest orb, which thou beholdest. But in his motion like an angel sings. Still quuing to the young-eyed cherubins : But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. — Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn ; With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. Do thou but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts. Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood ; If they bitt hear perchance a trumpet sound. Or any air of music touch their ears. You shall perceive them make a mutual stand. Their savage eyes tiirned to a modest gaze. By the sweet power of music. Therefore, the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage. But music for the lime doth change his nature. DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 309 The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds. Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The motions of his spirit are dull as night. And his affections dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted. shakspeark. LOVE'S ECSTASY. How all the other passions fleet to air. As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair. And shudd'ring fear, and green-eyed jealousy. love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rein thy joy, scant this excess ; , 1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less. For fear I surfeit ! What find I here ? Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine. Seem they in motion ? Here are severed Hps, Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends : here in her hairs The painter plays the spider, and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men. Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes, — How could he see to do them ? having made one, Methinks, it should have power to steal both his And leave itself unfurnished. Yet look, how far The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow. In underprizing it, so far this shadow Doth limp behind the substance. shakspeaeb. OBERON'S VISION. Mt gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest Since once I sat upon a promontory. And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath. 310 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music. That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not,) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all armed : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow. As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quenched in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon : And the imperial votress passed on In maiden meditation, fancy free ; Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell : It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, — And maidens call it love-in-idleness. Fetch me that flower ; the herb I showed thee once : The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly doat Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again. Ere the leviathan can swim a league. shakspeark. PROSPERO. You do look, my son, in a moved sort. As if you were dismayed ; be cheerful, sir ; Our revels now are ended ; these our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air ; And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself. Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve. And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuflf As dreams are made of, and our Uttle life Is rounded with a sleep. Ye elves of bills, brooks, standing lakes and gnjves , And ye that on the sands, with printleBs foot DRAMATIC AND DBSOEIPTIVE PIECES. 311 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back ; you demi-puppets, that By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms ; that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid (Weak masters though you be, ) I have bedimmed The noontide sun, caUed forth the mutinous winds, And twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war ; to the dread ratthng thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt ; the strong based promontory Have I made shake ; and by the spurs plucked up The pine and cedar ; graves, at my command, Have waked their sleepers — oped, and let them forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure : and when I have required Some heavenly miisic, (which even now I do,) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I '11 break my staflF, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound, I '11 drown my book. shaespkare. MARIUS IN PRISON. The peculiar sublimity of the Roman mind does not express itself, nor is it at all to be sought in their poetry. Poetry, according to the Roman ideal of it, was not an adequate organ for the grander movements of the national mind. Roman sub- limity must be looked for in Roman acts, and in Roman sayings. Where, again, will you find a more adequate expression of the Roman majesty, than in the saying of Trajan: — Imperatorem oportere staniem mori — that Caesar ought to die standing ; a speech of imperatorial grandeur ! Implying that he, who was "the foremost man of all this world," — and, in regard to all other nations, the representative of his own, should express its characteristic virtue in his farewell act — should die in procinctu — and should meet the last enemy as the first, with a Roman countenance and in a soldier's attitude. If this had an impera- torial — what follows had a consular majesty, and is almost the grandest story upon record. 812 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Marius, the man who rose to be seven times consul, was in a dungeon, and a slave was sent in with commission to put him to death. These were the persons, — the two extremities of exalted and forlorn humanity, its vanward and its rearward man, a Koman consul and an abject slave. But Uieir natural relations to each other were, by the caprice of fortune, mon- strously inverted : the consul was in chains ; the slave was for a moment the arbiter of his fate. By what spells, what magic, did Marius reinstate himself in his natural prerogatives ? By what marvels drawn from heaven or from earth, did he, in the twinkling of an eye, again invest himself with the purple, and place between himself and his assassin a host of shadowy lictors ? By the mere blank supremacy of great minds over weak ones. He fascinated the slave, as a rattlesnake does a bird. Standing "hke Teneriffe," he smote him with his eye, and said, " Tune, homo, audes occidere C. Jfarium? " — Dost thou, fellow, presume to kill Caius Marius ? Whereat, the reptile, quaking under the voice, nor daring to affront the consular eye, sank gently to the ground — turned round upon his hands and feet — and, crawling out of the prison like any other vermin, left Marius standing in solitude as steadfast and immovable as the capitol. DE trong in'mt: And like a man to double businu.ss bound, I stand in pause where I shall lirst begin, xVnd both neglect. What if this cuistd hand "Were thicker than itself with brother's blood; Is there not rain enough in the sweet hea\'ens To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy. But to confront the visage of offense ? And what 's in prayer, but this twofold force, To be forestalled, ere we come to fall. Or pardoned, being down ? — -Then I '11 look up ; My fault is past. But oh, what form of praj-er Can serve my turn ? " Forgive me my foul murder !'' That cannot be ; since I am still possessed Of those effects for which I did the murder. My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. May one be pardoned, and retain the offense ? In the corrupted currents of this world, Offense's gilded hand may shove by justice ; And oft 't is seen, the wicked prize itself Buys out the law : but 't is not so above ; There, is no shuffling ; there, the action lies In his true nature ; and we ourselves compelled, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then ? — what rests ? Try what repentance can : what can it not ? Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? Oh wretched state ! oh bosom, black as death ! Oh limed soul, that struffoiing- to be free. Art more engaged ! Help, angels 1 make assay ! Bow, stubborn knees ; and heart, with strings of steel. Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe 1 All may be weU. shakspeabe. THE DYING HORSE. Heaven ! what enormous strength does death possess ! How muscular the giant's arm must be To grasp that strong-boned horse, and, spite q'' all His furious efforts, fix him to the earth ! His writhdng fibers speak his inward pain, SOLILOQUY AND MEDITATION. 335 His smoking nostrils speak Ms inward fire ! Oh ! how he glares ! — and hark ! methinks I hear His bubbling blood, which seems to burst the veins ; How still he 's now ; — how fiery hot, — how cold ! How terrible, — how lifeless ! — all within A few brief moments ! My reason staggers ! Philosophy, thou poor enlightened dotard. Who canst assign for everything a cause. Here take thy stand beside me, and explain This hidden mystery. Bring with thee The headstrong atheist, who laughs at heaven. And impiously ascribes events to chance. To help to solve this wonderful enigma ! First, tell me, ye proud, haughty reasoners, "Where the vast strength this creature late possessed Has fled to ? How the bright sparkling fire. Which flashed but now from these dim rayless eyes, Has been extinguished? — Oh, he 's dead 1 you say — I know it well : — but how, and by what means ? What ! — ■ not a word ! — I ask you once again ; How comes it that the wondrous essence, Which gave such vigor to these strong-nerved limbs. Has leapt from its inclosure, and compelled This noble workmanship of nature thus To sink into a cold inactive clod ? blackett. ANTONY OVER THE DEAD BODY OF CjESAR. O MIGHTY Gsesar ! dost thou lie so low ! Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs spoils. Shrunk to this little measure ? — Pare thee well. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend. Who else must be let blood, who else is rank ; If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar's death-hour ; nor no instrument Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die ; No place will please me so, no mean of death. 326 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. As here by Ceesar, and by you cut oflF, The choice and master spirits of this age. Tluit I did love thee, Cresar, oh ! 't is true ; If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, To see thy Antony maldng his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds. Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood. It would become me better, than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius ! — here wast thou bayed, brave heart, Here didst thou fall ; and here thy hunters stand, Signed in thy spoil, and crimsoned in thy lethe. pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth. That I am meek and gentle with these butchers 1 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever hved in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! Over thy wounds now do I prophecy, — Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, — A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; Domes Lie fury, and tierce civil strife. Shall cumber all the parts of Italy : Blood and destniction shall be so in use. And dreadful objects so familiar. That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quartered with the hands of war ; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds ; And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge. With Ate by his side, come hot from hell. Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, Cry, " Havoc ! " and let slip the dogs of war ; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial. shakspeaee. A SOLILOQUY FROM HAMLET. 0, THAT this too, too solid- flesh would melt. Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! Or that the Everlasting had not fixed SOLILOQUY AND MEDITATION. 327 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! God ! God ! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world ! Fie on 't ! fie ! 't is an imweeded garden. That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! But two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not two. So excellent a king ; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother. That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! Must I remember ? And yet, within a month, — Let me not think on 't ; — Frailty, thy name is woman ! A httle month ; or ere those shoes were old, With which she followed my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourned longer, — married with my uncle. My father's brother ; but no more like my father, Than I to Hercules : It is not. nor it cannot come to good ; But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue ! SHAKSPEARE. HAMLET ON HIS OWN IRRESOLUTION. Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. Could force his soul so to his own conceit. That from her working, all his visage wann'd ; Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit ? And all for nothing ! For Hecuba ! What 's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her ? What would he do. Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears. And cleave the general- ear with horrid speech : Make mad the guilty, and appall the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed, 328 TUE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKKR. The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause. And can say nothing ; no, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damned defeat was made. Am I a coward ? Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i' the throat. As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ? Ha! Why, I should take it ; for it cannot be. But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or, ere this, I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain ! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain ! Why, what an ass am I ? This is most brave ; That I, the son of a dear father murdered. Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a fool, unpack my heart with words, — A sculhon ! Fie upon 't ! foh ! About my brains ! Humph, I have heard That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have, by the very cunning of the scene, Been struck so to the soul, that presently They have proclaimed their malefactions ; For murder, though it hath no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. I '11 have these players Play something like the murder of my father. Before mine uncle ; I '11 observe his looks ; I '11 tent him to the quick ; if he do blench, I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen, May be a devil, and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and, perhaps. Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, (As he is very potent with such spirits,) Abuses me to damn me ; I '11 have grounds More relative than this. The play 's the thing. Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king. SHAKSPEABE. SOLILOQUY AND MEDITATION. 339 LADY MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY. Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be What thou art promised. — Yet do I fear thy nature ; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great ; Art not without ambition ; but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win ; thou 'dst have, great Glamis, That which cries, " Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; And that which rather thou dost fear to do. Than wishest should be undone." Hie thee hither. That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round. Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crowned withal. The raven himself is hoarse. That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Gome, come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood. Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; That no compunctuous visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect, and it ! Come, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances Tou wait on nature's mischief ! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. To cry, " Hold ! hold ! " shakspeare. CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 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. 330 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Of falling into nought ? "Wliy shrinks (lie soul Back on huisclf, and startles at destruction ? 'T is the divinity that, stirs within us : 'T is ht;neii ilself that points out an hereafter, And intimales eternity to man. Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through \vhat 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 Csesar. I 'm weary of conjectures' — -this must end them — {^Layinr/ Ids hand on his sw@rd.') Thus am I doubly arm'd. 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. — The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; But tliDU shalt flourish in immortal youth. Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. addison. LADY RANDOLPH'S SOLILOQUY Ye woods and wilds ! whose melancholy gloom Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart — Farewell awhile. I will not leave you long ; For, in your shades, I deem some spirit dwells, Who, from the chiding stream, or groaning oak, Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan. Douglas ! Douglas ! if departed gho.sts Are e'er permitted to review this world. Within the circle of that wood thou art ; And, with the passion of immortals, hear'st My lamentation ; hear'st thy wretched wife SOLILOQUY AND MEDITATION. 331 Weep for lier husband slain, her infant lost. My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn, Who perished -u-ith thee on this fatal day : To thee I lift my voice ; to thee address The 'plaint, -whioh mortal ear has never heard. Oh ! disregard me not. Though I am called Another's now, my heart is wholly thine : Incapable of change, alFection lies Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody gTave. home. OTHELLO'S VENGEFUL SORROW. NOW, forever. Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars. That make ambition virtue ! 0, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump. The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife. The royal banner, and all quality. Pride, pomp, and circumstance, of glorious war ! And you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit ; Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone ! — 0, that the slave had forty thousand lives : One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! Now do I see 't is true. — Look here, lago ; All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven : 'T is gone. — Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! Yield up, love, thy crown, and hearted throne, To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 't is of aspics' tongues ! — Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course iNje'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont ; Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven. In the due reverence of a sacred vow I here engage my words. shakspeaee. 332 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. MACBETH MEDITATING THE MURDER OP DUNCAN. If it were done, when 't is done, then 't were well It were done quickly. If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch. With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here. But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We 'd jump the life to come. ■ — ■ But in these cases, We still have judgment here ; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor : this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice To our own lips. He 's here in double trust : First, as I am his kinsman and his suliject, Strong both against the deed : then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off : And pity, hke a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the aii% Shall blow the horrid deed to every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. shakspeare. A SOLILOQUY OF MACBETH. Is this a dagger, which I see before me, The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee : I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind ; a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshal's! me the way that I was going ; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses. SOLILOQUy AND MEDITATION. 333 Or else wortli all the rest : I see thee still ; And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before. — There 's no such thing : It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtained sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's ofl'erings ; and withered Murder, Alarmed by his sentinel, the wolf. Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his design Moves like a ghost. — Thou sure and firm set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time. Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he Uves ; Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. (A bell rings.) I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me ; Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven, or to heU. shakspbarb. SHYLOCK'S SOLILOQUY AND ADDRESS. How like a fawning publican he looks ! I hate him, for he is a Christian ; But more, for that, in low simplicity. He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails. Even there where merchants most do congregate. On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, Which he calls interest : cursed be my tribe, If I forgive him ! — Signior Antonio, many a time and oft. In the Eialto you have rated me About my moneys, and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance is the badge of aU our tribe : You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 334 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKEK. And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for ii'>e of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears, you need my help : Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, " Shylock, we would liave moneys ;" you say so : You, that did -void j'our rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spur a strang(_'r cur Over your threshold ; moneys is your suit. "What should I say to you ? Should I not say, " Hath a dog money ? is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats ?" or Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key, With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness. Say this, — ■ " Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last : You spurned me such a day ; another time You called me — dog ; and for these courtesies I '11 lend you thus much moneys." shakspeare. FALSTAFF ON SACK. A GOOD sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain ; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapors which environ it : makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery and delectable shapes ; which deUvered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is, — the warming of the blood ; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice : but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face ; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm : and then the vital com- moners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart ; who, great, and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage ; and this valor comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing, without sack ; for that sets it a-work ; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a de\'il ; till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that Prince Harry is valiant : for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavor of SOLILOQUY AND MEDITATION. 335 drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris ; that lie is become very hot, and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them, should be — to for- swear thin potations, and addict themselves to sack. SHAKSPEARE. SOLILOQUY ON CHARACTER. As young as I am, I have observed these throe swashers. I am boy to them all three : but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me ; for, indeed, three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, — he is white-livered, and red-faced ; by the means whereof, 'a faces it out, but iights not. For Pistol, — he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword ; by the means whereof, 'a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For JSTym, — he hath heard, that men of few words are the best men ; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward ; but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds ; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal anything, and call it — purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case ; bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half-pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching ; and in Calais they stole a fire- shovel ; I knew, by that piece of service, the men would carry coals. They would ha\-e me as familiar with men's pockets, as their gloves or their handkerchiefs ; which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket, to put into mine ; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service : their villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. SHAKSPEAEE. SOLILOQUY ON A DOG. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard : one that I brought up of a puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it ! I have taught him — even as one would say precisely, Thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from my master ; and I " came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to hei S36 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAICER. trencher, and steals her capon's leg. Oh, 't is a foul thing, when a cur cannot keep hinaself in all companies ! I would liavt', as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dug indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more ^vil than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think eerily he had been hanged for 't ; sure as I live, he had suffered for 't : you shall judge. He thrusts me liimself into the company of three or four gentlemen-like dogs, under the duke's table : he had not been there awhile, but all the chamber smelled him. "Out with the dog," says one; "What cur is that?" says another; " Whip him out," says the third; "Hang him up," says the duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell be- fore, knew it was Crab ; and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs : "Friend," quoth I, " you mean to whip the dog?" " Ay, marry, do I," quoth he. " You do him the more wrong," quoth I. He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for their servant ? Nay, I '11 be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been executed : I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for 't : thou thiak'st not of this now. shakspeare. FALSTAFF'S DESCRIPTION OF HIS SOLDIERS. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. I have misused the king's press outrageously. I have got in ex- change of an hundred and iifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons ; inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as have been asked twice on the banns ; such a commodity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum ; such as fear the report of a culverin worse than a struck deer or a hurt wild duck. I press me none but such toasts in butter, with hearts in their breasts no bigger than pins' heads ; and they bought out their services ; and now my whole charge consists of slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores, discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and hostlers trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a long peace ; and such have I to till up the rooms of them that have bought out their services, that you would think I had an hundred and fifty tattered- prodigals lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad SOLILOQUY AND MEDITATION. 337 fellow met me on the wav, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I '11 not march through Coventry with them, that 's flat. Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyres on ; for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There 's but a shirt and a half in all my company, and the half-shirt is two napkins tacked together, and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves ; and the shii-t, to say the truth, stolen from my host of St. Albans, or the red- nosed innkeeper of Daintry. But that 's all one, they '11 find linen enough on every hedge. shakspeaeb. SOLILOQUY OF DICK THE APPRENTICE. Thtjs far we run before the wind ! An apothecary ? — make an apothecary of me 1 — What, cramp my genius over a pestle and mortar ; or mew me up in a shop with an alligator stuffed, and a beggaily account of empty boxes ! — to be culling sim- ples, and constantly adding to the bills of mortality ! — No, no ! It will be much better to be pasted up in capitals, " The part of Romeo by a young gentleman who never appeared on any stage before.' ' My ambition fires at the thought. — But hold — May n't I run some chance of failing in my attempt! — hissed — pelted — laughed at — not admitted into the green-room ; that will never do — down, busy devil, down, down. — Try it again : — loved by the women, envied by the men, applauded by the pit, clapped by the galleiy, admired by the boxes — "Dear colonel, is n't he a charming creature ? My lord, do n't you like him of all things ? — makes love like an angel ? — what an eye he has ? — fine legs — I shall certainly go to his benefit." Celestial sounds ! — And then I '11 get in with all the pamters, and have myself put in every print shop — in the character of Macbeth ! " This is a sony sight" — (assumes an attitude.) In the character of Richard, — " Give me another horse ; bind up my wounds." — This will do rarely.' — And then I have a chance of getting well married — oh, glorious thought ! I will enjoy it, though but in fancy — But what 's o'clock ? — it must be almost nine. I '11 away at once ; this is club night •:— the spouters are all met — little think they I 'm in town — they '11 be surprised to see me — off I go ; and then for my assignation with my master Gargle's daughter — " Limbs, do your office, and support me well ; Bear me but to her, then fail me if you can." 29 339 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. WIT — HUMOR— BURLESQUE. THE RHYMING APOTHECARY. A MEMBER of the .^sculapian line Lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne ; No man could better gild a pill. Or make a bill ; Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister ; Or draw a tooth out of your head ; Or chatter scandal by your bed ; Or spread a plaster. He had a patient lying at death's door, Some three miles from the town, — it might be four, - To whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article. In pharmacy that 's called cathartical. And on the label of the stuff He wrote a verse. Which, one would think, was clear enough, And terse : "When taken. To be well shaken." Early next morning, Bolus rose. And to his patient's house he goes. Upon his pad. Which a vile trick of stumbling had : It was, indeed, a very sorry hack ; — But that 's of course ; For, what 's expected from a horse. With an apothecary on his back ? Bolus arrived, and gave a loudish tap. Between a single and a double rap. Knocks of this kind Are given by gentlemen, who teach to dance ; By fiddlers and by opera singers ; One loud, and then a httle one behind. As if the knocker fell by chance Out of their fingers. WIT HUMOR BURMISQUE. 339 The servant lets him in with dismal face, Long as a courtier's out of place — Portending some disaster ; -John's countenance as rueful looked and grim, As if th' apothecary had physicked him. And not his master. " Well, how 's the patient ? " Bolus said : John shook his head. " Indeed ! — hum ! — ha ! — that 's very odd ! He took the draught ? " John gave a nod. " Well, how ? — what then ? Speak out, you dimce ! " "Why, then," says John, "we shook him once." " Shook him ! how ? " Bolus stammered out. " We jolted him about." " Zounds ! shake a patient, man ! — a shake won't do." " No, sir, and so we gave him two." " Two shakes ! — odds curse ! 'T would make the patient worse." " It did so, sir, and so a third we tried." " Well, and what then ? " — " Then, sir, my master died." COLMAN. ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER. Will Wag went to see Charley Quirk, More famed for his books than his knowledge. In order to borrow a work He had sought for in vain over college. But Charley rephed — " My dear friend. You must know I have sworn and agreed My books from my room not to lend, — But you may sit by my fire and read." Now it happened, by chance, on the morrow. That Quirk, with a cold, quivering air. Came his neighbor Will's bellows to borrow. For his own they were out of repair. But Willy replied — " My dear friend, I have sworn and agreed, you must know. That my bellows I never will lend, — But you may sit hy my fire and blow." mrs. oilman, 340 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. OLD GRIMES. Old Grimes is dead ; that good old man We never shall see more ; He used to wear a long black coat, All buttoned down before. His heart was open as the day, His feelings all were ti-ue ; His hair was some inclined to gray — ' He wore it in a cue. , Whene'er he heard the voice of pain. His breast with pity burned ; The large round head upon his cane From ivory was turned. Kind words he ever had for all ; He knew no base design ; His eyes were dark and rather small. His nose was aquiline. He lived at peace with all mankind ; In friendship he was true ; His coat had pocket-holes behind ; His pantaloons were blue. Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutea He passed securely o'er ; And never wore a pair of boots For thirty years or more. But good old Grimes is now at rest, Nor fears misfortune's frown ; He wore a double-breasted, vest — The stripes ran up and down. He modest merit sought to find. And pay it its desert ; He had no maHce in his mind. No rufiSes on his shirt. His neighbors he did not abuse — Was sociable and gay ; He wore .large buckles on Ms shoes, And changed them every day. WIT HUMOR BUBLESQUB. 341 His knowledge, liid from public gaze, He did not bring to view ; Nor make a noise, town-meeting days. As many people do. His worldly goods he never threw In trust to fortune's chances ; But lived (as all his brothers do) In easy circumstances. Thus undisturbed by anxious cares. His peaceful moments ran, And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman. albert g. gbekne THE REMOVAL. A HERVotrS old gentleman, tired of trade, — By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made, — Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down. This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate ; But, alas ! when he entered he found it too late ; For in each dwelt a smith : — a more hard-working two Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe. At six in the morning, their anvils, at work, Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk : " These fellows," he cried, " such a clattering keep. That I never can get above eight hours of sleep." From morning tiU night they keep thumping away, — No sound but the anvil the whole of the day : His afternoon's nap, and his daughter's new song. Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong. He offered each Vulcan to purchase his shop ; But, no ! they were stubborn, determined to stop : At length (both his spirits and health to improve) He cried, " I 'U give each fifty guineas to move." "Agreed !" said the pair; "that will make us amends." " Then come to my house, and let us part friends : 843 THE HEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. You shall dine ; and we '11 drink on this joyful occasion. That each may live long in his new habitation." He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale, — He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale ; So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest Would take from him noise, and restore to him rest. " And now," said he, " tell me, where mean you to move — I hope to some spot where your trade will improve ? " "Why, sii-," replied one, with a grin on his phiz, " Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his ! " ANOKYMODS. HISTORY OF JOHN DAY. John Day, he was the biggest man Of all the coachman kind ; With back too broad to be conceived By any narrow mind. The very horses loiew his weight. When he was in the rear. And wished his box a christmas-box, To come but once a year. Alas ! against the shafts of love What armor can avail ? Soon Cvipid sent an arrow through His scarlet coat of mail. The bar-maid of " The Crown" he loved. From whom he never ranged ; For, though he changed his horses there. His love he never changed. He thought her fairest of all fares, So fondly love prefers ; And often among twelve outsides, No outside deemed like hers. One day as she was sitting down Beside the porter pump, • HDMOR BURLESQUE. 343 He came and knelt, with all his fat. And made an oflfer plump. Said she, " My taste will never leara To Kke so huge a man ; So I must beg you will come here As~little as you can." But still he stoutly urged his suit. With vows, and sighs, and tears ; Yet could not pierce her heart, althougfe He drove the Dart for years. In vain he wooed — in vain ie sued — The maid was cold and proud. And sent him off to Coventry, While on the way to Stroud. He fretted all the way to Stroud, And thence all back to town ; The course of love was never smooth. So his went up and down. At last her coldness made him pine To merely bones and sHn ; But still he loved like one resolved To love through thick and thin. " Mary ! view my wasted back, And see my dwindled calf ! Though I have never had a wife, I 've lost my better half ! " Alas ! in vain, he still assailed. Her heart withstood the dint ; Though he had carried sixteen stone. He could not move a flint ! Worn out, at last he made a vow. To break his being's Hnk, For he was so reduced in size. At nothing he could shrink. Now, some will talk in water's praise. And waste a deal of breath ; 344 THE NE"W AMERICAN SFilAKER. But John, thougli lie drank nothing else. He drank hhnself to death. The cruel maid, that caused his loye, Found out the fatal close, For looking in the butt, she saw The butt-end of his woes. Some say his spirit haunts the Crown ; But that is only talk ; For after riding all his life, His ghost objects to walk. hood. THE ALARMED SKIPPER. Many a long, long year ago, Nantucket skippers had a plan Of finding out, though " lying low," How near New York their schooners ran. They greased the lead before it fell, And then, by sounding through the night. Knowing the soil that stuck, so well. They always guessed their reckoning right. A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim. Could tell by tasting, just the spot. And so below, he 'd " dowse the ghm " — After, of course, his " something hot." Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock. This ancient skipper might be found ; No matter how his craft would rock. He slept — for skippers' naps are sound ! The watch on deck would now and then Eun down and wake him, with the lead ; He 'd up and taste, and tell the men How many miles they went ahead. One night, 't was Jotham Marden's watch, A curious wag — the peddler's son ; WIT HUMOK B0KLBSQUB. ,345 And so lie mused, (the wanton wretch, ) " To-night I '11 have a gram of fun. " "We 're all a set of stupid fools. To think the skipper knows by tasting What ground he 's on ; Nantucket schools Do n't teach such stuff, with all their basting ! " And so he took the well greased lead. And i-ubbed it o'er a box of earth That stood on deck — (a parsnep bed) — And then he sought the skipper's berth, " Where are we now, sir ? Please to taste." The skipper yawned, put out his tongue. Then oped his eyes ia wondrous haste, And then upon the floor he sprung ! The skipper stormed, and tore his hair, Thrust on his boots, and roared to Harden — " Nantucket 's sunk, and here we are Eight over old Marm Hackett's garden ! " J. T. FIELD. THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN All the world 's a stage. And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts. His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewhng and puking in the nurse's arms : And then, the whining school-boy, with his sachel. And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school : and then, the lover. Sighing hke furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow : then, a soldier. Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard. Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth : and then, the justice. In fair round belly, with good capon lined, 346 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Witli eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. Full of wise saws and modern instances ; And so he plays his part : the sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ; With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound : last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history. Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. SHAKSPEARK. THE THREE BLACK CROWS. Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, One took the other briskly by the hand : " Hark ye," said he, " 't is an odd story this. About the crows ! " — ■ " I do n't know what it is," Replied his friend. — " No ? I 'm surprised at that ; Where I come from, it is the common chat : But you shall hear : an odd affair indeed ! And that it happened, they are all agreed : Not to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the alley knows, Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows." " Impossible ! " — " Nay, but it 's really true ; I had it from good hands, and so may you." " From whose, I pray ? " So having named the man. Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. " Sir, did you tell" — relating the affair — " Yes, sir, I did ; and if it 's worth your care. Ask Mr. Such-a-one ; he told it me ; But, by the by, 't was two black crows, not three." Resolved to trace so wondrous an event. Whip to the third the virtuoso went. " Sir," — and so forth — " Why, yes ; the thing is fact, Though in regard to number not exact ; It was not two black crows ; 't was only one ; The truth of that you may depend upon : Vr^ HUMOR BURLESQUK. 347 The gentleman himself told me the case." " Where may I find him ? " " Why, — in such a place." Away he goes, and having found him out, — ■" Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." Then to his last informant he referred, And begged to know if true what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw vup a black crow ? " " Not I ! " " Bless me ! how people propagate a lie ! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one. And here I find at last all comes to none ! Did you say nothing of a crow at all ? " " Crow — crow — perhaps I might, now I recall The matter over." " And pray, sir, what was 't ? " " Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last, I did throw up, and told my neighbor so. Something that was as black, sir, as a crow." erBOM THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. In Broad-street buildings, (on a winter night,) Snug by his parlor fire, a gouty wight Sat aU alone, with one hand rubbing His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose ; With t' other he 'd beneath his nose The Public Leger, in whose columns grubbing He noted all the sales of hops. Ships, shops, and slops. Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin. Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin ; When, lo ! a decent personage in black Entered, and most politely said — " Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track To the — Eng's Head, And left your door ajar, which I Observed in passing by ; And thought it neighborly to give you notice." Ten thousand thanks — how very few get In time of danger Such kind attentions from a stranger ! Assuredly that fellow's throat is Doomed to a final drop at Newgate : He knows, too, (the unconscious elf,) 348 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. That there 's no soul at home except myself." " Indeed ! replied the stranger," looking grave, " Then he 's a double knave ; He knows that rogues and thieves by scores Nightly beset unguarded doors : And see, how easily might one Of these domestic foes. Even beneath your very nose. Perform his knavish tricks ; Enter your room, as I have done, Blow out your candles — thus — and thus. Pocket your silver candlesticks. And walk off— thus!" So said — so done — he made no more remark. Nor waited for replies, But marched off with his prize. Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark. anontmous. MISCONCEPTION. Ebe night her sable curtains spread ; Ere Phcsbus had retired to bed In Thetis' lap ; Ere drowsy watchmen yet had ta'en Their early nap, — A wight, by hungry fiend made bold. To farmer Fitz-Maurice's fold Did slily creep, Where numerous flocks were quiet laid In the arms of sleep. No doubt the sheep he meant to steal ; But, hapless, close behind his heel Was plowman Joe, Who just arrived in time to stop The murderous blow. May ill luck on ill actions wait ! The felon must to justice straight Be dragged by force ; Where prosecutors tirge his guilt. Without remorse. WIT HtTMOR BURLESQUE. 349 Witli fear o'erwhebned, the victim stands. Anticipates the dread commands From the elbow chair, Where justice sits in solemn state. With brow austere. " Eogiie ! what excuse hast thou for this ? For to old Gilbert Fitz-Maurice, Thou knew'st full well. The sheep within that fold belonged — Come, quickly tell. Confess thy crime ; 't wiU naught avaU To say, the mark above the tail Thou didst not heed ; For G. F. M., in letters large. Thou plain might'st read." " 'T is true, I did," the thief replies ; " But man is not at aE times wise ; As I 'm a glutton, I really thought that G. F. M. Meant — Good, Fat, Mutton ! " anontmocs. THE APPLE-DUMPLINGS AND GEORGE IIL Once in the chase, this monarch drooping, From his high consequence and wisdom stooping. Entered, through curiosity, a cot, Where an old crone was hanging on the pot ; The wrinkled, blear-eyed, good old granny. In this same cot, iUumed by many a cranny. Had apple-dumplings ready for the pot ; In tempting row the naked dumplings lay. When lo ! the monarch, in his usual way. Like lightning asked, " What's here ? what's here ? what ? what ? what ? what ? " Then taking up a dumpling in his hand. His eyes with admiration did expand — And oft did majesty the dumphng grapple : " 'T is monstrous, monstrous, monstrous hard," he cried ; " What makes the thing so hard ? " The dame replied. 350 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Low courtesying, " Please your majesty, the apple." " Very astonishing indeed ! strange thing ! " (Turning the dumpling round) rejoined the king, " 'T is most extraordinary now, all this is — It beats the conjurer's capers all to pieces — Strange I should never of a dumpling dream, — • But Goody, tell me, where, where, where 's the seam ?" " Sire, there 's no seam," quoth she, " I ne\'cr knew That folks did apple-dumplings sew ! " — " No ? " cried the starinff monarch with a grin, " Then, where, where, where, pray, got the apple m ?" WOLCOTTi THE DIRECTING POST. In winter, once, an honest traveling wight Pursued his road to Derby, late at night ; 'T was very cold, the wind was bleak and high. And not a house nor living thing was nigh ; At length he came to where some four roads met, (It rained too, and he was completely wet,) And being doubtful which way he should take, He drew up to the finger-post to make It out — and after much of poring, fumbling, Some angry oaths, and a great deal of grumbling, 'T was thus the words he traced — "To Derby — five ;" " A goodly distance yet, as"I 'm alive ! " But on he drove a weary length of way. And wished his journey he 'd delayed till day : He wondered that no town appeared in view, (The wind blew stronger, it rained faster too,) When to his great relief he met a man : " I say, good friend, pray tell me, if you can. How far is 't hence to Derby ? " " Derby, hey ! Why zur, thee be'est completely come astray ; This y'ant the road." " Why zounds the guide-post showed ' To Derby, five ' — and pointed down this road ! " " Ay, dang it, that may be, for ypu maun know, The post it war blown down last night, and so This morn I put it up again, but whether (As I can't put great A and B together) The post is right, I 'm zure I cannot zay — The town is just five miles the other way." anontmous. WIT HUMOR BURLESQUE. 351 THE ATHEIST AND ACORN. " Methinks the world seems oddly made And everything amiss ;" A duU complaining atheist said, As stretched he lay beneath the shade. And instanced it in this : " Behold," quoth he, " that mighty thing, A pumpkin large and round, Is held but by a httle string, Which upward cannot make it spring. Nor bear it from the ground. " While on this oak an acorn small. So disproportioned grows. That whosoe'er surveys this all. This universal casual ball. Its ill contrivance knows. " My better judgment would have himg The pumpkin on the tree. And left the acom shghtly strung, 'Mongst things that on the surface sprung, And weak and feeble be." No more the caviler could say. No further faults descry ; For upward gazing, as he lay. An acom, loosened from its spray. Fell down upon his eye. The wounded part with tears ran o'er. As punished for that sin : Fool ! had that bough a pumpkin bore. Thy whimseys would have worked no more. Nor skull have kept them in. anonymous. THE ASS AND THE NIGHTINGALE. Aw ass a nightingale espied. And shouted out, " Hollo ! hollo ! good friend ! Thou art a first-rate singer, they pretend : — Now let me hear thee, that I may decide ; 352 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKBB. I reallj' wish to know — the world is partial ever — If thou hast this great gift, and art indeed so clever." The nightingale b^an her heavenly lays : Through all the regions of sweet music ranging, Varying her song a thousand different ways ; Kising and falling, lingering, ever changing ; Full of wild rapture now — then sinking oft To almost silence — melancholy, soft, As distant shepherd's pipe at evening's close ; Strewing the wood with lovelier music : — there All nature seems to Hsten and repose ; No zephyr dares disturb the tranquil air : — AH other voices of the grove are still, And the charmed flocks he down beside the rill. The shepherd like a statue stands — afraid EQs breathing may disturb the melody ; His finger, pointing to the melodious tree. Seems to say, " Listen ! " to his favorite maid. The singer ended : — and our critic bowed His reverend head to earth, and said aloud, " Now that 's so, so ; — thou really hast some merit ; CurtaQ thy song, and critics then might hear it. Thy voice wants sharpness : — but if chanticleer Would give thee a few lessons, doubtless he Might raise thy voice and modulate thy ear ; And thou, in spite of all thy faults, mayest be A very decent singer." The poor bird In silent modesty the critic heard, And winged her peaceful flight into the air, O'er many and many a field and forest fair. Many such critics you and I have seen : — Heaven be our screen 1 jcrilkb THE YOUNG FLY AND THE OLD SPIDER. Febsh was the breath of morn — the busy breeze. As poets tell us, whispered through the trees. And swept the dew-clad blooms with wings so light : Phoebus got up, and made a blazing fire. That gilded every country-house and spire. And smiling, put on his best looks so bright. WIT HUMOR BURLESQUE. 353 On this fail- morn, a spider -who had set, To catch a breakfast, his old waving net. With cautious art, upon a spangled thorn. At length with gravely -squinting, longing eye, Near him espied a pretty, plimip, young fly. Humming her little orisons to mom. " Good morrow, dear Miss Fly," quoth gallant Grim. — " Good morrow, sir," repUed Miss Fly to him. "Walk in, miss, pray, and see what I 'm about." " I 'm much obhged t' ye, sir," Miss Fly rejoined, "My eyes are both so very good, I find. That I can plainly see the whole without." " Fine weather, miss." " Yes, very fine," Quoth Miss ; " prodigious fine indeed ! " " But why so coy ? " quoth Grim, " that you decline To put within my bower your pretty head ? " " 'T is simply this," Quoth cautious Miss, " 1 fear you 'd like my pretty head so well, Tou 'd keep it for yourself, sir, — who can tell ? " " Then let me squeeze your lovely hand, my dear. And prove that all your dread is foolish, vain." — " I 've a sore finger, sir ; nay more, I fear You reaUy would not let it go again." " Poh, poh, child, pray dismiss your idle dread : I would not hurt a hair of that sweet head — Well, then, with one sweet kiss of friendship meet me." " La, sir," quoth Miss, with seeming artless tongue, " I fear our salutation would be long : So loving, too, I fear that you would eat me." So saying, with a smile she left the rogue. To weave more lines of death, and plan for prog. WOLCOTT. SPECTACLES, OR HELPS TO READ. A CERTAIN artist — I 've forgot his name — Had got for making spectacles a fame. Or " helps to read," as, when they first were sold, 23 354 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Was writ upon Lis glaring sign in gold ; And, for all uses to be had from glass, His were allowed by readers to surpass. There came a man into his shop one day — " Are you the spectacle contriver, pray ? " " Yes, sir," said he, " I can in that affair Contrive to please you, if you want a pair." — " Can you ? pray do then." So, at first, he chose To place a youngish pair upon his ncee ; And book produced, to see how they would fit : Asked how he liked 'em ? — " Like 'em ? not a bit." — " Then, sir, I fancy, if you please to try, These in my hand will better suit your eye." — " No, but they do n't." — " Well, 'come, sir, if you please, Here is another sort, we '11 e'en try these ; StiU somewhat more they magnify the letter ; Now, sir ? " — " Why, now — I 'm not a bit the better." — " No ? here, take these that magnify still more ; How do they fit ? " — " Like all the rest before." In short, they tried a whole assortment through ; But all in vain, for none of 'em would do. The operator, much surprised to find So odd a case, thought, sure the man is blind ! " What sort of eyes can you have got ? " said he. — " Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see." — " Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball — Pray, let me ask you — can you read at all ? " " No, you great blockhead ; if I could, what need Of paying you for any ' helps to read ?' " And so he left the maker in a heat, Besolved to post him for an arrant cheat. byeom. LODGESrGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, Has seen, " lodgings to let," stare him full in the face. Some are good and let dearly ; while some, 't is well known, Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone. Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely. Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only ; But WiU was so fat, he appeared like a tun. Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one. WIT HUMOR BURLESQUE. 365 He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated ; But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated ; And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep. He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep. Next night 't was the same ! — and the next ! and the next ! He perspired hke an ox ; he was nervous, and vexed ; Week after week, till by weekly succession. His weakly condition was past all expression. In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him ; For his skin " like a lady's loose gown" hung about him. He sent for a doctor, and cried, hke a ninny, "I 've lost many pounds — make me well — there 's a guinea." The doctor looked .wise : — "A slow fever," he said ; Prescribed sudorifics, — and going to bed. " Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, " are humbugs ! I 've enough of them there, without paying for drugs ! " Will kicked out the doctor : but when ill indeed. E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed ; So, caUing his host, he said, " Sir, do you know I 'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago ? " "Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin, " That with honest intentions you first took me in ; But from the first night — and to say it I 'm bold — I 've been so very hot, that I am sure I caught cold ! " Quoth the landlord, " Till now, I ne'er had a dispute — I 've let lodgings ten years, I 'm a baker to boot ; In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ; And your bed is immediately — over my oven." " The oven ! " says Will ; — says the host, " Why this passion ? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good sir ? " " Zounds ! " cried Will in a taking, " Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking ? " Will paid for his rooms : — cried the host with a sneer, " Well, I see you 've been going away half a year." " Friend, we can 't well agree ; — yet no quarrel," WiU said ; " But I 'd rather riot perish, while you make your bread." COLUAN. 356 THE NEW AMERICAN 8PBAKEK. THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC Cardinal Wolsey was a man " Of an unbounded stomach," Shakspeare says. Meaning (in metaphor) for ever puffing To swell beyond his size and span. But had he seen a player of our days, Enacting Falstaflf without stuffing, He would have owned that Wolsey's bulk ideal Equaled not that within the bounds This actor's belt surrounds, Which is, moreover, all alive and real. This player, when the peace enabled shoals Of our odd fishes To visit every chme between the poles. Swam with the stream, a histrionic kraken : Although his wishes Must not in this proceeding be mistaken ; For he went out, professionally bent. To see how money might be made, not spent. In this most laudible employ. He found himself at Lille one afternoon ; And that he might the breeze enjoy, And catch a peep at the ascending moon. Out of the town he took a stroll, Eefreshing in the fields his soul With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces, And thoughts of crowded houses, and new pieces. When we are pleasantly employed time flies : He counted up his profits, in the skies. Until the moon began to shine ; On which he gazed awhile, and then Pulled out his watch, and cried, " Past nine ! Why, zounds, they shut the gates at ten ! " Backward he turned his steps instanter, Stumping along with might and main ; And though 't is plain He could n't gallop, trot or canter, (Those who had seen him would confess it,) he Marched well for one of such obesity. Eyeing his watch, and now liis forehead mopping. He puffed and blew along the road. Afraid of meeting, more afraid of stopping ; When in his path he met a clown WIT HUMOR -^ BURLESQUE. 3 57 Retuniing from the town :♦ " Tell me," he panted, in a thawing state, " Dost think I can get in, friend, at the gate ?" " Get in ! " rephed the hesitating loon, Measiu-ing with his eye our bulky wight, " Why — yes, sir, I should think you might, — A load of hay went in this afternoon." LOGIC. An Eton stripling — training for the law, A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw, — One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf His cap and gown and stores of learned pelf. With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome, To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home. Returned, and passed the usual how-d' ye-do's. Inquiries of old friends, and college news. — " Well, Tom, the road ? what saw you worth discemmg ? How 's all at college, Tom ? what is 't you 're learning ? " " Learning ? — oh, logic, logic ; not the shallow rules Of Lookes and Bacons, antiquated fools ! But wits' and wranglers' logic ; for, d' ye see, I 'U prove as clear as A, B, C, That an eel-pie 's a pigeon ; to deny it, Is to say black 's not black." — " Come, let 's try it ? " — " Well, sir ; an eel-pie is a pie of fish." — " Agreed." — " Fish-pie may be a jack-pie." — " Well, well, proceed." " A. jack-pie is a John-pie — and 'tis done ! For every John-pie must be a pie-John." (pige"bn.) " Bravo ! Bravo ! " Sir Peter cries, — •' Logic for ever ! This beats my grandmother, — and she was clever. But now I think on 't, 't would be mighty hard If merit such as thine met no reward : To show how much I logic love, in course I '11 make thee master of a chestnut-horse." " A horse ! " quoth Tom ; " blood, pedigree, and paces ! Oh, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races ! " Tom dreampt all night of boots and leather breeches. Of hunting cats and leaping rails and ditches ; Rose the next morn an hour before the lark, And dragged his uncle, fasting, to the park ; 858 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Bridle in hand, eacli vale he scours, of course To find out something like a chestnut-horse ; But no such animal the meadows cropped ; Till under a large tree Sir Peter stopped, Caught at a branch and shook it, when down fell A fine horse-chestnut in its prickly shcU. " There, Tom, take that." " Well, sh, and what beside ? ' "Why, since you 're booted, saddle it and ride." " Ride ! what, a chestnut, sir ? " "Of course, For I can prove that chestnut is a horse : Not fi-om the doubtful, fusty, musty rules Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools ! Nor old Malebranche, blind pilot into knowledge ; But by the laws of wit and Eton college : As you have proved, and which I don 't deny, That a pie-John 's the same as a John-pie, The matter follows, as a thing of course. That a horse-chestnut is a chestnut-horse." anontmous. APOLOGY FOR THE PIG. Jacob, I do not love to see thy nose Turned up in scornful curve at yonder pig : It would be well, my friend, if we, like him, Were perfect in our kind. And why despise The sow-bom grunter ? He is obstinate. Thou answerest ; ugly ; and the filthiest beast That banquets upon ofi^al. Now, I pray thee Hear the pig's counsel. Is he obstinate ? We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words. By sophist sounds. A democratic beast. He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek Their profit and not his. , He hath not learned That pigs were made for man, born to be brawned. And baconized. As for his ugliness, — Nay, Jacob, look at him ; Those eyes have taught the lover flattery. Behold his tail, my friend ; with curls like that The wanton hop marries her stately spouse : And what is beauty but the aptitude Of parts harmonious : give fancy scope, WII HUMOB BURLESQHI. ' 859 And thou mlt find that no imagined change Can beautify the beast. All would but mar His pig perfection. The last charge, — he lives A dirty life. Here I could shelter him With precedents right reverend and noble. And show by sanction of authority. That 't is a very honorable thing To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest On better ground the unanswerable defense. The pig is a philosopher, who knows No prejudice. Dirt ? Jacob, what is dirt ? If matter, why the delicate dish that tempts The o'ergorged epicure is nothing more. And there, that breeze Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossomed field Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise. SOUTHBT. THE DUEL. In Brentford town, of old renown, There hved a Mister Bray, Who fell in love with Lucy Bell, And so did Mister Clay. To see her ride from Hammersmith, By all it was allowed. Such fair " outside " was never seen, — An angel on a cloud. Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay, " You choose to rival me. And court Miss Bell ; but there your court No thoroughfare shall be. " Unless you now give up your suit. You may repent your love ; — I, who have shot a pigeon match. Can shoot a turtle dove. " So, pray, before you woo her more, Consider what you do : 360 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEB, If you pop auglit to Lucy Bell, I '11 pop it into you." Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray, " Your threats I do explode ; — One who has been a volunteer Knows how to prime and load. " And so I say to you, unless Your passion quiet keeps, I, who have shot and hit bulls' eyes. May chance to hit a sheep's ! " Now gold is oft for silver changed, And that for copper red ; But these two went away to give Each other change for lead. But first they found a friend apiece, This pleasant thought to give, That when they both were dead, they 'd have Two seconds yet to live. To measure out the ground, not long The seconds next forbore ; And having taken one rash step. They took a dozen more. They next prepared each pistol pan, Against the deadly strife ; By putting in the prime of death, Against the prime of life. Now all was ready for the foes ; But when they took their stands. Fear made them tremble so, they found They both were shaking hands. Said Mr. C. to Mr. B., " Here one of us may faE, And, like St. Paul's Cathedral, now Be doomed to have a ball. " I do confess I did attach Misconduct to your name 1 WIT HUMOR BURLESQUE. S61 If I withdraw the charge, will then Your ramrod do the same ? " Said Mr. B., "I do agree ; — But think of honor's courts, — If we go off without a shot. There will be strange reports. " But look ! the morning now is bright, Though cloudy it begun ; Why can't we aim above, as. if We had called out the sun? " So up into the harmless air Their bullets they did send ; And may all other duels have That upshot in the end. hood. FRANK HAYMAN. Frank Hayman dearly loved a pleasant joke. And after long contention with the gout, A foe that oft besieged him, saUied out To breathe fresh air, and appetite provoke. It chanced as he was strolling void of care, A drunken porter passed him with a hare ; The hare was o'er his shoulder flung. Dangling behind in piteous plight. And as he crept in zigzag style, Making the most of every mile. From side to side poor pussy swung, As if each moment taking flight. A dog who saw the man's condition, A lean and hungry politician. On the look-out, was close behind — A sly and subtle chap, Of most sagacious smell. Like politicians of a higher kind, Ready to snap At anything that fell. The porter staggered on ; the dog kept near. Watching each lucky moment for a bite, 31 362 TIIE KETV AMERICAN SPEAKER. Now made a spring, and then drew back in fear, While Hayman fullowed, tittering at the sight Through many a street our tipsy porter goes, Then 'gainst a cask in solemn thought reclined ; The watchful dog the happy moment knows, And Hayman cheers him on not far behind. Encouraged thus, what dog would dare refrain ? [again ; He jumped and bit, and jumped and bit, and jumped and bit Till having made a hearty meal, He careless turned upon his heel. And trotted at his ease away, Nor thought of asking — " What 's to pay ?" And here some sage, with moral spleen may say, " This Hayman should have driven the dog away I The effects of vice the blameless should not bear, And folks that are not drunkards lose their hare." Not so unfashionably good. The waggish Hayman laughing stood. Until our porter's stupor o'er, He jogged on, totteiing as before, Unconscious any body kind Had eased him of his load behind ; — Now on the houses bent his. eye. As if his journey's end were nigh, Then read a paper in his hand. And made a stand. • — Ha)'man drew near with eager mien. To mark the closing of the scene. His mirth up to the brim ; The porter read the address once more. And hiccoughed, "Where 's one Hayman's door ? I 've got a hare for him ! " taylob. CHRISTMAS TIMES. 'T WAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. WIT HUMOR BtrRLESQTJE. 363 The children -were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, And mamma in her kerchief, and I in mj cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap; When out on the lawn there rote such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Grave the luster of midday to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear. But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they caine. And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name ; " ISTow, Dasher ! now, Dancer ! now, Prancer ! now. Vixen 1 On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Dunder and Blixen ! To the top of the porch ! to the top of the wall 1 Now dash away ! dash away ! dash away all ! " As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly. When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky, So up to the house top the coursers they flew. With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkUng, I heard on the roof. The prancing and pawing of each httle hoof ; As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot. And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; A bundle of toys was flung on his back. And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack ; His eyes, how they twinkled ! his dimples, how merry ! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; His droE httle mouth was drawn wp like a bow. And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth. And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. /Se had a broad face, and a httle round belly, vThat shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He wast^ubby and plump, a right jolly old elf. And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head. Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread ; He spoke not a word, but went straight tc his work. 364 THE HEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. And filled all his stockings ; then turned with a jerk. And la3-ing his finger aside of Ijis no^e. And giving a nod, up the chimno) he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle ; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, " Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night." A GRECIAN FABLE. Once on a time, a son and sire, we 're told, — The stripling tender, and the fal.her old, — Purchased a donkey at a country fair, To ease their limbs, and hawk about their ware ; But as the slusjg'ish animal was weak. They feared, if both should mount, his back would break. Up got the boy, the father plods on foot. And through the gazing crowd he leads the brute ; — Forth from the crowd the graybeards hobble out, And hail the cavalcade with feeble shout : " This the respect to feeble age you show ? And this the duty you to parents owe ? He beats the hoof, and you are set astride ; Sirrah ! get down, and let your father ride ! " As Grecian lads were seldom void of grace. The decent, duteous youth resigned his place. Then a fresh murmur through the rabble ran ; Boys, girls, wives, widows, all attack the man : " Sure ne'er was brute so void of nature ! Have you no pity for the pretty creature ? To your own baby can you be unkind ? Here, Luke, — Bill, — Betty, — put the child behind ! " Old dapple next the clowns' compassion claimed : " 'T is passing strange those boobies be n't ashamed, — Two at a time upon a poor dumb beast ! They might as well have carried Jam, at least." The pair, still pliant to the partial voice. Dismount, and bear the brute. — Then what a noise ! Huzzas, loud laughs, low gnbe, and bitter joke. From the yet silent sire these words provoke : " Proceed, my boy, nor heed their farther call ; Vain his attempt who strives to please them all ! " FOOTif. WIT HUMOR BtJRLESQUB. 365 THE COUNTRY BUMPKIN AND RAZOR SELLER. A FELLOW, in a market town, Most musical, cried razors up and down. And offered twelve for eighteen pence ; Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap ; And, for the money, quite a heap, As every man "would buy, with cash and sense. A country bumpkin the great offer heard ; Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard. That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose ; With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid, And proudly to himself in whisper said, " This rascal stole the razors, I suppose. "No matter if the fellow be a knave. Provided that the razors shave ; It certainly wiU be a monstrous prize." So home the clown with his good fortune went, Smiling, in heart and soul content. And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes. Being well lathered from a dish or tub, Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub, Just hke a hedger cutting furze : 'T was a vile razor ! — -then the rest he tried — All were impostors ! — " Ah ! " Hodge sighed, " I wish my eighteen pence within my purse." In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces. He cut and dug, and "winced, and stamped, and swore. Brought blood and danced, blasphemed and made wry faces. And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er. His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff. Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff; So kept it-^ — laughing at the steel and suds. Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws. Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws, On the vile cheat that sold the goods.' "Razors ! — a vile, confounded dog — Not fit to scrape a hog ! " 366 THE KEW AMERICAN BPEAKER. Hodi-e sought the fellow — found him — and begun, "Perhaps, Master Eazor-rogue, to you 'tis fun, That people flay themselves out of their livrs : You rascal ! for an hour have I been grubbing. Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing. With razors just liie oyster-knives. " Sirrah ! I teU you, you 're a knave. To cry up razors that can 't shave." " Friend," quoth the razor man, " I 'm not a knave : As for the razors you have bought. Upon my soul, I never thought That they would shave." " Not think they 'd shave ? " quoth Hodge, with wondering eyes, Ji "ad voice not much unlike an Indian yell ; ""VV *iat were they made for, then, you dog ? " he cries. " Made ! " quoth the fellow, with a smile — "to sell." WOLCOTT. QUEEN MAB. Oh, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of httle atomies Athwart men's noses as they, lie asleep : Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams : ■ Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film : Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat. Not half so big as a round little worm Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid : Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub. Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love ; On courtiers' knees, that dream on court' sies strarght ; WIT HUMOK BURLESQUE. 367 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees ; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose. And then dreams he of smelling out a suit ; And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig'p tail. Tickling a parson's nose as 'a hes asleep. Then dreams he of another benefice ; Sometimes she drireth o'er a soldier's neck. And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats. Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon Drums in his ear ; at which he starts, and wakes ; And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two. And sleeps again. SELiKSPEAKE. THE RICH MAN AST) THE POOR MAN, So goes the world ; — if wealthy, you may call This — fnend, t/iat — brother; — friends and brothers all; Though you are worthless, witless — never mind it ; Tou may have been a stable boy — what then ? 'T is wealth, my friends, makes honorable men. You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it. But if you are poor, heaven help you ! though your sire Had royal blood in him, and though you Possess the intellect of angels too, 'T is all in vain ; — the world wiU ne'er inquire On such a score : — why should it take the pains ? 'T is easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever. Witty and wise ; — he paid a man a visit, And no one noticed him, and no one ever Gave him a welcome. " Strange," cried I, " whence is it ? " He walked on this side, then on that. He tried to introduce a social chat ; Now here, now there, in vain he tried ; Some formally and freezingly replied. And some said by their silence — " Better stay at home." A rich man burst the door. As Croesus rich ; — I 'm sure 368 THE NETV AMEKICAN BPEAICEK. He could not pride himself upon his wit ; And as for Tvisdom, he had none of it ; He had what 's better, — he had wealth. What a confusion! — all stand up erect — These crowd around to ask him of his health; These bow in honest duty and respect ; And these arrange a sofa or a chair, And these conduct him tliere. "Allow me, sir, the honor ; " — then a bow Down to the earth — is 't possible to show Meet gratitude for such kind condescension ? The poor man hung his head. And to himself he said, " This is indeed beyond my comprehension." Then looking round, one friendly face he found. And said, " Pray tell me why is wealth prefen-ed To wisdom ? " — " That 's a silly qu.estion, friend " Replied the other — " have you never heard, A man may lend his store Of gold or silver ore, But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend ? " khemmtzer. THE FROST. The Frost looked forth one still, clear night, And whispered — " Now I shall be out of sight ; So, through the valley, and over the hight, In silence I '11 take my way. I will not go on like that blustering train, — The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, — Who make so much bustle and noise in vain ; But I '11 be as busy as they." Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest ; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed In diamond beads ; and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many a spear. That he hung on its margin, far and near Where a rock could rear its head. WIT HTJMOR BUELESQUE. 369 He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, hke a fairy, crept ; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, By the hght of the moon, were seen Most beautiful things ; there were flowers and trees ; There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees ; There were cities, with temples and towers ; and these All pictured in silver sheen. But he did one thing that was hardily fair, — He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare — " Now, just to set them a-thinking, I 'U bite this basket of fruit," said he ; " This costly pitcher I '11 burst in three ; And the glass of water they 've left for me Shall ' tcMck' ! to tell them I 'm drinking." THE THREE WARNINGS. When sports went round, and all were gay. On neighbor Dobson's wedding-day. Death called aside the jocimd groom With him into another room. And, looking grave — " You must," says he, " Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." " With you ! and quit my Susan's side ! With you ! " the hapless husbajid cried ; " Toung as I am ? 't is monstrous hard ! Besides, in truth, I 'm not prepared ; My thoughts on other matters go ; This is my wedding-night, you know." What more he urged I have not heard ; His reasons could not well be stronger : So Death the poor delinquent spared, And left to live a little longer. Yet, calling up a serious look, — His hour-glass trembled while he spoke, — "Neighbor," he said, "farewell! no more Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour ; 24 370 TIIE KEW AMERICAN BPKAKER. And rurlliLi-, to avoid all blame Of cracUy upon thy name, To yivc you time for preparation, And lit yoii for your future station, Three se\-eral -warnings you shall have Before you 're summoned to the gra^e. Willing, for once, I '11 quit my prey, And grant a kind reprieve, In hopes you '11 have no more to say. But, when I call again this way. Well pleased, the world will leave." To these conditions both consented. And parted, perfectly contented. What next the hero of our tale befell. How long he lived, how wisely, and how well, • How roundly he pursued his course. And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse, — The willing muse shall tell. He chaffered then, he bought, he sold, Nor once preceived his growing old. Nor thought of Death as near ; His friends not false, his wife no shrew. Many his gains, his children few, He passed his hours in peace. But, while he viewed his wealth increase, — While thus along life's dusty road The beaten track content he trode, ■ — • Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares. Uncalled, unheeded, unawares. Brought on his eightieth year. And now, one night, in musing mood, When all alone he sate, Th' unwelcome messenger of fate Once more before him stood. Half killed with anger and surprise — " So soon returned ! " old Dobson cries. " So soon, d' ye call it ? " Death replies : " Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest ! Since I was here before 'T is sis-and-thirty years, at least. And you are now fourscore." " So much the worse 1 " the clown rejoined : " To spare the aged would be kind : WIT HUMOK BtlTlLESQUE. 371 Besides, you promised me three warnings, Wliich I have looked for nights and mornings." " I know," cries Death, " that, at the best, I seldom am a welcome guest ; But don 't be captious, friend, at least. I httle thought you 'd still be able To stump about your farm and stable. Tour years have run to a great length ; I wish you joy, though, of your strength." " Hold ! " says the farmer, " not so fast : I have been lame these four years past." " And no great wonder," Death rephes : " However, you still keep your eyes ; And sure, to see one's loves and friends. For legs and arms would make amends." " Perhaps," says Dobson, " so it might ; But latterly I 've lost my sight." " This is a shocking story, faith ! Yet there 's some comfort, still," says Death : "Each strives your sadness to amuse : I warrant you hear all the news." " There 's none," cries he ; ." and if there were, I 'm grown so deaf I could not bear." " Nay, then," the spectre stem rejoined, " These are unwarrantable yearnings. If you are lame, and deaf, and blind. You 've had your three sujfficient warnings. So come along ; no more we 'U part ! " He said, and touched him with his dart ; And now old Dobson, turning pale, Yields to his fate — so ends my tale. MBS. THRALE. THE MUSIC CRIER. Amongst the great inventions of this age. Which ev'ry other century surpasses. Is one, — just now the rage, — Called " Singing for all classes " — That now, alas ! have no more ear than asses, To learn to warble 'ike the birds in June. 372 THB NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEK. In time and tune, Correct as clocks, and musical as glasses I Whether this grand harmonic scheme Will ever get beyond a dream, And tend to British happiness and gloiy. May be no, and may be yes, Is more than I pretend to g-uess — However, here 's my story. In one of those small, quiet streets, Where business retreats. To shun the daily bustle and the noise The shoppy Strand enjoys. But law, joint-companies, and life insurance Find past endurance — In one of these back streets, to peace so dear, The other day, a ragged wight Began to sing with all his might, " I have a silent sorrow here 1 " Heard in that qviiet place, Devoted to a still and studious race. The noise was quite appalling ! To seek a fitting simile, and spin it. Appropriate to his calling, His voice had all Lablache's hody in it ; But oh ! the scientific tone it lacked. And was in fact Only a forty-boatswain power of bawling ! 'T was said, indeed, for want of vocal nous, The stage had banished him when he 'tempted it. For though his voice completely filled the house, It also emptied it. However, there he stood Vociferous — a ragged don ! And with his iron pipes laid on- — - A row to all the neighborhood. In vain were sashes closed. And doors against the persevering Stentor, Though brick, and glass, and solid oak opposed, The intruding voice would enter. Heedless of ceremonial or decorum, Den, office, parlor, study, and sanotonoa ; WIT HUMOR BUELESQtIB. 373 "Where clients and attorneys, rogues and fools, Ladies, and masters who attended schools, Clerks, agents all provided with their tools, Were sitting \ipon sofas, chairs, and stools, With shelves, pianos, tables, desks, before 'em — How it did bore 'em ! Louder, and louder still. The fellow sang with horrible good-wOl, Curses, both loud and deep, his sole gratuities. From scribes bewildered, making many a flaw In deeds of law They had to draw ; With dreadful incongruities In posting legers, making up accounts To large amounts. Or casting up annuities — Stunned by that voice, so loud and hoarse, Against whose overwhelming force No invoice stood a chance, of course ! From room to room, from floor to floor, ^ From Number One to Twenty-four, The nuisance bellowed ; till, all patience lost, Down came Miss Frost, Expostulating at her open door — " Peace, monster, peace 1 Where is the new police ? I vow I cannot work, or read, or pray, Do n't stand there bawling, fellow, do n't ! Tou really send my serious thoughts astray. Do — there 's a dear, good man — do, go away.' Says he, "I won't ! " The spinster pulled her door to with a slam. That sounde'd like a -rt-ooden d — n ; For so some moral people, strictly loth To swear in words, however up, WUl crash a curse in setting down a cup, Or through a door-post vent a banging oath, — In fact, this sort of physical transgression Is really no more difficult to trace. Than in a given face A very bad expression. 374 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. However, in she went, Leaving the subject of her discontent To Mr. Jones' Clerk at Number Ten ; Who throwing up the sash, With accents rash, Thus hailed the most vociferous of men : " Come, come, I say, old fellor, stop your chant; I cannot write a sentence — no one can't 1 So pack up your trumps. And stir your stumps — " Says he, " I shan't 1 " Down went the sash, As if devoted to " eternal smash," (Another illustration Of acted imprecation;) While close at hand, uncomfortably near, The independent voice, so loud and strong. And clanging like a gong, Roared out again the everlasting song, " I have a silent sorrow here ! " The thing was hard to stand ! The Music-master could not stand it. But rushing forth with fiddle-stick in hand. As savage as a bandit, Made up directly to the tattered man. And thus in broken sentences began : " Com — com — I say ! You go away ! Into two parts my head you split — My fiddle cannot hear himself a bit, When I do play — ■ You have no business in a place so still ! ■ Can you not come another day ? " Says he, "I wiU." " No — no — you scream and bawl ! You must not come at all ! You have no right, by rights, to beg — You have not one off leg — You ought to work — you have not some complaint — You are not cripple in your back or bones — Your voice is strong enough to break some stones — " Savs he, " It aint." ■WIT HUMOR ' BURLESQUB. 375 "I say you ought to labor ! You are in a young case, You have not sixty years upon your face. To come and beg your neighbor — And discompose his music with a noise More worse than twenty boys — Look what a street it is for quiet ! No cart to make a riot, No coach, no hoi-ses, no postillion ; If you will sing, I say, it is not just To sing so loud." Says he, "I must ! I'm singing for the million!" hood. THE MAGPIE ; OR, BAD COMPANY. Let others, with poetic fire, In raptures praise the tuneful choir. The linnet, chaffinch, goldfinch, thrush, And every warbler of the bush ; I sing the mimic magpie's fame, In wicker cage, well fed and tame. In Fleet-street dwelt, in days of yore, A jolly tradesman named Tom More; Generous and open as the day. But passionately fond of play ; No sounds to him such sweets afi'ord As dice-box rattling o'er the board ; Bewitching hazard is the game For which he forfeits wealth and fame. In basket-prison hung on high, With dappled coat and watchful eye, A favorite magpie sees the play. And mimics every word they say— - " Oh, how he nicks us ! " Tom More cries ; " Oh, how he nicks us ! " Mag replies. Tom throws, and eyes the glittering store. And as he throws, exclaims, " Tom More ! " " Tom More ! " the mimic bird replies : The astonished gamesters lift their eyes. And wondering stare, and look around. As doubtful whence proceeds the sound. 376 THE NEW AMEUIOAN SPEAKEIJ. This dissipated life, of course, Soon brouglit poor Tom from bad to worst ; Xor prayers nor promises prevail, To keep him from a dreary jail. And now, between each heart-felt sigh, Tom oft exclaims — " Bad company ! " Poor Mag-, who shares his master's fate, Exclaims from out his wicker grate — " Bad company ! bad company ! " Then views poor Tom with curious eye, — And cheers his master's wretched hours By this display of mimic powers ; The imprisoned bird, though much caressed. Is still by anxious cares oppressed ; In silence mourns its cruel fate, _ And oft explores his prison gate. Observe through life, you '11 always find A fellow-feeling makes us kind ; So Tom resolves immediately To give poor Mag his liberty ; Then opes his cage, and, with a sigh, Takes one fond look, and lets him fly. Now'Mag, once more with freedom blest. Looks round to find a place of rest ; To Temple Gardens wings his way, There perches on a neighboring sjjray. The gardener now, with busy cares, A curious seed for grass prepares : Yet spite of all his toil and pain, The hungry birds devour the grain. A curious net he does prepare. And lightly spreads the wily snare ; The feathered plunderers come in view. And Mag soon joins the thievish crew. The watchful gardener now stands by, With nimble hand and wary eye ; The birds begin their stol'n repast. The flying net secures them fast. The vengeful clown, now filled with ire. Does to a neighboring shed retire. WIT HUMOR BUELESQUE. 377 And, having fast secured the doors And windows, next the net explores. Now, in revenge for plundered seed, Each felon he resolves shall bleed ; Then twists their little necks around, And casts them breathless on the ground Mag, who with man was used to herd, Knew something more than common bird , He therefore watched with anxious care. And slipped himself from out the snare. Then, perched on nail remote from ground. Observes how deaths are dealt around — " Oh, how he nicks us !" Maggy cries : The astonished gardener lifts his eyes ; With faltering voice and panting breath Exclaims, " Who 's there ? " — All still as death. His murderous work he does resume. And casts his eyes around the room With caution, and, at length does spy The magpie, perched on nail so high ! The wondering clown, from what he heard. Believes him something more than bird ; With fear impressed, does now retreat Toward the door with trembling feet ; Then says — " Thy name I do implore ? " The ready bird replies — " Tom More." " Oh dear ! " the frighted clown replies, With hair erect and staring eyes ! Half opening then the hovel door. He asks the bird one question more : " What brought you here ? " ■ — ■ with quick reply. Sly Mag rejoins — " Bad company ! " Out jumps the gardener in a fright. And runs away with all his might ; And, as he runs, impressed with dread. Exclaims, " Sure Satan 's in the shed ! " The wondrous tale a bencher hears, And sooths the man, and quells his fears. Gets Mag secured in wicker cage, Once more to spend his httle rage ; In Temple Hall, now hung on high, Mag oft exclaims — " Bad company ! " AuouTMOua, 32 378 7 HE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. ODE TO MY BOY, AGED THREE YEARS. Thou liappy, happy elf ! (But stoj), first let me kiss away that tear,) Thoii tiny image of myself ! (My love, he 's poking peas into his ear ! ) Thou merry, iaugliir.g sprite. With spirits feather light. Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin — (Good heavens ! the child is swallowing a pin !) Thou little tricksy Puck ! With antic toys so funnily bestruck. Light as the singnig bird that wings the air — (The door ! the door ! he '11 tumble down the stair ! ) Thou darlbig of thy sire ! (Why, Jane, he '11 set his pinafore a-fire 1 ) Thou imp of mirth and joy ! In love's dear chain, so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents — (Drat the boy ! There goes my ink.) Thoii cherub, but of earth ; Fit play-fellow for fays, by moonlight pale. In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him if he pulls his tail ! ) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium e\'er sunny, (Another tumble ! — that 's his precious nose ! ) Thy father's pride and hope ! (He '11 break the mirror with that skipping rope ! ) With pure heart, newly stampt from nature's mint, (Where did he learn that squint ? ) Thou young domestic dove ! (He '11 have that jug off with another shove ! ) " Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest ! (Are those torn clothes his best ? ) Little epitome of man ! (He '11 chmb upon the table, that 's his plan ! ) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life (He 's got a knife ! ) Thou enviable being ! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing. WIT HUMOR — BURLESQUE. 379 Play on, play on, My elfin John ! Toss the light ball — bestride the stick — (I knew so many cakes would make him sick ! ) With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down. Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk, (He 's got the scissors, snipping at your gown ! ) Thou pretty opening rose ! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose ! ) Bahny and breathing music hke the soiith, (He really brings my heart into my mouth ! ) Fresh as the 'morn, and brUliant as the star, — (I wish that window had an iron bar ! ) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove, — (I 'U tell you what, my love, I cannot write unless he 's sent above.) hood. THE OLD HAT. 1 HAD a hat — it was not aU a hat — Part of the brim was gone, — yet still I wore It on, and people wondered, as I passed. Some turned to gaze, — others, just cast an eye. And soon withdrew it, as 't were in contempt. But still, my hat, although so fashionless. In complement extern, had that within. Surpassing show, — my head continued warm. Being sheltered from the weather, spite of all The want (as has been said) of brim. A change came o'er the color of my hat. That which was black grew brown, and then men stared With both their eyes, (they stared with one before ;) The wonder now was twofold — and it seemed Strange, that things so torn, and old, should still Be worn, by one who might — but let that pass ! I had my reasons, which might be revealed, But for some counter reasons far more strong. Which tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on. Green spring, and flowery summer, autumn brown. And frosty winter, came, — and went, and came, — 380 THE XEAV AMERICAS SPEAKER. And still, through all the soasims of t-^vo years, In park, in cily, yea, in rout.s and halls, The hat was worn, and borne. Then folks grew wild With curiosity, — and whispers rose. And (iuestions passed about — -how one so trim In coats, boots, pumps, gloves, trowsers, could ensconce His caput in a C(jvering so 'lile. A change came o'er the nature of my hat. Grease-spots appeared ; but still, in silence, on I wore it ; and then family and friends Glared madly at each other. There was one. Who said — but holdl no matirr what was said, A time may come when I- — away, away — Not till the season 's ripe, can I ruyeal Thoughts that do lie too deep for common minds; Till then, the world shall not pluck out the heart Of this my mystery. When I will — I will ! The hat was greasy now, and old, and torn — But torn, old, greasy, still I w(jre it on. A change came o'er the business of this hat. Women, and men, and children scowled on me ; My company was shunned — I was alone ! None would associate with such a hat — Friendship itself proved faithless, for a hat. She, that I loved, within whose gentle breast I treasured up my heart, looked cold as death : Love's fires went out, extinguished by a hat. Of those that knew me best, some turned aside. And scudded down dark lanes, — one man did place His finger on his nose's side, and jeered, — Otlicrs, in horrid mockery, laughed outright ; Yea, dogs, deceived by instinct's dubious ray, Fixing their swart glare on my ragged hat, Mistook me for a beggar, and they barked. Thus women, men, friends, strangers, lover, dogs — One thought pervaded all — it was, my hat. A change — it was the last — came o'er this hat. For lo ! at leng-th, the circling months went round. The period was accomplished, and one day This tattered, brown, old greasy coverture, (Time had endeared its vileness,) was transferred To the possession of a wandering son Of Israel's fated race, and friends once more Greeted my digits with the wonted squeeze : Once more 1 went my way along, along, WIT HUMOR BURLESQUE. 381 And plucked no wondering gaze ; the hand of scorn, With its annoying finger, men and dogs. Once more grew pointless, jotcless, laughless, growUess ; And last, not least, of rescued blessings — love, Love smiled on me again, when I assumed A brand-new beaver of the Andre mold ; And then the laugh was mine, for then came out The secret of this strangeness — 't was a bet! THE WHISKERS. A PETIT MAiTEE wooed a fair, Of virtue, wealth, and graces rare ; But vainly had preferred his claim — The maiden owned no answering flame ; At length, by doubt and anguish torn. Suspense too painful to be borne, Low at her feet he humbly kneeled. And thus his ardent flame revealed ': " Pity my grief, angelic fair ; Jiehold my anguish and despair ; For you', this heart must ever bum — bless me with a kind return ; My love, no language can express ; Reward it, then, with happiness : Nothing on earth but you I prize ; All else is trifling in my eyes ; And cheerfully would I resign The wealth of worlds, to call you mine. But if another gain your hand. Far distant from my native land. Far hence, from you and hope, I 'U fly. And in some foreign region die." The virgin heard, and thus replied : " If my consent to be your bride WilLmake you happy, then be blest ; But grant me, first, one small request — A sacrifice I must demand. And, in return, will give my hand." "A sacrifice ! speak its name ; For you I 'd forfeit wealth and fame ; Take my whole fortune — every cent — " 382 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. " 'T was something more than wealth I meant." " Must I tlie realms of Neptune trace ? speak the word — Avlnre'L-r the place ; For jou, the idol of my soul, 1 'd e'en explore the frozen pole, Arabia's sandy desert tread. Or trace the Tigris to its head." " Oh, no, dear sir, I do not ask So long a voyage, so hard a task ; You must — but ah ! the boon I want, I have no hope that you will grant." " Shall I, like Bonaparte, aspire To be the world's miperial sire ? Express the wish, and here I vow. To place a crown upon j'our brow." "Sir, these are trifles," she replied ; " But, if you wish me for your bride, You must — but still I fear to speak — You '11 never grant the boon I seek." " O say ! " he cried — " dear aiigol, say. What must I do, and I obey ; No longer rack me with suspense ; Speak your commands, and send me hence." "Well, then, dear, generous youth ! " phe crien, " If thus my heart you really prize. And wish to link your fate with mine, On one condition I am thine : 'T will tlAn become my pleasing duty. To contemplate a husband's beauty ; And, gazing on his manly face. His feelings and his wishes trace ; To banish thence each mark of care. And light a smile of pleasure there. O let me, then — 't is all I ask — Commence at once the pleasing task ; let me, as becomes my place — Cut those huge whiskers from your face ! " She said — but oh, what strange surprise Was pictured in her lover's eyes ! ' Like lightning, from the ground he sprung. While wild amazement tied his tong-ue ; A statue, motionless, he gazed. Astonished, horror-struck, amazed. So looked the gallant Perseus, when Medasa's visage met his ken ; WIT HUMOR BURLESQUE. 383 So looked Macbeth, whose guilty eye Discerned an air-drawn dagger nigh ; And so the prince of Denmark stared. When first his father's ghost appeared. At length our hero silence broke, And thus, in wildest accents, spoke : " Cut off my whiskers ! ye gods ! I 'd sooner lose my eara, by odds : Madam, I 'd not be so disgraced, So lost to fashion and to taste, To win an empress to my amis, Though blest with more than mortal charros. My whiskers ! zounds ! " — He said no more, But quick retreated through the door, And sought a less obdurate fair. To take the beau with all his hair. woodworth. A VERY POOR HORSE. Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin : a pair of old breeches, thrice turned : a pair of boots that have been candle cases, one buckled, another laced : an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armory, with a broken hilt, and shapeless, with two broken points. His horse hipped with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred ; besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine ; troubled with the lam- pass, infected with the fashions, full of wind-galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots ; swayed in the back, and shoulde'r-shotten ; ne'er-legged before, and with a half-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather, which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots ; one girt siz times pieced, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread. His lackey comes with him, for all the world capar- isoned Mke the horse ; with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list ; an old hat, and The humor of forty fancies pricked in 't for a feather : a monster, a very monster in apparel ; and not like a Christian foot-boy, or a gsntleman's lackey. shakspeark. 384 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. FALSTAFF'S MORAL LECTURE Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tic-kle-brain. — Hariy, I do not only marvel -where thou spendest thy thne, but also liow thou art accompanied : fcir though the chamomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion ; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If, then, thou be son to me, here lies the point : — Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at ? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries ? a question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take purses ? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile ; so doth the company thou keep- est : for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears ; not in pleasure, but in passion ; not in words only, but in woes also. And yet there is a vu-tuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name — a good portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent ; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage ; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by 'r lady, inclining to threescore ; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff : if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If, then, the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. shakspeare. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 385 DIALOGUES — SERIOUS AND COMIC. THE TRIUMPH OF JQLIUS C^SAR. FLAVIUS MAEULLT7S CITIZENS. Flav. Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you home : Is this a holiday ? What ! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk, Upon a lahoring day, without the sign Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou ? 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule ' What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? — You, su- ; what trade are you ? 2 Git. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. Mar. But what trade art thou ? Answer me directly. 2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe con- science ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. Mar. What trade, thou knave ; thou naughty knave, what trade ? 2 Oit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that ? Mend me, thou saucy feUow ? 2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 2 Cit. Traly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl : I med- dle with no tradesman's rasttars, nor woman's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather, have gone upon my handiwork. Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make hohday, to see Ctesar, and to rejoice in his triumph. Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings he home ? What ti-ibutaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bond s his chariot wheels ? 33 386 THE NEW AMERIC-\N SPEAKER. You blocks, you stones, you Avorsc (ban scnsek'ss things I O you hard hearts, rou cruel men of Kome, Knew }-ou not Pompey ? Many a time and oft Have you climbed up to walls and battlement*. To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The live-long day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Home : And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks. To hear the replication of your sounds, Made in her concave shores ? And do you now put on your best attire ? And do you now call out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way. That comes in triumph ovei' Pompey's blood ? Begone ; Run to your houses, fall upon your knees. Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must hght on this ingratitude. Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. {^Exeunt Uitizem.) See, whe'r their basest metal be not moved, They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way toward the capitol ; This way will I : disrobe the images. If you do find them decked with ceremonies. Mar. May we do so ? You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. Mav. It is no matter ; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I '11 about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets : So do you, too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers plucked from Caesar's wing, Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ; Who else would soar above the view of men, And keep us all in servile fearfulness. 8HAKSPEAW DIALOSTJES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 387 CASSIUS INSTIGATING BRUTUS AGAINST G^ESAJt. BKUTUS CASSIUS. Cas. Will you go see the order of the course ? Bru. Not I. Cas. I pray you, do. Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; I 'U leave you. Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late : I have not from your eyes that gentleness. And show of love, as I was wont to have : You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Bru. Cassius, Be not deceived : if I have vail'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, Of late, with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself. Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviors ; But let not therefore my good friends be grieved ; (Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;) Nor construe any further my neglect. Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war. Forgets the shows of love to other men. Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion, By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? Bru. No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things. Cas. 'T is just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors, as wiU turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye. That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, (Except immortal Caesar,) speaking of Bratus, And groaning underneath this age's yoke. Have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes. Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, 388 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. That you would liave me seek into myself For that which is not in me ? 6(/.v Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear : And, since j'ou know you cannot see yourself 8i) well as by reflection, I, your .^lass. Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which ynu yet know not of. And be not jealous of mt gentle Brutus : Were I a common lauglier, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester ; if you know That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, And after scandal them ; or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold rae dangerous. {^Flourish and sliTUt.) Bru. What means this shouting ? I do fear the people Choose Ceesar for their king. Cas. Ay, do you fear it ? Then must I think you would not have it so. Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him well : — But wherefore do you hold me here so long ? What is it that you would impart to me ? If it be aught toward the general good. Set honor in one eye, and death i' the other. And I will look on both indifferently : For, let the gods so speed me, as I love The name of honor more than I fear death. Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favor. Well, honor is the subject of my story. — I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this hfe ; but, for my smgle self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was bom free as Ceesar ; so were you : We both have fed as well ; and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he. For once, upon a raw and gusty day. The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me, " Barest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into tliis angry flood. And swim to yonder point ? " Upon the word. Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did. The torrent roared ; and we did buffet it DIALOGUES SERIOUS AJ.D COMIC. 389 Witt lusty sinews ; tlirowing it aside. And stemming it with hearts of controversy. But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesai- cried, " Help me, Cassius, or 1 sink." I, as Jilneas, our great ancestor. Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Csesar. And this man Is now become a god ; and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And, when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake : 't is true, this god did shake : His coward lips did from their color fly ; And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world. Did lose his luster : I did hear him groan : Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and. write his speeches in their books, Alas ! it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius," As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world. And bear the palm alone. ( Shovi. Flourish.') Bru. Another general shout ! I do believe that these applauses are For some new honors that are heaped on Caesar. Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under Hs huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates : The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus, and Caesar. What should be in that Cassar ? Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure them, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. (Shout.) Now in the names of all the gods at once. Upon what meat doth this our Ca;sar feed. That he is grown so gi-eat ? Age, thou art shamed : Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! When went there by an age, since the great flood. 390 THE NEW AMEBIC AN SPEAKER. But it was famed Tvitli moi'C than ivilli one man ? ^VIlen could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, That hur wide walks encompassed but one man ? Kow is it Hume indeed, and room enough, ^^'hen there is in it but one only man ? Oh ! you and I have heard our fathers say. There was a Brutiis once, that would have brooked The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, As easily as a king. Bru. Thatyou do love me, I am nothing jealous ; What you would work me to, I have some aim ; How I have thought of this, and of these times I shall recount hereafter : for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further moved. What you h;n e said, I will consider ; what j'ou have to say, I will with patience hear : and find a time Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this ; — Brutus had rather be a villager. Than to repute himself a son of Rome, Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. Cas. I am glad that my weak words Have struck but this much show of fire from Brutus. SHAKSPEARE. THE OFFERING OF THE CROWN TO CiESAR. Brv. The games are done, and Ojesar is returning. [Enter Ocesar and his Train.) Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. Bru. I will do so. But look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train : Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes. As we have seen him in the capitol. Being crossed in conference by some senators. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 89i €as. Casca will teE us what the matter is. Cces. Antonius, — Arii. Caesar. Coes. Let me have men about me that are fat ; Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights ; Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. Ant. Fear him not, Caesar, he 's not dangerous ; He is a noble Koman, and well given. Cces. Would he were fatter : — But I fear him not : Yet, if my name were hable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no plays. As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort, As if he mocked himself, and scorned his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything. Such men as h« be never at heart's ease, WhUes they behold a greater than themselves ; And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be feared, Than what I fear, for always I am C«sar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. And tell me truly what thou thinkest of him. (^Exeunt Casar and his Train. Casca stays behind.) Casca. You pulled me by the cloak ; — would you speak with me ? £ru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanced to-day. That Caesar looks so sad, Casca. Why you were with him, were you not ? £ru. I should not then ask Casca what hath chanced . Casca. Why, there was a crown oifered him : and being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus ; and then the people fell a shouting. £ni. What was the second noise for ? Casca. Why, for that too. Cas. They shouted thrice : what was the last cry for ? Casca. Why, for that too. £ru. Was the crown offered him thrice ? Casca. Ay, marry, wa,s 't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other ; and at every putting by, mine honest neighbors shouted. Cos. Who offered him the crown ? 892 THE XEW AMERICAN SPEAKEE. C'asca. V<'hj, Antony. £ru. Tl'11 us tlie manner of i(, gentle Casca. C(i.s"'(. I can as MeW be hanyed as tell the manner of it : if Was mere foolery. I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer bim a crown; — yet 'twas not a crown neitlicr, 'twas one of these coronets ; — and, as I told you, he put it by once : but for all that, to mj' thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he oft'ered it to him again ; then he put it by again : but, to my thinking, he was very loth to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time ; he put it the third time by : and still, as he refused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped their chopped hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refus(>d the crown, that it had almost choked Cassar ; for he swooned, and fell down at it : and, for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and receiving the bad air. Cas. But, soft, I pray you : what, did Ccesar swoon ? Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, and was speechless. Ilru. 'T is very like : he hath the falling sickness. Cas. No, Caesar bath it not ; but you, and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but, I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tagrag people did not clap bim, and hiss him , according as he pleased and displeased them, as they used to do the players in the theater, I am no true man. JBru. What said he when he came unto himself? Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered them his throat to cut. An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues : — and so be fell. When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done or said anything amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried, "Alas, good soul!" and forgave him with aU their hearts : but there 's no heed to be taken of them ; if Csesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. Urn. And after that he came, thus sad, away ? Casca. Ay. Cas. Did Cicero say anything ? Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. Cas. To what effect ? Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I '11 ne'er look you i' the face again : — but those that understood him smiled at one another. DIALOGUES SKKIOUS AND COMIC. 393 and shook their heads ; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too : Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca ? Casca. No, I am promised forth. Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow ? Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating. Cas. Good ; I will expect you. Casca. Do so : farewell, both. (Uxit Casca.) £m. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ! He was quick mettle when he went to school, Cas. So is he now, in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit. Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you : To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you ; or, if you wOl, Come home with me, and I will wait for you. Cas. I will do so : — till then, think of the world. (Hxit Brutus.) Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see. Thy honorable metal may be wrought From that it is disposed. Therefore 't is meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes : For who so firm that cannot be seduced ? Caesar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus : If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, He should not humor me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw. As if they came from several citizens. Writings all tending to the grea;t opinion That Rome holds of his name ; wherein obscurely Ceesar's ambition shall be glanced at : And, after this, let Csesar seat him sure ; For we will shake him, or worse days endure. SHAESFEABB. 394 THE KDW AMERICAN SPEAKER. THE CONSPIRACY. CICERO CASCA CASSIUS CINNA. (^Thunder and Liglitning. Enter, from opposite sides, Casca, udlh his sword drawn, and Cicero.) Cic. Good even, Casca. Brought you Caesar home ! Why are you breathless ? and why stare you so ? Casca. Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth Shakes, like a thing unfirm ? Cicero, I have sct'n tempests, when the scolding winds HaA'e rived the knotty oaks ; and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell, and I'age, and foam, To be exalted with the threatening clouds : But never till to-night, never till now. Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven ; Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. Cic. Why, saw you anything more wonderful ? Casca. A common slave (you know him well by sight) Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches joined ; and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remained unscorched. Besides, (I have not since put up my sword,) Against tlae capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me. And there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women. Transformed with their fear ; who swore they saw Men, all in fire, walk up and dovi^n the streets. And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit. Even at noonday, upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, " These are their sea.sons, — they are natural ;" For, I believe they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Comes Csesar to the capitol to-morrow ? Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 395 Cic. Good night then, Casca : this disturbed sky Is not to walk in. Casca. Farewell, Cicero. (JUxit Cicero.) {^Enter Cassius.) Gas. Who 's there ? Casca. A Koman. Gas. Casca, by your voice. Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this ? Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so ? Cas. Those, that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walked about the streets. Submitting me unto the perildus night ; And, thus imbraced, Casoa, as you see. Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone : And, when the cross blue lightning seemed to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens ? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. Cas. You are dull, Casca ; and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman you do want, Or else you vise not : You look pale, and gaze. And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens : But if you would consider the true cause. Why all these fires, why all these ghding ghosts ; Why birds, and beasts, from quality and kind ; Why old men, fools, and children calculate ; Why all these things change, from their ordinance. Their natures and pre-formed faculties. To monstrous quality ; why, you shall find. That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear, and warning, Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night ; That thunders, hghtens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the capitol : A man no mightier than thyself, or me, In personal action ; yet prodigious grown. And fearful as these strange eruptions are. Casca. 'T is Csesar that you mean : is it notj Cassius ? Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 396 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAICEU. Have Ihcwi md limbs like to their ancestors ; But Avoe the tyIuIc, our falhers' minds are dead, And we arc governed with our mothei-s' spirits ; Our yolce and suft'erance show us womanish. Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morroir Mean to establish Csesar as a king : And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, In every place, save here in Italy. Oas. I know where I will wear this dagger then ; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong ; Therein, ye gods, you tjTants do defeat : Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeons, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit : But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power lo dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear, I can shake otf at pleasure. Casca. So can I : So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity. Cas. And why should Csesar be a tyrant then ? Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep : He were no lion, were riot Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire. Begin it with weak straws : what trash is Home, What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Csesar ? But, grief ! Where hast thou led me ? I, perhaps, speak this Before a willing bondman : then I know My answer m^ist be made : — but I am armed. And dangers are to me indifi'erent. Casca. You speak to Casca ; and to such a man. That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand : Be factious for redress of all these griefs ; And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest. Cas. There 's a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have moved already Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans, To undergo, with me, an enterprise DIALOGUES SERIOra AND COMIO. 397 Of honorable -dangerous consequence ; And I do know, by this, they stay for me In Pompey's porch : for now, this fearful night, There is no stir, or walking in the streets ; And the complexion of the element Is favored, like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. {Enter Cinna.) Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. Cas. "I is Cinna, I do know him by his gait. He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so ? Gin. To find out you. Who 's that ? Metellus Cimber ? Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna ? Cin. I am siad on 't. What a fearful niffht is this ? There 's two or three of us have seen strange sights. Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna ? Tell me. Cin. Yes, You are. Cassius, if you could but win The noble Brutus to our party — Cas. Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper. And look you lay it in the praetor's chair. Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw this In at his window : set this up with wax Upon old Brutus' statue ; all this done, Bepah to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there ? Cin. All but Metellus Cimber ; and he 's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie. And so bestow these papers as you bade me. Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theater. (JExii Cinna.) Come, Casca, you and I will, yet, ere day. See Brutus at his house : three parts of him Is ours already ; and the man entire. Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. Casca. Oh, he sits high in all the people's hearts : And that, which would appear oifense in us. His countenance, like richest alchemy, WUl change to virtue, and to worthiness. Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need of him. You have right well conceited. Let us go. For it is after midnight ; and, ere day. We win awake him, and be sure of him. SHAKSPKABE, 308 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAItER. THE SHIPWRECKED PRINCE. PERICLES — THREE FISHERMEN. {Enter Pericles, wet.) Per. Yl-1 cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven ! "Wind, rain, and tlmnder, remember, earllily man Is but a bubstance that must yield to you ; And I, as fits my nature, do obey you ; Alas ! the sea hath cast me on the rocks, ^^'ashed me from shore to shore, and left me breath, KoLhing to think on, but ensuing death : Let it suffice the greatness of your powers, To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes : And having thrown him from your wat'ry grave, Here to have death in peace, is all he '11 crave. (^Unier three Fishermen.) 1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche ! 2 Fish. Ho 1 come, and bring away the nets. 1 Fish. What, Patch-breech, I say ! 3 Fish. What say you, master ? 1 Fisli. Look how thou stirrest now 1 come away, or I '11 fetch thee with a wannion. 3 Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us, even now. 1 Fish. Alas, poor souls ! it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves. 3 Fislt. Nay, master, said not I as much, when I saw the porpoise, how he bounced and tumbled ? they say, they are half fish, half flesh : a plagaie on them, they ne'er come, but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 1 Fisli. Why, as men do a-land ; the great ones eat up the little ones : I can compare -our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale ; 'a plays and tumbles, di-iving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on a' the land, who never leave gaping, till they 've swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and all. Per. A pretty moral. 3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry. 2 Fish. AVhy, man ? 3 Fish. Because he should have swallowed me too : and when [ had been in his stomach, I would have kept such a jangling of DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 399 the bells, that lie sliould never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and pai-ish, up again. But if the good king Simonides were of my mind — Per. Simonides ? 3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honej-. Per. How from the finny subject of the sea These fisliers tell the infirmities of men ; And from their wat'ry empire recollect All that may men approve, or men detect ! Peace be at your labor, lionest fishermen. % Fish. Honest ! ,^ood fellow, what 's that ? if it be a day fits you, scratcli it out oi .lie calendar, and nobody wDl look after it. Per. 'is-AX. see, the sea hath cast upon your coast — 2 Fish. Wliat a drunken knave was the sea, to cast thee in our way ! Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind, In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; He asks of you, that never used to beg. 1 Fish. Kg, friend, cannot 5'ou beg ? here 's them in our country of Greece, gets more with begging, than we can do with working. 2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes, then ? Per. I never practiced it. 2 Fish. Isay, then thou wilt starve sure ; for here 's nothing to be got now-a-daj's, unless thou canst fish for 't. Per. What I have been, I have forgot to know ; But what I am, want teaches me to think on ; ■ — • A man shrunk up with cold ; my veins are chill. And have no more of life, than may suflice To give my tongue that heat, to ask you help ; Which, if you shall refuse, when I am dead. For I am a man, pray see me buried. 1 Fish. Die, quoth-a ? Now, gods forbid ! I have a gown here ; come, put it on ; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow ! Come, thou shalt go home, and we '11 have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and, moreo'er, p^iddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome. Per. I thank you, sir. 2 Fish. Hark you, my friend ; you said you could not beg. Per. I did but crave. 2 Fish. But crave ? Then I '11 turn craver too, and so I shall 'scape whipping. Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped, then ? 400 TUB SEW AMf;RieAN SPEAKEn. 2 Fisli. Oh, not all, my friend, not all ; for if all your teggars were whipped, I would wish no better office, than to be beadio. But, master, I '11 go draw up the net. [Exeunt two of the Fishermen.') Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their labor ? 1 Fish. Hark you, sir ! do you know where you are ? Per. Not well. 1 Fish. Why, I '11 tell you : this is called Pentapolis, and ou" king, the good Simonides. Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him ? 1 Fish. A.J, sir ; and he deserves to be so called, for hi* peaceable reign and good government. Per. He is a happy lung, since from his subjects He gains the name of good, by his government. How far is his court distant from this shore ? 1 Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey : and I '11 tell you he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is her birthday; and there are princes and knights come from all parts of the world, to just and tourney for her love. Per. Did but my fortunes equal my desires, I 'd wish to make one there. 1 Fish. Oh, sir, things must be as they may ; and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for — his wife's soul. {^Reenter the two Fishermen, drawing up a net.) 2 Fish. Help, master, help : here 's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law ; 'twill hardly come out. Ha ! bots on 't, 't is come at last, and 't is turned to a rusty armor. Per. An armor, friends ! I pray you let me see it. Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crosses. Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself; And, though it was mine own, part of mine heritage. Which my dead father did bequeath to me. With this strict charge, (even as he left his hfe,) " Keep it, my Pericles ; it hath been a shield 'Twixt me and death ; " and pointed to this brace : "For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity. Which gods protect thee from ! it may defend thee." It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it ; Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, 1'ook it in rage, though calmed, they give 't again : I thank thee for 't ; my shipwreck 's now no ill. Since I have here my father's gift by will. 1 Fish. What mean you, sir ? Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth ; For it was sometime target to a king ; DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 401 I know it by this mark. He loved me dearly, And foi his sake I wish the having of it ; And that you 'd guide me to your sovereign's court, Where with 't I may appear a gentleman ; And if that ever my low fortune 's better, I '11 pay your bounties ; till then, rest your debtor. 1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady ? Fer. I '11 show the virtue I have borne in arms. 1 Fish. Why, do ye take it, and the gods give thee gocd on 't 1 SHAKSPEARE. THE GREEKS BEFORE TROY. AJAX ACHILLES PATROCLUS THEKSITES . Ajax. Thersites, — Ther. Agamemnon — bow if be bad boils? full, all over, generally ? Ajax. Tliersites, — Ther. And those boils did run ? — Say so, — did not the general run then ? Were not that a botchy core ? Ajax. Dog, — Ther. Then would come some matter from him ; I see none now. Ajax. Thou she -wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then. (^Strikes him.) Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel, beef- witted lord ! Ajax. Speak, then, thou unsalted leaven, speak ! I wHl beat thee into handsomeness. Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness ; but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou ? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks ! Ajax. Toads-stool, leam me the proclamation. [Striking Mm again.) Ther, Dost thou think I have no sense, that thou strikest me thus ? Ajax. The proclamation, — Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not ; my fingers itch. Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee ; I would Inake thee the loathsomest scab 26 402 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. in Greece. Vfl'en thou art fortli in the incursions, thou strikest a.s slow as another. ^Ijii.r. I .say, the proclamation, — 27irj\ Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beaulj', ay, that thou barkest at him. ^■ijax. Mistress Thersites ! T/icr. Thou shouldst strike him. yijdx. Cobloaf ! T/ic)\ He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. uljd.r. You cur ! {^Beating him.) Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! Titer. Ay, do, do ; thou .'Jodden witted lord ! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows ; an assincgo may tutor thee : Thou scurvy \aliant ass, thou art here put to thrash Tro- jans ; and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit like a barbarian sla^e. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy lieel, and tell what thou art, by inches : thou thing of no bowels, thou ! Ajax. You dog 1 Titer. You scurvy lord ! Ajax. You cur ! {Beating him.) Titer. Mars his idiot ! do, i-udoness ; do, camel ; do, do. [filter Achilles and Pairoclus.) Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you thus ? How now, Thersites ? what 's the matter, man ? Ther. You see him there, do y f ou Y 9 Achil. Ay ; what 's the matter ? Titer. Nay, look upon him. Achil. So I do ; what 's the matter ? Titer. Nay, but regaixl him well. Achil. AVell, why i do so. Titer. But yet you look not well upon him, for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. Achil. I know that, fool. Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters ! his eva- sions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain, more than he has beat td.j bones ; I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a spaiTow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax — who wears his wit in his stomach and his liver in his head — I 'U tell you what I say of him. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 403 AcUl. What? Tfier. I say, this Aj is — . \iiJterposes.) Achil. Na)-, good Aj i ^. (^Ajax qfers to strike him, but Achilles Tker. Has not so majh wit — Achil. Nay, I must hold you. Ther. As will stop (.he eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight. Achil. Peace, fool. Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not : he there ; that he ; look you there. Ajax. O thou rascal cur, I shall — Achil. Will you set j-our ivit to a fool's ? Ther. ISTo, I warrant you, foi" a fool's will shame it. Patr. Good words Thersites. Achil. What 's the quarrel ? AJa.v. I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenor of the proc- lamation, and he rails upon me. Ther. I serve thee not. Ajax. Well, go to, go to. Ther. I serve here voluntary. Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 't was not voluntary ; no man is beaten voluntary ; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. Ther. Even so ? a great deal of your wit, too, lies in youi sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel. Achil. What, with me, too, Thersites ? Ther. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor, — whose wit was moldy, ere your grandsires had nails on their toes, — yoke you Hke draught oxen, and make you plow up the wars. Achil. What, what ? Ther. Yes, good sooth ; to, Achilles ! to, Ajax ! to ! Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. T/ier. 'T is no matter ; I shall speak as much as thou afterward. JPair. No more words, Thersites ; peace ! Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I ? Achil. There 's for you, Patroclus. Ther. I will see you hanged, hke clotpoles ere I come any more to youi- tents ; I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Exit.) Patr. A good riddance. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host : That Hector, by the first hour of the sun. 404 THE KKW AMERICAN SPEAKEK. Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, To-morrow moruiiiy, call some knight to arms, That hath a stomach ; and such a one, that dare Maintain — I know not what ; 't is trash ; farewell. ^■Ijax. Farewell. Who shall answer ? Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise, He knew his man. Ajax. Oh, meaning you : ■ — ^ I 'U go learn more of it. SHAKSFEAEE ACHILLES' MESSAGE. ACHILLES PATROCLUS THERSITES. Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you : A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loathed than an effeminate man In time of action. I stand condemned for this ; They think, my httle stomach to the war, And your great love to me, restrains you thus : Sweet, rouse yourself ; and the weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold. And, hke a dew-drop from the lion's mane. Be shook to air. Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ? Fatr. Ay ; and,' perhaps, receive much honor by him. Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake ; My fame is shrewdly gored. Fatr. 0, then beware ; Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves : Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun. Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroolus : I '11 send the fool to Ajax, and desire him To invite the Trojan lords, after the combat. To see us here unarmed : I have a woman's longing. An appetite that I am sick withal, To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; To talk with him, and to behold his visage, Even to my full view. A labor saved ! ( Enter Thersites. ) Ther. A wonder ! :^^LOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 405 Acldl What? Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself. Acliil. How so ? Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with -Hector ; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgeling, that he raves in saying nothing. Achil. How can that be ? Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a stride, and a stand ; ruminates, hke an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning : bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say — there were wit in his head, an 't would out ; and so there is ; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint which will not show with knocking. The man 's undone for ever ; for if Hector break not his neck i' the combat, he '11 break it himself in vainglory. He knows not me : I said, "Good morrow, Ajax," and he replies, "Thanks, Agamemnon." What think you of this man, that takes me for the general ? He is grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion ! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. Achil. Thou must be my embassador to him, Thersites. Ther, Who ? I ? why, he 'U answer nobody ; he professes not answering ; speaking is for beggars ; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his presence ; let Patroclus make demands to me ; you shall see the pageant of Ajax. Achil. To him, Patroclus: tell him — I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the most victorious Hector to come un- armed to my tent ; ^,and to procure safe-conduct for his person, of the magnanimoft-S, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times- honored, captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this. Pair. Jove bless great Ajax. Ther. Humph! Pair. I come from the worthy Achilles, — Ther. Ha! Pai?: Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent ! — Ther. Humph! Pair. And to procure safe-conduct from Agamemnon. Ther. Agamemnon ? Pair. Ay, my lord. Ther. Ha! Pair. What say you to 't ? Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. Patr. Your answer, sir. 406 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEB. Tlim\ If to-morrow be a fair day, Ijy cIlvcu o'clock it will go one way or other ; howsoever, he shall yAy for me ere liu has me. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. Ai:ldl. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he ? Titer. No, but he 's out o' tune thus. What music will be m him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not ; but, I am sure, none — unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on. AchU. Come, thou slialt bear a letter to him straight. Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that 's the more capable creature. AchU. My mind is troubled, -like a fountain stirred ; And I myself see not the bottom of it. Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, thai I might water an ass at it ! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant imorance. shakspeare BANISHMENT OF THE DUKE OF KENT. Kent. Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honored as my king. Loved as my father, as my master followed, As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man ? Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak. When power to flattery bows ? To plainness honor 's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ; And, in thy best consideration, check This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment ; Thy youngest daugliier does not love thee least ; Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound Reverbs no hoUowuess. Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it. Thy safety being the motive. Lear. Out of my sight ! DIALOGUES SEEIOUS AND COMIO. 407 Kent. See better, Lear, and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. Lear. Now, by Apollo, — Kent. Wow, by Apollo, king. Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. Lear. {Laying his hand on his sword.) vassal ! miscreant ! Kent. Do ; Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift ; Or, whilst I can vent clamor from my throat, I '11 tell thee, thou dost evil. Lear. Hear me, recreant ! On thine allegiance hear me ! — Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, (Which we durst never yet,) and, with strained prido, To come betwixt our sentence and our power ; (Which nor our nature nor our place can bear;) Our potency make good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world ; And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following, Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions. The moment is thy death. Away ! by Jupiter, This shall not be revoked. Kent. Fare thee well, king : since thus thou -ndlt appear. Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, ( To Cordelia.) That justly think st, and hast most rightly said ! — And your large speeches may your deeds approve, * {To Regan and Goneril.) That good effects may spring from deeds of love. Thus Kent, princes, bids you all adieu ; He '11 shape his old course in a country new. shakspeaee. THE FOOL'S REMONSTRANCE. LEAR KENT FOOL GENTLEMAN. Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters : acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know, than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I sTiall 1)6 there before you. 108 THE NEW AMEllICAN SPEAKER. Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. {Exit.) Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were 't not in dan- ger of kibes ? Lear. Ay, boy. Fool. Then, I pr'y thee, be merry ; thy wit shall not go slip- shod. Lear. Ha, ha, ha ! Fool. Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee kindly ; for though she 's as like this as a crab is hke an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy ? Fool. She will taste as hke this, as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle of his face ? Lear. No. Fool. Why, to keep his eyes on either side his nose ; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. Lear. I did her wrong : — Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell ? Lear. No. Fool. Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a snail has a house. Lear. Why? Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a father ! — Be my horses ready ? Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven, is a pretty reason. Lear. Because they are not eight ? Fool. Yes, indeed ; thou wouldst make a good fool. Lear. To take it again perforce ! — ■ Monster ingratitude I Fool. If thou wert my fool, nunole, I 'd have thee beaten for being old before thy time. Lear. How 's that ? Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old, before thou hadst been wise. Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven ! Keep me in temper ; I would not be mad ! {Enter Oentleman.) How now ! Are the horses ready ? Oent. Ready, my lord. Lear. Come, boy. Fool. She that is maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. 8HAESPKARB. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND CX3MIC. 409 TflE LOYAL FOLLOWER. LEAR KENT. (S!nier Kent, disffuised.) Kent. If but as ■Well I other accents borrow, That can my speech diffuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my hkeness. — Now, banished Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, (So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lovest. Shall find thee full of labors. (Boms tvilkin. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants.) Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner ; go, get it ready. {^Exit an Attendant.) How now, what art thou ? Kerd. A man, sir. Lear. What dost thou profess ? What wouldst thou with us? Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; to serve him truly, that will put me in trust ; to love him that is honest ; to converse with him that is wise, and says little ; to fear judgment ; to fight, when I cannot choose ; and to eat no fish. Lear. What art thou ? Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou ? Kent. Service. Lear. Who wouldst thou serve ? Kent. You. Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ? Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your countenance, which I would fain call master. Lear. What 's that ? Kent. Authority. Lear. What services canst thou do ? Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deUver a plain message bluntly : that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in ; and the best of me is dihgence. Lear. How old art thou ? Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing ; nor so old, to dote on her for anything. I have years on my back, forty-eight. Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me ; if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. shakspeare. 35 410 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. THE ANGER OF KENT. KENT COB .N V.'ALL — REGAN EDMUND GLOSTER — STEMtaBD. Slew. Good dawning to thee, friend : — art of the house ? Kent. Ay. Stew. Where may we set our horses ? Kent. V the mire. Slew. Pr'y thee, if thou love me, tell me. Kent. I love thee not. Stew. Why, then I care not for thee, Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. Stew. Why dost thou use me thus ? I know thee not. Kent. Frllow, I know thee. Steio. What dost thou know me for ? Kent. A knave ; a rascal, an eati-r of broken meats ; a basr, proud, shallow, begi^arly, thrte-suited, liundred pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave ; a lil)'-li\('red, action-taking knave ; a glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue ; one-trunk inherit- ing slave ; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel : one whom 1 will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. Sieio. Why, what a monstro^ls fellow art thou, thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee ? Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thoii, to deny thou knowest me ? Is it two days ago, since I tripped up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king ? Draw, you rogue : for, though it be night, the moon shines ; I '11 make a sop o' the moonshine of you. Draw, you cuUionly barber-monger, draw. [Drawlnrj his sword.) Stew. Away ; I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with letters against the king ; and take vanity the puppet's part, against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I '11 so carbonado your shanks — draw, you rascal ; come your ways. Steio. Help, ho ! murder ! help ! Kent. Strike, you slave ; stand, rogue, stand ; you neat slave, strike. {Beating him.) Stew. Help, ho ! murder ! murder ! {Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Qloster, and Servants.) Edm. How now ? What 's the matter ? Part. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 411 Kent. Witli you, goodman boy, if you please ; come, I '11 flesli you ; come on, young master. Olo. Weapons ! arms ! What 's the matter here ? Com. Keep peace, upon your lives ; He dies, that strikes again. What is the matter ? Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. Corn. What is yoiu- difference ? speak. Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirred your valor. You covfardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee ; a tailor made thee. Corn. Thou art a strange fellovr : a tailor make a man ? Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir ; a stone-outtei-, or a painter, could not have made him so Dl, though they had been but two hours at the trade. Corn. Speak yet, how grew .your quarrel ? Stew. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared At suit of his gray beard, — Kent. Thou zed ! thou unnecessary letter ! — My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall with him. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail ? Com. Peace, sirrah ! You beastly knave, know you no reverence ? Kent. Yes, sir ; but anger has a privilege. Corn. Why art thou angry ? Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rognies as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain Which are too intrinse t' unloose : smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebels ; Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ; Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, .As knowing nought, like dogs, but following. — A plague upon your epileptic visage ! Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool ? Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, I 'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow ? Glo. How fell you out ? Say that. Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Than I and such a knave. Corn. Why dost thou call him knave ? What 's his oflFense 7 Kent. His countenance likes me not. 412 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or liis, or hers. Kent. Sir, 't is my occupation to be plain ; I have hcen belter faces in my time. Than stands on any shoulders that I see Before me at this instant. Corn. This is some fellow, Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness ; and constrains the garb, Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he ! — An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth : And they will take it, so ; if not, he's plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbor more craft, and more corrupter ends, Than twenty silly duckin;:;- observants, That stretch their duties nicely. . Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand aspect. Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus' front, — Corn. What mean'st by this ? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer : he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain knave ; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. Corn. What was the offense you gave him ? Stew. Never any ; It pleased the king his master, very late, To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ; When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, Tripped me behind ; being down, insulted, railed, And put upon him such a deal of man. That worthied him, got praises of the king, For him attempting who was self-subdued ; And, in the fieshment of this dread exploit. Drew on me here. Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards, But Ajax is their fool. Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho ! You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We '11 teach you — Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn : Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; On whose employment I was sent to you : You shall do small respect, show too bold malice DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 413 Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking liis messenger. Com. Fetch forth the stocks : As I 've life and honor, there shall he sit till noon. 6HAKSPEA31H THE USURPATION OF BOLINGBROIfE. BOLINCfBEOKE YORK NOETHUMEEKLAKD PEROT AUMERLE BAGOT CARLISLE SUEEET riTZWATER LORDS. (The Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne ; the Lords tern, poral on the hft ; ilie Commons below. Enter Bolinghroke, Aumerle, Surrey, Northumberland, Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, Bishop of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, and Attendants. Officers behiiid, with Bagot.) Boling. Call forth Bagot : — Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind ; What thou dost know of noble Grloster's death ; Who wrought it with the king, and who performed The bloody oflSce of his timeless end. Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered. In that dread time when Gloster's death was plotted, I heard you say, — "Is not my arm of length. That reacheth from the restful Enghsh court As far as Calais, to my uncle's head?" Amongst much other talk, that very time, I heard you say, that you had rather refuse The offer of an hundred thousand crowns. Than Bohngbroke's return to England ; Adding withal, how blest this land would be. In this your cousin's death. Aum. Princes, and noble lords, What answer shall I make to this base man ? Shall I so much dishonor my fair stars. On equal terms to give him chastisement ? Either I must, or have mine honor soiled With the attainder of his slanderous lips. — There is my gage, the manual seal of death. That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest. 414 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. And -will mainlain, what thou hast said, is false, In thy heai't-blood, though being all luo basu To stain the temper of my knightly sivord. BoUng. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. Auin. Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence, that hath moved me so. Filz. If that thy valor stand on sympathies, There is my gage, AumerL"?, in gage to thine : By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it. That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest ; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. Auin. Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day. Fila. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. Aum. Fitzwater thou art damned to hell for this. Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honor is as true. In this appeal, as thou art all unjust : And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing ;. seize it, if thou darest. Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle ; And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be hoUa'd in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun : there is my honor's pawn ; Engage it to the trial if thou darest. Aum. Who sets me else ? by heaven, I '11 throw at all ; I have a thousand spirits in one breast. To answer twenty thousand such as you. Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk. Fitz. My lord, 't is true : you were in presence then ; And you can witness with me, this is true. Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. FiU. Surrey, thou Kest. Surrey. Dishonorable boy 1 Thai lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, That it shall render vengeance and revenge. Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. In proof whereof, there is my honor's pawn ; DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 415 Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward hcrse ! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies. And lies, and Ues : there is my bond of faith. To tie thee to my strong correction. — As I intend to .thrive in this new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : Besides, I heard the banished Norfolk say. That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais. Aam. Some honest Christian tnist me with a gage, That Norfolk lies : here I do throw down this. If he may be repealed to try his honor, Boling. These differences shall all rest under gage. Till Norfolk be repealed : repealed he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restored again To all his land and seignories : when he 's returned. Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. Car. That honorable day shall ne'er be seen. Many a time hath banished Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ : in glorious Christian field. Streaming; the ensig-n of the Christian cross, Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens : And, toiled with works of war, retired himself To Italy ; and there, at Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, {Jnder whose colors he had fought so long. Baling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ? Car. -As sure as I live, my lord. Boling: Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the besom Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants. Your differences shall all rest under gage, Till we assign you to your days of trial. i^Enler York, attended.) York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee From plume-plucked Richard ; who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields To the possession of thy royal hand : Ascend his throne, descending now from him — And long live Henry, of that name the fourth 1 Boling. In God's name, I '11 ascend the regal throne. Car. Marry, God forbid ! — 416 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Worst in ibis rnyal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to ^jieak tlie truth. Would God, that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be uprig;ht judge Of noble Richard ; then true nobless would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here, that is not Kichard's subject ? Thieves are not judged, but they are by to hear. Although apparent guilt be seen in them : And shall the figure of God's majesty. His captain, steward, deputy elect, Anointed, crowned, planted many years, Be judged by subject and inferior breath. And he himself not present ? 0, forbid it, God, That, in a Christian climate, souls refined Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed ! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks. Stirred up by heaven, thus boldly for his king. My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king : And if you crown him, let me prophesy, — The blood of English shall manure the groimd. And future ages groan for this foul act : Peace shall go sleep with Turks and Infidels, And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound ; Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, Shall here inhabit, and this land be called The field of Golgotha, and dead men's skulls. Oh, if you rear this house against this house. It will the woefullest division prove. That ever fell upon this cursed earth : Prevent, resist it, let it not be so. Lest child, child's children, cry against you — woe ! North. Well have you argued, sir ; and, for your pains. Of capital treason we arrest you here : — My lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial. — May 't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit. Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender ; so we shall proceed Without suspicion. York. I will be his conduct. (Exit.) Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AKD COMIC. 417 Procure your siu-eties for your days of answer r Little are we beholden to your love, ( To Carlisle. ) And little looked for at your helping hands. shakspearb. REBELLION OF HOTSPUR, MORTIMER, AND GLENDOWER HOTSPUR WORCESTER MORTIMER GLENDOWER. Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction full of prosperous hope. Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Glendower, — Will you sit down ? — And uncle Worcester. A plague upon it ! I have forgot the map. Olend. No, here it is. Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur : For by that name as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale ; and with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. Hot. And you in hell,^ as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Olend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity, The front of heaven was fuU of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets ; and at my birth, The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shaked like a coward. Hot. Why, so it would have done At the same season, if your mother's cat had But kittened, though yourself had ne'er been bom. Olend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind, If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. Qiend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble Hot. Oh, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth Is with a kind of colic pinched and vexed By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving, Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, 21 418 TUE NEW AMERICAN SPEAliER. Our gi-andam earth, having this distemperature, In passion shook. Glend. Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossing?. Give me leave To tell villi once again, — that at niy birth. The front of heaven was full of tier}' shapes : The goats ran from the mountains, and tlie herds Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. These signs have marked me extraordinary ; And all the courses of my life do show, I am not in the roll -of common men. Where is he living, — clipped in with the sea That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, — Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? And bring him out, that is but woman's son, Can trace me in the tedious ways of art. And hold me pace in deejj experiments. Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh : — I will to dinner. Mori. Peace, cousin Percy ; you will make him mad. Olend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : But will they come, when you do call for them ? Olend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command The devil. Hoi. And I can teach thee, coz, to shalne the devil. By telling truth ; tell truth, and shame the devil. — If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, And I '11 be sworn, I have pov/er to shame him hence. Oh, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. Mort. Come, come. No more of this unprofitable chat. Glend. Three times hath Henry Bohngbroke made head Against my power : thrice from the banks of Wye, And sandy-bottomed Sev.em, have I sent him. Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too ! How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name ? Glend. Come, here's the map ; shall we divide our right. According to our threefold order ta'en ? Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it Into three limits, very erpally : England, from Trent and Severn hitherto. By south and east, is to my part assigned ; All westward Wales, beyond the Severn shore, DIALOGUES SEEIOUS AND COMIC. 419 And all the fertile land -within that bound, To Owen Glendower ; — and, dear coz, to you The remnant northward, lying oflf from Trent. And our indentures tripartite are drawn, "Which being sealed interchangeably, (A business that this night may execute,) To-morroTiy, cousin Percy, you, and I, And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, To meet your father, and the Scottish power. As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. My father, Glendower, is not ready yet. Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days : vVithin that space, (To Qlend.) you may have drawn togethei iTour tenants, friends, and neighboring gentlemen. Olend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords. And in my conduct shall your ladies come : From whom you now must steal, and take no leave ; For there will be a world of water shed. Upon the parting of your wives and you. Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here. In quantity equals not one of yoiu's : See, how this river comes me cranking in. And cuts me from the best of all my land, A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. I 'H have the current in this place dammed up. And here the smug and silver Trent shall run In a new channel, fair and evenly : It shall not wind with such a deep indent. To rob me of so rich a bottom here. Olend. Not wind ? it shall, it must ; you see, it doth. Mort. Yea, But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up With like advantage on the other side ; Gelding the opposed continent as much As on the other side it takes from you. War. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here. And on this north side win this cape of land ; And then he runs straight and even. Hot. I '11 have it so ; a little charge will do it. Qlend. I will not have it altered. Hot. Will not you ? Olend. No, nor you shall not. Hot. Who shall say me nay ? Glend. Why, that will I, Hot. " Let me not understand you then. 420 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEB. Speak it in Welsh. Qlend. I can speak English, lord, as well as yta; For I was trained up in the English court : Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well. And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ; A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, and I 'm glad of it with all my heart ; I had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew. Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers, I had rather hear a brazen canstick turned, Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-ti-ee. And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 'T is like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. Qlend. Come, you shall have Trent turned. Hot. I do not care : I 'd give thrice so much land To any well-deserving friend ; But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, I '11 cavil on the ninth part of a hair. Are the indentures drawn ? shall we begone ? shakwearb. THE WELSHMAN AND HIS LEEK. FLUELLEN GOWEK tlSTOL. Gow. Nay, that 's right ; but why wear you your leek to-day ? Saint Davy's day is past. Flu. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things : I wiU tell .you, as my friend, captain Gower. The ras- cally, scald, peggarly, lousy, pragging knave. Pistol, — which you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, — he is come to me, and prings mc pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek : it was in a place where I could not breed no contentions with him ; but I will be so pold as to wear it in xaj cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. {Enter Pistol.) Oow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock. Flu. 'T is no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks. — Got pless you, ancient Pistol ! you scurvy, lousy knave, Got pless you ! DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 421 Pisi. Ha ! art thou Bedlam ? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To ha'pe me fold up Parca's fatal -vveb ? Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek ; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affec- tions, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it. Pist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. Flu. There is one goat for you. (Strikes him.) Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it ? Fist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. Fhi. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's will is : I will desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your victuals ; come, there is sauce for it. (Striking him again.) You called me yesterday, mountain-squire ; but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to ; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. Oow. Enough, captain ; you have astonished him. Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days : — Pite, I pray you ; it is goot foi your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb. Pist. Must I bite ? Flu. Yes, certainly ; and Out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities. Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge ; I eat, and eke I swear — Flu. Eat, I pray you : will you have some more sauce to your leek ? there is not enough leek to swear by. Pist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see, I eat. Flu. Much goot do you, scaJd knave, heartily. Nay, 'pray you, throw none away ; the skin is goot for your proken cox- comb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them ; that is all. Pist. Good. Flu. Ay, leeks is goot : — hold you, there is a , groat to heal your pate. Pist. Me a groat. Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it ; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat. Pist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge. Flu. If I owe you anything, I will pay you in cudgels ; you shall be a -flood-monger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate. (Exit.) Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 422 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKEH. Qow. Go, go ; you are a counterfeit cowardly kna\e. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, — bryun upon an Imnorable iL-s|)i_-ct, and worn as a memorable trophy of predecuused valor, — and dare not a\'oucli in your deeds any of your words? I lia^-e seen you glecking and gulling at this gentleman twice or thrice. Vuu thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel : you find it otherwise ; and, henceforth, let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well. SHAKSPEAIiE. THE DISGUISED KING. KING HENET V. BATES COURT WILLIAMS. Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder ? Bates. I tliink it be : but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day. Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but, I think, we shall never see the end of it. — V/ho goes there ? K. Hen. A friend. Will. Under what captain serve you ? K. Hen. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham. Will. A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman : 1 pray you, what thinks he of our estate? K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide. Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king ! K. Hen. No ; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I am : the vio- let smells to him, as it doth to me ; the element shows to him, as it doth to me ; all his senses have but human conditions : his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man ; and though his affecions are higher mounted tlian ours, yet, when they stoop, the}' stoop with the like wing: therefore ^vhen he sees reason of fears,' as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are. Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army. Bates. He may show what outward courage he will : but, I believe, as cold a night as 't is, he could ■wish himself in the Thames up to the neck ; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here. DIALOGUES SEKIOUS AND COMIC. 423 K. Hen. By my troth, I T\'ill speak my conscience of the king ; I think he "would not -wish himself anywhere but where he is. Bates. Then, would he were here alone ; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a man}' poor men's hves saved. K. Hen. I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone ; howsoever, you speak this, to feel other men's minds. Methinks, I could not die anywhere so contented, as in the king's company ; his cause being just, and his quarrel honorable. Will. That 's more than we know. Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after ; for we know enough, if- we know we are the king's subjects ; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes the crime of it out of us. Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a hea^y reckoning to make ; when all those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry all, ■ — We died at such a place ; some, swearing ; some, crying for a surgeon ; some, upon their wives left poor behind them ; some, upon the debts they owe ; some, upon their children rawly left. I am.afeard there are few die well, that die in battle ; for how can they charitably dispose of anything, when blood is their argument ? Now, if these men do not die well, it -will be a black matter for the king that led them to it ; whom to disobey, were against all proportion of subjection. X. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about mer- chandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, ihe imputation of his wickedness, by your rale, should be imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant, under his master's command, transporting a sum of:' money, be assailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant's damnation. Will. 'T is certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me ; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ran- somed. Will.' Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully ; but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser. K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. Will. 'Mass, you '11 pay him, -then ! That's a perilous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch ! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice^ with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You 'U never trust his -word after : come, 't is a foolish saying. 424 THE NEW AMERICAN SPBAKEK. K. Hen. Your rejiioof is something too round ; I should be angry with you, if tlie time wc-re convenient. Will. Lot it be a quarrel between us, if you live. K. Hen. I embrace it. Wni. How shall I know thee again ? K. Hen. Ciive me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet : then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. Will. Here 's my glove ; give me another of thine. K. Hen. There. Will. This will I also wear in my cap : if ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, " This is my glove," by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear. K. Hen. If ever I hve to see it, I will challenge it. Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king's company. Will. Keep thy word : fare thee well. shakspeabe, THE FEUD OF THE ROSES. EICHAED PLANTAGENET WARViriOK SUFFOLK SOMEKSET VEENON LAWTEK.~ Plan. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence ? Dare no man answer in a case of truth ? Suff. Within the Temple IJall we were too loud ; The garden here is more convenient. Plan. Then say at once, if I maintained the truth ; Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error ? Suff. Taith, I have been a truant in the law ; And never yet could frame my will to it : And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then between us. War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch ; Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth ; Between two blades, which bears the better temper ; Between two horses, which doth bear him best ; Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye ; I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment : But in these nice, sharp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance : DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 425 Tlie truth appears so naked on my side, That any piirMind eyo may find it out. Som. And on my side it is .so well appareled, So clear, so shining, and so evident, That it -will glimmer through a blind man's eye. Plan. Since you are tongue-tied, and so loth to speak, In dimib significance proclaim your thoughts : Let him that is a trae-born gentleman. And stands upon the honor of his birth, If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. Sum. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, Biit dare maintain the party of the truth. Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. War. I love no colors ; and, without all color Of base, insinuating flattery, I pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet. Suff. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset ; And say, withal, I think he held the right. Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen ; and pluck no more. Till you conclude, that he, upon whose side The fewest roses are cropped from the tree. Shall yield the other in the right opinion. Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected ; If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. Plan. And I. Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here. Giving my verdict on the white rose side. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red. And fall on my side so against your will. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed. Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, And keep me on the side where still I am. So7n. Well, well, come on : who else ? Law. Unless my study and my books be false. The argument you held was wrong in you ; [To Somerset.) In sign whereof, I pluck'a white rose too. Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your arg-ument ? Sam. Here, in my scabbard ; meditating that Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. Plan. Meantime, your cheeks do counterfeit our loses ; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing The truth en our side. 36 426 THE NEW AMERICAN BPEAKEH. Som. No, Plantagenet, 'T is not for fear, but anger, that thy cheeks Bhish for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses ; And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet ? Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth, Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. Som. Well, I '11 find friends to wear my bleeding roses, That shall maintain what I have said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. P'lan. Now, by this maiden blossom-in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. Suff. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. Plan. Proud Poole, I will ; and scorn both him and thee. Suff. I '11 turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William de-la-Poole ! We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset; His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, Third son to the third Edward king of England ; Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root ? Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. Som. By Him that made me, I '11 maintain my words, On any plot of ground in Christendom : Was not thy father, Eiohard^ eatl of Cambridge, For treason executed in our late king's days ? And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry ? His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ; And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman. Plan. My father was attached, not attainted ; Condemiled to die for treason, but no traitor ; And that I '11 prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripened to my will. For your partaker, Poole, and you yourself, I '11 note you in my book of memory. To scourge you for this apprehension : Look to it well ; and say you are well warned. Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still : And know us, by these colors, for thy foes ; For these my friends, in spite of thee shall wear. Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 427 Will I forever, and my faction, wear ; Until it wither with me to my grave, Or flourish to the hight of my degree. Suff. Go forward, and be choked with thy ambition ! And so farewell, until I meet thee next. (Eidt.) Som. Have with thee, Poole. Farewell, ambitious Kichard. (jExU.) Plan. How I am braved, and must perforce endure it 1 War. This blot, that they object against your house. Shall be wiped out in the next parliament. Called for the truce of Winchester and Gloster : And, if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset, and Wilham Poole, Will I upon thy party wear this rose : And here I prophesy, — This brawl to-day, Grown to this faction, ia the Temple Garden, Shall send, between the red rose and the white, A thousand souls to death and deadly night. Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. Law. And so will I. Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. Come, let us four to dinner : I dare say. This quarrel will drink blood another day. shakspeaee. THE QUARREL OF GLOSTER AND WINCHESTER. GLOSTEE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER LORDS. Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devised, Humphrey of Gloster ? If thou canst accuse, Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, Do it without invention suddenly ; As I with, sudden and estemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object. Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands my patience. Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonored me. Think not, although in writing I preferred 428 THE KEW AMEEICAN SPEAKER. The manner of tliy vile, outrageous crimes, That therefore I liave forged, or am not able Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : No, prelate ; such is thy audacious wickedness, Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, As very infants prattle of thy pride. Thou art a most pernicious usurer ; Froward by nature, enemy to peace ; Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems A man of thy profession and degree ; And for thy treachery, what 's more manifest ? In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life. As well at London bridge, as at the Tower ? Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted. The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt From envious malice of thy swelling heart. Win. Gloster, I do defy thee. — Lords, vouchsafe To give me hearing what I shall reply. If I were covetous, ambitiou.s. or perverse, As he will have me, how am I so poor ? Or how haps it, I seek not to advance Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling ? And for dissension, who preferreth peace More than I do — except I be provoked ? No, my good lords, it is not that offends ; It is not that, that hath incensed the duke : It is, because no one should sway but he, — No one, but he, should be about the king ; And that engenders thunder in his breast. And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know I am as good — Olo. As good ? Thou bastard of my grandfather ! — ■ Win. Ay, lordly sir ; for what are you, I pray. But one imperious in another's throne ? Qlo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest ? Win. And am I not a prelate of tie church ? Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps. And useth it to patronage his theft. Win. Unreverent Gloster ! Glo. Thou art reverent Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. Wm. This, Rome shall remedy. Glo. Eoam thither, then. SHAKSPEARB. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 429 THE MURDER OF PRINCE ARTHUR. PEMBROKE SALISBURY BIGOT HUBERT THE BASTARD. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund' s-Bury ; It is our safety, and we must embrace This gentle offer of the perilous time. Feni. Who brought that letter from the cardinal ? Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ; Whose private with me, of the dauphin's love, Is much more general than these lines import. Biff. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. Sal. Or, rather then set forward ; for 'twill be Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. ( Unter the Bastard. ) Bast. Once more to-day, well met, distempered lords ! The king, by me, requests your presence straight. Sal. The king hath dispossessed himself of us ; We will not line his thin bestained cloak With our pure honors, nor attend the foot That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks : RetTim, and tell him so : we know the worst. Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bast. But there is httle reason in your grief ; Therefore, 't were reason you had manners now. Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath bis privilege. Bast. 'T is true ; to hurt his master, no man else. Sal. This is the prison : what is he hes here ? {Seeing Arthur.) Pern. death, made proud with pure and princely beauty ! The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. Sal. Murder, as hatmg what himself hath done, Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. Biff. Or, when he doomed this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious-princely for a grave. Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ? Have you beheld, Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think ? Or do you almost think, although you see. That you do see ? could thought, without this object, Form such another ? This is the very top, The hight, the crest, or crest unto the crest, Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame. The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, 430 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAIiER. That ever ■wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage, Presented to the (cars of soft remorse. Pon. All murders past do stand excused in this ; And this, so sole, and so unmatchable, Shall give a holiness, a purity. To the yet unbegotten sin of time ; And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, Exampled by this heinous spectacle. Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; The graceless action of a heavy hand, If that it be the work of any hand. Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — We had a kind of light what would ensue : It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; The practice, and the purpose of the king : — From whose obedience I forbid my soul. Kneeling before tliis ruin of sweet life, And breathing to his breathless excellence _ The incense of a vow, a holy vow, Never to taste the pleasures of the world. Never to be infected with delight, Nor conversant with ease and idleness. Till I have set a glory to tliis hand, By giving it the worship of revenge. Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words {Enter Huhe.rt.) Huh. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking: vou : Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you. Sal. Oh, he is bold, and blushes not at death : Avaunt, thou hateful villain, set thee gone 1 Hub. I am no villain. Sal. Must I rob the law? [Brawwg his ■rw-ir-i,) Bast. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up again. Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. Hub. Stand back. Lord Salisbury, stand back, I S"y • By heaven, I think, my sword 's as sharp as yours ; I would not have yo^i, lord, forget yourself, Nor tempt the dangt^r of my true defense ; Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a nobleman ? Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend My innocent life against an emperor. Sal. Thou art a murderer. Hub, Do not prove me so ; DIALOGUES 6EBI0U3 AND COMIC. 431 Tet, I am none : whose tongue soe'er speaks false, Not truly speaks ; who speEiks not truly, hes. Pem. Cut him to pieces. Bast. Keep the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faidconbridge ! Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Sahsbury : If thou but frown on me or stir thy foot. Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, I'll strike thee dead. Put up- thy sword betime ; Or I'll so maul you and your toasting iron. That you shall think the devil is come from hell. Big. WTiat wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge ? Second a villain, and a murderer ? Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Big. Who killed this prince ? Hub. 'T is not an hour since I left him well : I honored him, I loved him ; and will weep My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villainy is not without such rheum ; And he, long traded in it, makes it seem Like rivers of remorse and innocency. Away, with me all you whose souls abhor The uncleanly savors of a slaughter house. For I am stiiied with this smell of sin. Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin there ! Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. (£xeunt Lords.) Bast. Here 's a good world ! — knew you of this fair work ? Beyond the infinite and boundless reach Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death. Art thou damned, Hubert. Hub. Do but hear me, sir. Bast. Ha, I'll teU thee what ; Thou art damned as black ■ — ■ nay, nothing is so black : Thou art more deep damned than prince Lucifer ; There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. Hub. Upon my soul, — Bast. If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair ; And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread That ever spider twisted from her womh Win serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be A beam to hang thee on ; or wouldst thou drown thyself, 432 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Put but a litlle water in a spoon, And it shall be as all the ocean, Enough to stifle such a villain up. — I do suspect thee very grievously. Huh. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought Be guilty of the steaUng that sweet breath Which was enibounded in this beauteous clay, Let hell want pains enough to torture me ! I left him well. Bast. Go bear him in thine arms. — I am amazed, methinks ; and lose my way Among the thorns and dangers of this world. — How easy dost thou take all England up ! From forth this morsel of dead royalty. The life, the right, and truth of all this realm Is fled to heaven : and England now is left To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth The unowed interest of proud swelling state. Now, for the bare-picked bone of majesty, Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest. And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace : Now powers from home, and discontents at home. Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits (As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,) The imminent decay of wrested pomp. Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, And follow me with speed : I'll to the king. A thousand businesses are brief in hand. And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. bhakspeabb. THE ENCHANTER AND HIS FAMILIAR SPIRIT. PEOSPERO ARIEL. Ari. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I come To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly. To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curled clouds ; to thy strong bidding task Ariel, and all his quality. Pro. Hast thou, spirit. Performed to point the tempest that I bade thee ? DIALOGUES SKKIOPS AND COMIC 433 Art. To every article. "^ I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flamed amazement : sometimes, I 'd divide And burn in many places ; on the top-mast, ' The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly. Then meet, and join : Jove's lightnings, the precursors 0' the dreadful tliunder-claps,' more momentary And sight-outrunning were not : the fire, and cracks Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptime Seemed to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble. Tea, his dread trident shake. Pro. _ My brave spirit ! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect bis reason ? Ari. Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and played Some tricks of desperation : all, but mariners, Plunged in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all a-fire with me : the king's son„ Ferdinand, With hair up-staring, (then like reeds, not hair,) Was the first man that leaped ; cried, " Hell is empty. And all the devils are here." Pro. Why, that 's my spirit ! But was not this nigh shore ? Ari. Close by,^ my master. Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ? Ari. Not a hair perished ; On their sustaining garments not a blemish. But fresher than before : and, as thou badest me, In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle : The king's son have I landed by himself; Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs. In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting. His arms in this sad knot. Pro. Of the king's ship — The mariners — say, how thou hast disposed. And all the rest o' the fleet ? Ari. Safely in the harbor Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once Thou calledst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vexed Bermoothes, there she's hid : The mariners all under hatches stowed ; Whom, with a charm joined to their suffered labor, I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet, 37 434 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Which I drepersed, they all have met again y And are upon the Mediterranean flote, Bound sadly home for Naples ; Supposing that they saw the king's ship wrecked, And his great person perish. Fro. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is performed ; but there 's more work : What is the time o' the day ? Ari. Past the mid season. Pro. At least two glasses : the time 'twixt six and now. Must by us both be spent most preciously. Ari. Is there more toil ? Since thou dost give me pains. Let me remember thee what thou hast promised. Which is not yet performed me. Pro. How now ? moody ? What is 't thou canst demand ? Ari. My liberty. Pro. Before the time be out ? no more. Ari. I pray thee Remember, I have done thee worthy service ; Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, served Without or grudge or grumblings : thou didst promise To bate me a full year. Pro. Dost thou forget From' what a torment I did free the§ ? Ari. No. Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep ; To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; To do me business in the veins o' the earth. When it is baked with frost. Ari. I do not, sir. Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy Was gi-own into a hoop ? Hast thou forgot her ? Ari. Ko, sir. Pro. Thou bast : where was she born ? speak ; tell me. Ari. Sir, in Argier. Pro. Oh, was she so ? I must. Once in a month, recount what thou hast been. Which thou forget' st. This damned witch, Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier, Thou know'st, was banished ; for one thing she did. They would not take hei life : is not this true ? DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 435 Art. Aye, sir. Fro. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by the sailors : thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant : And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorred commands, Refusing her grand bests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers, And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine ; within which rift Imprisoned, thou didst painfully remain A dozen years ; within which space she died. And left thee there ; where thou didst vent thy groans. As fast as mill-wheels strike : then was this island, (Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp, hag-born, ) not honored with A human shape. Ari. Yes ; Caliban her son. Pj'o. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in : thy groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Of ever-angry bears : it was a torment To lay upon the damned, which Sycorax Could not again undo ; it was mine art. When I arrived, and heard thee, that made gape The pine, and let thee out. Ari. I thank thee, master. Pro. If thou more murmurest, I will rend an oak, And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Thou hast howled away twelve winters. Ari. Pardon, master : I will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently. Pro. Do so ; a,nd after two days I will discharge thee. Ari. That 's my noble master ! What shall I do ? say what ? what shall I do ? Pro. Go make thyself like to a nymph of the sea ; Be subject to no sight but mine ; invisible To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape. And hither come in 't ; hence, with diligence. shakspeare. 436 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. THE PUNNING MESSENGER. Speed. Sir Proteus, save you : saw you my master ? Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan. Speed. Twenty to one, then, he is shipped ah-eady ; And I have played the sheep in losing him. Pro. Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray, An if the shepherd be awhile away. Spoid. Ycu conclude that my master is a shepherd, then, and I a sheep ? Pro. I do. Speed. Why, then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. Speed. This proves me still a sheep. Pro. True, and thy master a shepherd. Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Pro. It shall go hard, but I '11 prove it by another. Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me : therefore, I am no sheep. Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd ; the shepherd for food follows not the sheep : thou for wages followest thy master ; thy master for wages follows not thee : therefore, thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. Pro. But dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter to Julia ? Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a laced mutton ; and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labor. Pro. Here 's too small a pasture for such a store of muttons. Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her. Pro. Nay, in that you are astray ; 't were best pound you. Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, a pinfold. Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over ; 'T is threefold too httle for carrying a letter to your lover. Pro. But what said she ? did she nod ? (Speed nals.) Speed. I. Pro. Nod, I ? why, that 's noddy. Speed. You mistook, sir ; I say, she did nod : and you ask me, if she did nod ; and I say, I. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 437 Pro. And that set together, is — noddy. ' Sjyeed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. Fro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I percei\e, I must be fain to bear with you. Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ? Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains. Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief : what said she ? Speed. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be bothat once delivered. Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : what said she ? Speed. Truly, sir, I think you '11 hardly win her. Pro. Why? couldst thou perceive so much from her? Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter : and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she '11 prove as hard to you in telling her mind. Give her no token but stones ; for she 's as hard as steel. Pro. What, said she nothing ? Speed. No, not so much as — " Take this for thy pains." To testify your bounty, I thank yoii ; you have testerned me ; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself : and so, sir, I '11 commend you to my master. Pro. Go, go, begone, to save your ship from wreck ; Which cannot perish, having thee aboard. Being destined to a drier death on shore. I must go send some better messenger ; I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines. Receiving them from such a worthless post. shakspbark. INDICATIONS OF BEING IN LOVE. SPEED VALENTINE. Speed. Sir, your glove. Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. Sjieed. Why, then, this may be yours, for this is but one. Val. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me ; it 's mine : — Sweet .ornament that decks a thing divine ! Ah, Silvia ! Silvia ! 438 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Speed. Madam Silvia ! madam Silvia ! Vol. How now, sirrah ? Sjiced. She is not within hearing, sir. i'al. Why, sir, who bade you call her? Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. Vol. Well, you '11 still be too forward. Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Go to, sir ; tell me, do you know madam Silvia ? Speed. She that your worship loves ? Val. Why, how know you that I am in love ? Speed. Marry, by these special marks: — First, you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms, like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast ; to walk alene, like one that had the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A, B, C ; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grand am ; to fast, like one that takes diet; to walch, like one that feai's robbing ; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hal- lowmas. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock ; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions ; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner ; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money : and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? Speed. They are all perceived without you. Val. Without me ? They cannot. Speed. Without you ? nay, that 's certain ; for, without you were so simple, none else would : but you are so without these follies, that these follies are within you, and shine through you ; that not an eye that sees you, but is a physician to comment on your malady. Val. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper ? Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not ? Speed. Is she not hard favored, sir ? Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favored. Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. Val. Wliat dost thou know ? Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favored. Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favor infinite. Speed. That 's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count. DlALOaX'ES - — SERIOUS AND COMIO. 439 Vol. How painted ? and liow out of count ? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty. Val. How esteemest thou me ? I account of her beauty. Speed. Ygu never saw her since she was deformed. Val. How long hath she been deformed ? Speed. Ever since you loved her. Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her ; and still I see her beautiful. Speed. If vou love her, you cannot see her. Val. Why? Speed. Because love is blind. 0, that you had mine eyes ; or your own had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for eoina' uno'artered ! o o o Val. What should I see then ? Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity ; foT he, being in love, could not see to garter his liose ; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose. Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : I thank you ; you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. 1 would you were set ; so, your affection would cease. Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves. Speed. And have you ? Val. I have. Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? Val. No, boy ; but as well as I can do them. — Peace, here she comes. — shakspbakb. WILL IT BE A MATCH 1 SPEED LAUNCE. Speed. Launee ! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet, youth ; for I am not wel- come. I reckon this always — that a man is never undone, till he fee hanged ; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome. 440 THE NEW AMEEICAN SPEAKER. Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I '11 to the ale-liouse with you presently ; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shult have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy masUr part with madam Julia ? Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Speed. But shall she marry him ? Laun. No. Speed. How then ? Shall he marry her ? Laun. No, neither. Speed. What, are they broken ? Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. Why, then, how stands the mat.ter with them ? Laun. Marry, thus : when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand thee not. Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not ! My staff understands me. Speed. What thou sayst ? Laun. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, I '11 but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one. Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match ? Laun. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if he say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will. Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable. Speed. 'T is well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, that thy master is become a notable lover ? Laun. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how ? Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. Speed. Why, thou ass, thou mistakest me. Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I meant thy master. Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale-house, so ; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Speed. Why? Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian : Wilt thou go ? Speed. At thy service. bhakbpearb DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 441 A WOMAN'S VIRTUES AND FAULTS. SPEED LAUNCE. Speed. How now, signer Launce ? what news with your mas- tership ? Lmn. With my master's ship ? why, it is at sea. Speed. Well, your old yice still; mistake the word: what news then in your paper ? Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. Speed. Why, man, how black ? Laun. Why, as black as ink. Speed. Let me read them. Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head ; thou canst not read. Speed. Thou liestj I can. Laun. I will try thee : tell me this : who begot thee ? Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. Laun. illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of thy grandmother ; this proves, that thou canst not read. Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy paper. Laun. There ; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed. Speed. Imprimis, " She. can milk." Laun. Aj, that she can. Speed. Item, " She brews good ale." Laun. And therefore comes the proverb, — Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. Speed. Item, " She can sew." Laun. That 's as much as to say, Can she so ? Speed. Item, " She can knit." Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock ? Speed. Item, " She can wash and scour." Laun. A special virtue ; for then she need not be washed and scoured. Speed. Item, " She can spin." Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her Hving. Speed. Item, " She hath many nameless virtues." Laun. That 's as much as to say, bastard, virtues ; that, mdeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have no names. Speed. " Here follow her vices." Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. Speed. Item, " She is not to be kissed fasting, in respect of her breath." 442 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Speed. Item, " She hath a sweet mouth." Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath. Speed. Item, " She doth talk m her sleep." Laun. It 's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. Speed. Item, " She is slow in words." Laun. villain, that set this down among her vices ! To be slow in words, is a woman's only virtue : I pray thee out with 't, and place it for her chief virtue. Speed. Item, " She is proud." Laun. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. Speed. Item, " She hath no teeth." Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. Speed. Item, "She is curst." Laun. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. Speed. Item, " She will often praise her hquor." Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will not, I will ; for good things should be praised. Speed. Item, " She is too liberal." Laun. Of her tongue she cannot ; for that 's writ down she is slow of : of her purse she shall not ; for that I '11 keep shut. Speed. Item, " She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults." Laun. Stop there ; I 'U have her : she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more. Speed. Item, " She hath more hair than wit," — Laun. More hair than wit, ^ it may be ; I '11 prove it. The cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt : the hair that covers the wit, is more than the wit ; for the greater hides the less. What 's next ? Speed. "And more faults than hairs," — Laun. That 's monstrous : O that that were out ! Speed. "And more wealth than faults." Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I '11 have her : and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible, — Speed. What then ? Laun. Why, then I will tell thee, — that thy master stays for thee at the north gate. Speed. For me ? Laun. For thee ? ay ; who art thou ? he hath staid for a bet- ter man than thee. Speed. And must I go to him ? Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 443 Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? 'pox of your love let- ters ! (Hxit.) Zaun. Now -will he be swinged for reading my letter : an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets ! — I '11 after, to rejoice in the boy's correction, shakspkark. THE LUDICROUS LOVER Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? Fro. Oh, sir, I find her milder than she was : And yet she takes exceptions at your person. Tku. What, that my leg is too long ? Pro. No ; that is too little. Tku. I '11 wear a boot, to make it somewhat rounder. Pro. But love will not be spurred to what it loaths. Tku. What says she to my face ? Pro. She says, it is a fair one. Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies, my face is black. Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old saying is, Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. Jul. 'T 's true ; such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ; For I had rather wink than look on them, (Aside.) Tku. How likes slie my discourse ? Pro. lU, when you talk of war. Tku. But well, when I discourse of love and peace ? Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. Tku. What says she to my valor ? Pro. Oh, sir, she makes no doubt of that. Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice, (Aside.) Thu. What says she to my birth ? Pro. That you are well derived. Jul. True ; from a gentleman to a fool. (Aside.) Tku. Considers she my possessions ? Pro. Oh, ay ; and pities them. Tku. Wherefore ? Jul. That such an ass should owe them. (Aside.) Pro. That they are out by lease. Jul. Here comes the duke. — bhakspkabe. 444 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAREK. THE CONCEITED STEWARD. MALVOLIO SIR TOBY BELCH SIR AKDKEW AGCIE-CIIEEK fABIAfl. Mai. 'T is but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me : and I have heard lierself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Be- sides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on 't ? Sir To. Here 's an over-weening rogue ! Fab. Oh, peace ! contemplation makes a rare turkey-cook of him ; how he jets under his advanced plumes ! Sir And. 'S light, I could so beat the rogue : — Sir To. Peace, I say. Mai. To be count Malvolio : — Sir To. Ah, rogue 1 Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Sir To. Peace, peace ! Mai. There is example for 't ; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! Fab. Oh, peace 1 now he 's deeply in ; look, how imagina- tion blows him. Mai. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, — Sir To. 0, for a sto-ne-bow, to hit him in the eye ! Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown ; having come from a day-bed, where I left Ohvia sleeping. Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! Fab. Oh, peace, peace ! Mai. And then to have the humor of state ; and after a de- mure trav.el of regard, . — telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs, — to ask for my kinsman Toby : Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! Fab. Oh, peace, peace, peace ! now, now. Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him : I frovra the while ; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches ; court' sies there to me : — Sir To. Shah this fellow live ? Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. ' Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control : — DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 445 Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then ? Mai. Saying, " Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech — " Sir To. What, what ? Mai. " You must amend your drunkenness." Sir To. Out, scab ! Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. Mai. " Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight — " Sir And. That 's me, I warrant you. Mai. " One Sir Andrew." Sir And. I knew 't was I ; for many call me fool. Mai. What employment have we here ? ( Talcing up the letter.) Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. Oh, peace ! and the spirit of humors intimate reading aloud to him ! Mai. By my hfe, this is my lady's hand : these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's ; and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand. Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her ^'s : Why that ? Mai. (reads.) " To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes :" her very phrases ! — By your leavi, wax. Soft ! — and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal : 't is my lady. To whom should this be ? Fai. This wins him, liver and all. Mai. (reads.) " Jove knows, I love : But who ? Lips do not move, No man must know. No man must know." What follows ? the numbers altered ! — " No man must know :" — If this should be thee, Malvolio ? Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! Mai. " I may command, where I adore : But silence, like a Lucrece knife. With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore ; M, 0, A, I, doth sway my hfe." Fab. A fustian riddle ! Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. Mai. " M, 0, A, I, doth sway my life." Nay, but first, let me see, — let me see, — let me see. Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him ! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks at it ! Mai. " I may command where I adore." Why, she may com Tnand me ; I serve her, st? is my lady. — Why, this is evident 446 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKBR. to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this. And the end, — wtat should that alphabetical position portend ? if I could make that resemble something in me. — t^oft-ly ! — M, 0, A, /.— Sir To. Oh, ay ! make up that : — he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowter will cry upon 't, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox. Mai. M, — Malvolio ; — M, — why, that begins my name. Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out ? the cur is excel- lent at faults. Mai. M, — But then there is no consonancy in the sequel ; that suffers under probation : A should follow, but does. Fab. And shall end, I hope. Sir To. Ay, or I '11 cudgel him, and make him cry 0. Mai. And then /comes behind. Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you. Mai. " M, 0, A, I ;" — This simulation is not as the former : and yet, to cnish this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft ! here follows prose. " If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my .stars I am above thee : but be not afraid of greatness ; some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands : let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite vfith a kinsman, surly with servants : let thy tongue tang arguments of state ; put thyself into the trick of singularity : she thus ad- vises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings ; and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered : I say, remember. Go to ; thou art made, if thou desirest to be so : if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, " The FoRTUNATE-XjNHAPPy." Day-light and champian discovers not more : this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, 1 will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me ; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered ; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction, diives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with DIALOGUES SEKIO0S AND COMIC. 447 the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and m j stars be praised ! — Here is yet a postscript. " Thou canst not choose but linow who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling ; thy smiles become thee well : therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr'y thee." Jove, I thank thee. I will smile ; I will do everything that thou wilt have me. ( Exit. ) Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. Sir And. So could I too. Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest. SHAKSPEAEB. THE FOOL IN OFFICE. DOGBEKRT VERGES — COMRADE BOKACHIO SEXTON WATCH. {Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton in gowns ; and the Watch, wiih Conrade and Borachio.') Dogh. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton. Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner. Verg. Nay, that 's certain; we have the exhibition to examine. Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined ? let them come before master constable. Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — What is your name, friend ? Bora. Borachio. Dogb. Pray, write down — Borachio. Yours, sirrah ? Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. Dogb. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. — Masters, do you serve God ? (Jon. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope. Dogb. Write down — that they hope tney serve God : — and write God first : for God defend but God should go before such villains ! ■ — Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves ? Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none, Dogb. A marvelous witty fellow, I assure you ; but I will go about with him. — Come you hither, sirrah ; a word in your ear, sir ; I say /;o you, it is thought you arc false knaves. 448 THE ^■EW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. JDoc/h. Well, stand" aside. — 'Fore God, they are both in a tale : have vou writ down — that they are none ? Sexton, blaster constable, you go not the way to examine : you must call forth the watch that are their accusers. Dogb. Yea, marry, that 's the eftest way : let the watch come forth : — Masters, I charge you in the prince's name, accuse these men. 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain. Dogb. Write down — Prince John a villain : — why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother — villain. .Bora. Master constable, — Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I , do not like thy look, I promise thee. Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John, for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully. Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. Sexton. What else, fellow ? . Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her. Dogb. villain ! thou will be condemned into everlasting redemption for this. Sexton. What else ? 2 Watch. This is all. Sexton. And tliis is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away ; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and iipon the grief of this, suddenly died. Master constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's ; I will go before, and show him their examination. (Mxit.) Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. Verg. Let them be in band. Con. Off, coxcomb ! Dogb. God 's my life ! where 's the sexton ? let him write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — Come, bind them. — Thou naughty varlet ! Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years ? — that he were here to write me down — an ass ! — but, masters, remember that I am an ass ; though it be not writ- ten down, yet forget not that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good DIALCGUES SERIOUS AND COMIO. 449 witness. I am a wise fellow ; and, wliicli is more, an officer ; and, wliicli is more, a householder ; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina ; and one that knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had losses ; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him : — bring him away. 0, that I had been writ down — an ass. shakspeare. DOGBERRY'S CHARGE. BOGBEERT VERGES WATCH. Dogh. Are you good men and true ? Yerg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salva- tion, body and soul. Dogh. JSTay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch. Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbor Dogberry. Bogb. First, who think you the most disheartless man to be constable ? 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and read. Bogb. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good name : to be a well-favored man is the gift of for- tune ; but to write and read comes by nature. 2 Watch. Both which, master constable, — Bogb. You have ; I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favor, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it ; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity.' You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch ; therefore, bear you the lantern. This is your charge ; — you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 2 Watch. How if he will not stand ? Bogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave. Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects. Bogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince's subjects. You shall also make no noise La the streets ; for, foi 29 450 TITE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. the watch to babble and talk, is most tolerable, and not to be endured. 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk ; we know what belongs to a watch. Boijh. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watch- man ; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend : only, have a care that your bills be not stolen : — Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 2 Watch. How if they will not ? Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are sober ; if they make you not then the better answer, you may say, they are not the men you took them for. 2 Watch: Well, sir. Dor/b. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man : and, for such kind of men, the less you nieddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him ? Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may ; but, I think, they that touch pitch will be defiled : the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company. Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog, by my will ; much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us. Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying : for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when he bleats. Verg. 'T is veiy true. Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, are to present the prince's own person ; if you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. Verg. Nay, by 'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. Dogb. Five shillings to one on 't, with any man that knows the statutes, he may stay him : marry, not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offense to stay a man against his will. Verg. By 'r lady, I think, it be so. Dogb. Ha, lia, ha ! Well, masters, good night : an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me : keep your fellows counsels and your own, and good night. — Come, neighbor. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 451 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let us go sit here upon the clmrch-hench tilt two, and then all to bed. Doffb. One word more, honest neighbors : I pray you, watch about Signior Leonato's door ; for the wedding being there to- morrow, there is a great coil to-night : — adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. shakspbars. THE AMATEUR TRAGEDIANS. snug BOTTOM FLUTE SNOUT QUINCE STAKVELING. Quin. Is all our company here ? £oi. You were best to call them generally, man by man, ac- cording to the scrip. Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his wedding-day at night. £ot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on ; then read the names of the actors ; and so grow to a point. Quin. MaiTy, our play is — The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. JBot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroU : masters, spread yourselves. Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Mok Bottom, the weaver. £oi. Ready : name what part I am for, and proceed. Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. £ot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ? Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love. £ot. That will ask some tears in the true perfortning of it : if I do "it, let the audience look to their eyes ; I will move storms ; I will condole in some measure. To the rest : — Yet my chief humor is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. " The raging rocks. With shivering shocks. Shall break the locks Of prison gates ; And Phibbus' car Shall shine from far, And make and mar The foolish fates." 453 THE MEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players. — This is Ercli"-' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is more condoling. Qaiii. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. Ilii. Here, Peter Quince. Qiiin. You must take Thisby on you. i^/«. What is Thisby? a wandering knight? Qidn. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. J^lu. Nay, faitli, let me not play a woman ; I have a beard coming. Quin. That 's all one ; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will. £ot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too : I 'U speak in a monstrous little voice- — " Thisne, Thisne. — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear ; thy Thisby dear ! and lady dear ! " Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyramus, and. Flute, you Thisby. £oi. Well, proceed. Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. Star. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. Eobin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker. Snout. Here, Peter Quince. Quill. You, Pyramus's father ; myself, Thisby's father ; Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part : — and, I hope, here is a play fitted. Snuff. Have you the lion's part written ? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. £ot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will roar, that I will make the duke say, "Let him roar again, let him roar again." Qtdn. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would sliriek ; and that were enough to hang us all. All. That would hang us every mother's son. £ot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us ; but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove ; I will roar you an 't were any nightingale. Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man — a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day — a most lovely, gentleman-like man; therefore, you must needs play Pyramus. £oi. Well, I wiU undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in ? DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 453 Quin. Why, what jovl -will. Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-colored beard, j-our orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your rrench-crown-color beard, your perfect yellow. Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play barefaced. — But, masters, here are your parts : and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night ; and meet me in the j)alace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight ; there will we rehearse : for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with company, and our devices known. In the meantime, I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. Bot. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse more obscenely and courageously. Takg- pains ; be perfect ; adieu. Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. Bot. Enough ; hold, or cut bow-strings. shakspbaek. FATHER'S WIT AND MOTHER'S TONGUE ARMADO M.OTH. Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great spirit grows melancholy ? Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp. Moth. No, no ; Lord, sir, no. Ai-m. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my ten- der Juvenal ? Moth. By a fanuHar demonstration of the working, my tough senior. Arm. Why tough senior ? why tough senior ? Moth. Why tender juvenal ? why tender juvenal ? Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a' congruent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender. Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty and apt. Moth. How mean you, sir ? I pretty, and my saying apt ? or I apt, and my saying pretty ? Arm: Thou pretty, because little. Moth. Little pretty, because little :— wherefore apf? Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 454 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Moth. Speak you this in ray praise, master ? Arm. In thy condign praise. Molh. I will praise an eel with the same praise. Ar)ii. What ? that an eel is ingenious ? Moth. That an eel is quick. Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers : Thou heatest my blood. Moth. I am answered, sir. Arm. I love not to be crossed. Moth. He speaks the mere contrary : crosses love not him. (Aside.) Arm. I have promised to study three years with the auke. Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. Am. Impossible. Moth. How many is one thrice told ? Arm. I am ill at reckoning ; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster. Molh. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir. Arm. I confess both ; they are both the varnish of a complete man. Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. Moth. Which the base vulgar do call, three. Arm. True. Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study ? Now, here is three studied, ere you '11 thrice wink : and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will tell you. Arm. A most fine figure ! Moth. To prove you a cipher. (Aside.) Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love ; and, as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If draw- ing my sword against the humor of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devised cour- tesy. I think scorn to sigh ; methinks I should outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : what great men have been in love ? Moth. Hercules, master. Arm. Most sweet Hercules ! — More authority, dear boy ; name more ; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good re- pute and carriage. Moth. Samson, master : he was a man of good carriage, great carriage ; for he carried the town-gates on his back, like a porter : and he w^s in love. Arm. 0, well-knit Samson ! strong-jointed Samson ! I do DIALOGtJKS — SERIOUS AND COMIC. 455 excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too, — who was Samson's love, my dear Moth ? Moth. A woman, master. Arm. Of what complexion? Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four. Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. Arm. Is that one of the four complexions ? Moth. As 1 have read, sir ; and the best o' them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the color of lovers ; but to have a love of that color, methinks, Samson had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit. Moth. It was so, sir ; for she had a green wit. Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colors. Arm. Define, define, well educated infant. Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue assist me ! Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty, and pathetical I Moth. If she be made of white and red. Her faults will ne'er be known ; For blushing ohCeks by faults are bred, ' And fears by pale- white shown ; Then, if she fear, or be to blame. By this you shall not know ; For still her cheeks possess the same. Which native she doth owe. A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar ? Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since ; but, I think, now 't is not to be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing nor the tune. Ai-m. I will have the subject newly writ o'er, that I may ex- ample my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard ; she deserves well. Moth. To be whipped ; and yet a better love than my master. [Aside.) Arm. Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that 's great marvel, loving a light wench. Arm. I say, sing. Moth. Forbear till this company be past. shakspearb. 456 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. THE USURER'S BOND. ANTONIO BASSANIO SHTLOOK. Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well. Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. Sky. For three months, — well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. S/iy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. Bass. May you stead me ? WOl you pleasure me ? Shall I know your answer ? S/iy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound. Bass. Your answer to that. Shy. Antonio is a good man. BaSs. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? Sky. Ho, no, no, no, no; — my meaning, in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me, that he is sufficient : yet his means are in supposition : he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies : I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, — and other ventures he hath, squandered abroad : but ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land -thieves ; I mean, pirates ; and then, there • is the peril of waters, winds, and rooks : the man is, notwith- standing, sufficient ; — three thousand ducats ; — I think, I may take his bond. Bass. Be assured you may. Sky. I will be assured I may : and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me : may I speak with Antonio. Bass. If it please you to dine with us. Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the JSTazarite, conjured the devil into : I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so follow- ing ; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto ? — Who is he comes here ? (^MUer Antonio.) Bass. This is Signior Antonio. Shy. (Aside.) How like a fawning publican he looks ! I hate him for he is a Christian : But more, for that, in low simplicity. He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. DIALOaUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 457 He hates our sar.red nation ; and he rails, Even there vhere merchants most do congregate, On me, my bargains, and my well-wfjii thrift, Which he calls interest : — cursed be my tribe. If I forgive him ! £a3s. Shylock, do you hear ? Sky. I am debating of my present store ; And, by the near guess of my memory, I cannot instantly raise up the gross Of full three thousand ducats. What of that ? Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe. Will furnish me : — but soft ; — how many months Do you deshe ? — Rest you fair, good signior ; (Tv Aru. ! lujh. I must, then, answer your question by another. How have you passed your life ? Alex. Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell you. Among . the brave, I have been the bravest ; among sovereigns, the noblest ; among conquercjrs, the mightiest. Roh. And does not Fame speak of me, too ? Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band ? Was there ever — but I scorn to boast. You yourself know that I have not been easily subdued. Alex. StiU, what arc you, but a robber — a base, di.shonest robber ? Bob. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too, gone about the i^arth like an evil genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry ; plundering, ravaging, kilhng without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion ? All that I have done to a single district, with a hundred follow- ers, you have done to whole nations, with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing- king-doms and cities of the earth. What is ■ T then the difference, but that as you were born a king, and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I ? Alex. But if I have taken like a kins;, I have given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy. Bob. I, too, have freely given to the poor, what I took from the rich. I have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of mankind ; and have stretched out my protect- ing arm over the oppressed. I know, indeed, httle of the phi- losophy you talk of ; but I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world for the mischief we have done it. Alex. Leave me. — Take off his chains ; and use him well. Are we, then, so much alike ? Alexander to a robber ? — Let me reflect. db. aikbn. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 499 THE CONSTABLE DE BOURBON. BOURBON GONZALES. Bour. How now ? A priest ! what means this most unwelcome visit ? Oon. Who questions thus a son of the holy church ? Look on these walls, whose stern, time-stained brows. Frown hie relentless justice on their inmates ! Listen ! — that voice is echo's dull reply Unto the ratthng of your chains, my lord : — What should a priest do here ? Bour. Ay, what, indeed ! — Unless you come to soften down these stones With your discourse, and teach the tedious echo A newer lesson : ti'ust me, that is all Your presence, father, will accomphsh here. Oon. Oh ! sinful man ! and is thy heart so hard, That I might easier move thy prison stones ! Know, then, my mission — death is near at hand ! Bour. Go to ! go to ! I have fought battles, father, Where death and I have met in full close contact. And parted, knowing we should meet again ; Go prate to others about skulls and graves ; Thou never didst in heat of combat stand. Or know what good acquaintance soldiers have With the pale scarecrow — death ! Gon. (^ Aside.) Ah! thinkest thou so ? Hear me, thou hard of heart ! They who go forth to battles, are led on With sprightly trumpets and shrill clamorous clarions ; The drum doth roll its double notes along. Echoing the horses' tramp ; and the sweet fife Runs through the yielding air in dulcet measure. That makes the heart leap in its case of steel ! Thou shalt be knelled unto thy death by bells. Ponderous and iron-tong-ued, whose sullen toll Shall cleave thy aching brain, and on thy soul Fall with a leaden weight : the muffled drum Shall mutter round thy path like distant thunder ; Instead of the war-cry, the wild battle-roar, — That swells upon the tide of victory. And seems unto the conqueror's eager ear. Triumphant harmony of glorious discords, There shall be voices cry foul shame on thee ! 500 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. And the infuriate populace shall clamor To heaven for lightnings on thy rebel head ! Bour. Monks love not bells, which call tlicm up to prayers In the dead noon of night, when they would snore, Rather than watch : but, fatliev, I care not, E'en if the ugliest sound I e'er did hear — Thy raven voice — croak curses o'er my grave. Oon. What ! death and shame ! alike you heed them not ! Then, mercy ! use thy soft, persuasive arts. And melt this stubborn spii'it ! Be it known To you, my lord, the queen hath sent me hither. Bour. Then get thee hence again, foul, pandering priest I By heaven ! I knew that cowl did cover o'er Some filthy secret, that the day dared not To pry into — out, thou unholy thing ! Oon. Hold, madman ! If for thy fame, if for thy warm heart's blood Thou wilt not hear me, listen in the name of France, thy country! Bour. I have no country, — I am a traitor, cast from out the arms Of my ungrateful country ! I disown it ! Withered be all its glories, and its pride ! May it become the slave of foreign power ! May foreign princes grind its thankless children, And make all those who are such fools, as yet To spill their blood for it, or for its cause. Dig it like dogs ! and when they die, like dogs, Rot on its surface, and make fat the soil. Whose produce shall be seized by foreign hands ! Oon. You beat the air with idle words ; no man Doth know how deep his country's love lies grained In his heart's core, until the hour of trial ! Fierce though you hurl your curse upon the land, Whose monarchs cast ye from its bosom, yet Let but one blast of war come echoing From where the Ebro and the Duero roll, — Let but the Pyrenees reflect the gleam Of twenty of Spain's lances, — and your sword Shall leap from out its scabbard to your hand ! Bour. Ay, priest, it shall ! eternal heaven, it shall ! And its far flash shall lighten o'er the land, Tlie leading star of Spain's victorious host. But flaming like some dire portentous comet. In the eyes of France, and her proud governors ! Be merciful, my fate, nor cut me off DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 50 1 Ere I have wreaked my fell desire, and made Infamy glorious, and dishonor fame ! But, if my wayward destiny hath willed That I should here be butchered shamefully, By the immortal soul that is man's portion. His hope and his inheritance, I swear. That on the day that Spain o'erflows its bounds, And rolls the tide of war upon these plains. My spirit on the battle's edge shall ride ; And louder than death's music and the roar Of combat, shall my voice be heard to shout, On — on — to victory and carnage ! Gon. Now That day is come, ay, and that very hour ; Now shout your war-cry, now unsheath your sword ! I '11 join the din, and make these tottering walls Tremble and nod to hear our fierce defiance ! Nay, never start, and look upon my cowl. — Oft' ! vile denial of my manhood's pride ! — Nay, stand not gazing thus : it is Garcia, Whom thou hast met in deadly fight full oft, When France and Spain joined in the battle-field ! Beyond the Pyrenean boundary That guards thy land are forty thousand men — Impatient halt they there ; their foaming steeds Pawing the huge and rock-built barrier. That bars their further course : they wait for thee : For thee whom France hath injured and cast off : For thee, whose blood it pays with shameful chains. More shameful death ; for thee, whom Charles of Spain Summons to head his host, and lead them on To conquest and to glory ! Bour. To revenge ! Why, how we dream ! why look, Garcia ; canst thou. With mumbled priestcraft file away these chains, Or must I bear them into Spain with me. That Charles may learn what guerdon valor wins This side the Pyrenees ? Gon. It shall not need — What ho ! but hold — together with this garb, Methinks I have thrown off my prudence ! {Resumes ike monk's cowl.) Bour. What! Wilt thou to Spain with me in frock and cowl. That men shall say De Bourbon is turned driveler, 602 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. And rides to war in. companj- with monlss ? Oon. Listen, the queen for her own purposes Confided to my hand her signet-ring, Bidding me strike your fetters off, and lead you By secret passes to her private chamber ; But being free, so use thy freedom, that Before the morning's da'svn all search be fruitless. — {^Enter Jailer.) What ho ! within. Behold this signet-ring ! Strike off those chains, and get thee gone. [Exit Jailer.) And now follow. — How 's this — dost doubt me, Bourbon ? Bour. Ay, First for thy habit's sake ; and next, because Thou rather, in a craven priest's disguise, Tarriest in danger in a foreign court. Than seekest that danger in thy country's wars. Gon. Thou art unarmed : there is my dagger ; 't is The only weapon that I bear, lest fate Should play me false ; take it, and use it, too, If in the dark and lonely path I lead thee. Thou markest me halt, or turn, or make a sign Of treachery ! — but first tell me, dost know John Count Laval ? Bour. What ! Lautrec's loving friend. Now bound for Italy, along with him ? Qon. Then the foul fiend hath mingled in my plot, And marred it too ! my life's sole aim and purpose ! Didst thou but know what damned injuries, What foul unknightly shame and obloquy, His sire — whose name is wormwood to my mouth — Did heap upon our house — ■ didst thou but know — No matter — get thee gone — I tarry here ? And should we never meet again, when thou Shalt hear of the most fearful deed of daring, Of the most horrible and bloody tale, That ever graced a beldam's midnight legend, Or froze her gaping listners, think of me And my revenge ! now, Bourbon, heaven speed thee ! EEMBLE, DIALOGUES SERIOTTS AND COMIC. 603 THE LOST MAIDEN MOKDENT LENOX. Mor. We are now in private. Len. I am glad -we are. Mor. And now, sir, I insist on a clear and explicit answer. \Vhere may I find Joanna ? Len. Nay, sir, where may I find Joanna ? Mor. Mr. Lenox, I will not be trifled with ; where is she ? Len. Nor will I be trifled with, Mr. Mordent : I say where is she ? The contrivance was your own. I know you. The moment you set your eyes on her, you began your treacherous plots to secure her afl'ections ; and, when you found I would not resign mine at your persuasion, you put them in practice, while you treacherously pretended to secure her to me. I tell you, I know you. Mor. This will not serve, sir ; it is all evasion. Len. A.J, sir, it is evasion ! cunning, cruel, base evasion ! and I afiirm she is in your possession. Mot. Mr. Lenox, I am at this moment a determined - and desperate man, and must be answered. Where is she ? Len. Sir, I am as determined and desperate as yourself, and I say where is she ? For you alone can tell. Mor. 'T is false ! Len. False ? Mor. Ay, false ! Len. ( Going up to him. ) He is the falsest of the false that dares whisper such a word. Mor. Hark ye, sir ! I understand your meaning, and came purposely provided. [Draws a pair of pistols.) Take your choice ; they are loaded. Len. Oh ! with all my heart ! Come, sir ! Mor. [Approaching sternly.) Nigher ! Len. As nigh as you please. Mor. [Placing himself.) Foot to foot ! Len. [Both presenting.) Muzzle to muzzle 1 Mor. Why don 't you fire ? Len. Why don 't you unlock your pistol ? Mor. [After unlocking it.) There ! Len. Why do you turn it out of the line ? [Pause.) I see your ratention. Mordent, you are tired of life and want me to murder you. Hang it, man, that is not treating your friend like a friend. Kill me if you will, hut don 't make me your assassin. 504 THE NEW AMERICAN- SPEAKER. Mor. Nay, kill me, or tell me where I may find the wretched Joanna. Len. Fiends seize me, if I can tell you ! I know not where, or what is become of her. Mor. Your behavior tells me you are sincere ; and to con- vince you at once that I am no less so, know — she is my daughter. Len. Your daughter ! — I '11 seek the world through with you to find her. Forgive me ! Mor. Would I could forgive myself ! Len. But it seems then, she has escaped, and is perhaps in safety. Mor. Oh ! that she were ! Let us retire. holcraft. THE HAKON JARL. HAKON EKLIHS. » (^Hahon enters, leading his son Erling by the hand.) Erl. 'T is cold, my father ! Hak. 'T is yet early morning. Art thou so very chill ? Erl. Nay, 't is no matter. — I shall behold the rising sun — how grand ! A sight that I have never known before. Hale. Seest thou yon ruddy streaks along the east ? Erl. What roses ! how they bloom and spread on high 1 Yet father, tell me whence come all these pearls, Wherewith the valley here is richly strewn ? How brightly they reflect the rosy light ! Hak. They are not pearls, it is the morning dew ! And that which thou deemest roses, is the sun ! Seest thou ? he rises now. Look at him, boy ! Erl. Oh ! what a beauteous whirling globe he soems . How fiery red ! Dear father, can we never Visit the sun in yonder distant land ? Eak. My child, our whole life thitherward is tending , That flaming ball of light is Odin's eye — His other is the moon, of milder Hght, That he just now has left in Mimer's well. There by the charmful waves to be refreshed Erl. And where is Mimer's well ? Hak. The sacred ocean — DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 508 That is old Mimev's deep and potent well. That strengthens Odin's eyes. From the cool waves , At morning duly comes the sun refreshed. The moon again by night. Erl. But now it hurts me — It mounts too high. Hak. Upon his golden throne, The almighty father mounts, soon to survey The whole wide earth. The central diamond In his meridian crown, our earthly sight May not contemplate. What man darest to meet The unveiled aspect of the king of day ? Erl. [Terrified.) Hu ! hu ! my father — in the forest What are those bearded, frightful men ? [yonder — Hak. Fear not — They are the statues of the gods, by men Thus hewn in marble. They blind not with sun-gleams. Before them we can pray with confidence. And look upon them with untroubled firmness. Come child — let us go nearer ! Erl. No, my father ! I am afraid -^ seest thou that old man there ! Him with the beard ? I am afraid of him ! Hak. Child, it is Odin — wouldst thou fly from Odin ? Erl. No — no — I fear not the great king in heaven — He is so good and beautiful, and calls The flowers from earth's bosom, and himself shines Like a flower on high ; — but that pale sorcerer — He grins like an assassin ! Hak. Ha ! Erl. Father, At least let me bring my crown of flowers. I left it there on the hedge, when first Thou broughtest me hither to see the sun rise. Then let us go home ; Believe me that old man there means no good ! Hak. Go bring thy wreath, and quickly come again, A lamb for sacrifice is ever crowned. {Exit Erling.) Immortal powers ! Behold the faith of Hakon in this deed. {Re-enter Erling.) Erl. Here am I father, and here 's the crown. Hak. Yet Ere thou goest, my child, kneel down before Great Odin. Stretch thy hands both up to heaven, And say, " Almighty father ! hear little 43 50fl THE NEW AMEUICAS BPBAKJER. Erling — as thy child receive him to thy Paternal bosom." ( He kneels, stretching his arms out toward the sun, and says with childish innocence and simplicity ,) Erl. Oh ! Great Odin, hear Little Erhng ! as thy child receive him To thy paternal bosom. (^Hahon, who stands behind, draws his dagger, and intends to stab him,, but it drops out of his hand ; jErling turns round quietly, takes it up, and says as he rises,) Here it is — Your dagger, father : 't is so bright and sharp ! When I grow taller I will have one too, Thee to defend against thy enemies. Hak. Ha ! what enchanter with such words assists To move thy father's heart ? Hrl. How 's this, my father ? You are not angry, sure ! What have I done ? Hak. Come Erling ! follow me behind that statue I Url. Behind that frightful man ! Oh 1 no. Hak. Yet listen 1 There are red roses blooming there, not white — But red and purple roses — 't is a pleasure To see them shooting forth. Come then, my child ! S!rl, Dear father, stay, — I am so much afraid — I do not love red roses. Hak. Come, I say. Hearest thou not Hemidal's cock ! He crows and crows. Now it is time. anonymous THE SARACEN BROTHERS. SALADIN MALES ADHEL ATTENDANT. Ait. A stranger craves admittance to your highness. Sal. Whence comes he ? Att. That I know not — Enveloped in a vestment of strange form. His countenance is hidden, but his step, His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised. Proclaim — if that I dared pronounce it, — Sal. Whom? Att. Thy royal brother. Sal. Bring him instantly. (Uxii Attendant.) Now with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue, DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIO. 507 Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinlis To dissipate my anger — he sliall die. (^Enter Attendant, and Maleh Adhel.) Sal. Leave us together. {^Kvit Attendant.) [Aside.) I should Now summon all thy fortitiide, my soul. [know that torai. Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty. (Aloiid.) Well, stranger, speak ; but first unveil thyself, For Saladin must view the form that fronts him. Mai. Ad. Behold it, then ! Sal. I see a traitor's visage. Mai. Ad. A brother's. Sal. No — Saladin owns no kindred with a villain. Mai. Ad. Oh, patience, heaven ! Had any tongue but thin)- Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another. Sal. And why not now ? Can this heart be more pierced By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds ? Oh, thou hast made a desert of this bosom ! For open candor, planted sly disguise ; For confidence, suspicion ; and the glow Of generous friendship, tenderness, and love. For ever banished. Whither can I turn, When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith. By every tie bound to support, forsakes me ? Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls ? Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love. The smiles of friendship — and this glorious world, In which all find some heart to rest upon, Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void — His brother has betrayed him 1 * Mai. Ad. Thou art softened ; I am thy brother, then ; but late thou saidst — My tongue can never utter the base title. Sal. Was it traitor ? True — Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes. Villain ? 'T is just ; the title is appropriate. Dissembler ? 'T is not written in thy face ; No, nor imprinted on that specious brow. But on this breaking heart the name is stamped, For ever stamped, with that of Malek Adhel. Thinkest thou I 'm softened ? By Mohammed, these hands Should crush these aching eyeballs, ere a tear Fall from them at thy fate ! — Oh monster, monster 1 The brute that tears the infant from its nurse Is excellent to thee, for in his form 508 THE KEW AMERICAN SPEAIOJB. The impulse of his nature may be read, — But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble. Oh, what a wretch art thou ! Oh ! can a term In all the various tongues of man be found To match th}' infamy ? 2Ial. Jd. Go on, go on ; 'T is but a little while to hear thee, Saladin, And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will prove Its penitence at least. Sal. That were an end Too noble for a traitor ; the bowstring is A more appropriate finish — thou shalt die ! Alal. Ad. And death were welcome at another's mandate 1 What, what have I to live for ? Be it so, If that in all thy armies can bo found An executing hand. Sal. Oh, doubt it not ? They 're eager for the office. Perfidy, So black as thine, efi^aces from their minds All memory of thy former excellence. Mai. Ad. Defer not then their wishes. Saladin, If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight. This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, accede To my last prayer — Oh, lengthen not this scene, To which the agonies of death were pleasing — Let me die speedily. Sal. This very hour ! (Aside.) For ho ! the more I look upon that face. The more I hear the accents of that voice. The monarch softens, anft the jiiage ib x)Su In all the brother's weakness ; vet such p-uilt Such vile ingratitude, it tft3s for veng^anct;, And vengeance it shall have 1 What ho ! who waits there ? (Enter Attendant.) Att. Did your highness call ? Sal. Assemble quickly My forces in the court ! — tell them they come To view the death of yonder bosom-traitor : And bid them mark, that he who will not spare His brother when he errs, exoects ohftdience Silent obedience from h'e C'..jor>ci=. Jixit Attendant.) Mai. Ad. New, SdI&.'i'.L- The word is given — I have nothing more To fear from thee, my brother — I am not About to crave a miserable life — DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 609 Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem, Life were a burthen to me : think not, either, The justice of thy sentence I would qiiestion : But one request now trembles on my tongue. One wish still clinging round the heart, which soon Not even that shall torture — will it then, Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter. Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect, That when thy voice had doomed a brother's death, The last request which e'er was his to utter. Thy harshness made him carry to the grave ? Sal. Speak, then ,' but ask thyself if thou hast reason To look for much indulgence here. Mai. Ad. I have not ! Yet will I ask for it. We part for ever ; This is our last farewell ; the king is satisfied ; The judge has spoken the irrevocable sentence : None sees, none hears, save that omniscent power, Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon Two brothers part like such. When in the face Of forces once my own, I 'm led to death, Then be thine eye unmoistened ; let thy voice Then speak my doom untrembling ; then, Unmoved behold this stiff and blackened corse. Bat now I ask — nay, turn not, Saladin — I ask one single pressure of thy hand. From that stern eye one solitary tear — Oh, torturing recollection ! one kind word From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kindness. Still silent ? Brother ! — • friend . — • beloved companion Of all my youthful sports — are they forgotten ? Strike me with deafness, make me blind. Oh heaven ! Let me not see this unforgiving man Smile at my agonies — nor hear that voice Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word, One little word, .which cherished memory Would sooth the struggles of departing life — Yet, yet thou wilt — Oh, turn thee Saladin ! Look on my face, thou canst not spurn me then ; Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel For the last time, and call him — Sal. [Seiziyig his hand.) Brother! brother! Mai. Ad. [Breahing away.) Now call thy followers. Death has not now A single pang in store. Proceed ! I 'm ready. 510 THE KKW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Sal. Oh, art thou ready to forgive, my brotlier, — To pardon him who found one single error. One little failing 'mid a splendid throng Of glorious qualities — Mai. Ad. Oh stay thee, Saladin ! I did not ask for life — I only -wished To carry thy forgiveness to the grave. jS'o, emperor, the loss of Cesarea Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel. Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost What cost them many a weary hour to gain. Should expiate his offenses with his life. Lo, even now they crowd to view my death. Thy just impartiality. — I go — Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf To thy proud wreath of glory. ( Going.) Sal. Thou shalt not. (Enter Attendant.) Alt. My lord, the troops assembled by your orde? Tumultuous throng the courts — the prince's death Not one of them but vows he will not suffer — The mutes have fled — the very guards rebel — Nor think I in this city's spacious round, Can e'er be found a hand to do the office. 3fal. Ad. Oh, faithful friends ! (To Atten.) Thine shalt. Att. Mine ? — Never ! — The other first shall lop it from the body. Sal. They teach the emperor his duty well. Tell them he thanks them for it — tell them, too. That ere their opposition reached our ears, Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel. Att. Oh joyful news 1 I haste to gladden many a gallant heart, And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek Unused to such a visitor. (Exit.) Sal. These men, the meanest in society. The outcasts of the earth, — -by war, by nature Hardened, and rendered callous ■ — these, who claim No kindred with thee — who have never heard The accents of affection from thy lips — Oh, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance, Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives. To save thee from destruction. While I, I, who cannot in all my memory Call back one danger which thou hast not shared. One day of grief, one night of revehy, DIALOQCES SEMOUS AND COMla 511 Wliich thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter ; I, who have thrice in the ensangnined field, When death seemed certain, only uttered — •" Brother 1" And seen that form like lightning rash between Saladin and his foes — and that^brave breast Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow Intended for my own — I could forget That 't was to thee I owed the very breath Which sentenced thee to perish. Oh, 't is shameful I Thou canst not pardon me. Mai. Ad. By these tears I can — Oh, brother ! from this very hour, a new, A glorious life commences — I am all thine. Again the day of gladness or of anguish Shall Malek Adhel share, and oft again May this sword fence thee in the bloody field. Henceforth, Saladin, My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine for ever. ANONTMOtrS. HOW TO TELL BAD NEWS. Mr. if. Ha ! Steward, how are you, my old boy ? How do things go on at home ? Slew. Bad enough, your honor; the magpie's dead. Mr. H. Poor mag ! so he 's gone. How came he to die ? Stew. Over-ate himself, sir. Mr. H. Did he, faith ? a greedy dog ; why, what did he get iie hked so well ? Stew. Horse-flesh, sir ; he died of eating horse-flesh. Mr. H. How came he to get so mueh horse-flesh ? Stew. All your father's horses, sir. Mr. H. What ! are they dead, too ? Stew. Ay, sir ; the'y died of over-work. Mr. H. And why were they over-worked, pray 1 Sieiv. To carry water, sir. Mr. H. To carry water ! and what were they carrying water for? Stew. Sure sir, to put out the fire- Mt.H. Fire! what fire? 513 THE NEW AMEKICAN SPEAKER. Stew, Oh, sir, your father's house is burned doivn to the gi-ound. Mr. II. My father's house burned down ! and how came it set on lire ? tStew. I think, sir, it must have been the torches. 3L-. II. Torches ! what torches ? Sieiv. At your mother's funeral. Mr. H. My mother dead ! Stew. Ah, poor lady, she never looked up after it. Mr. H. After what ? Stew. The loss of your father. Mr. H. My father gone too ? Stew. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it. Mr. H. Heard of what ? Slew. The bad news, sir, and please your honor. Mr. H. What ! more miseries ! more bad news ? Slew. Yes, sir, youi; bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news. anonymous INDIGESTION. BR. GKEGORY — PATIENT. {Scene. — Dr. Gregory's study. Enter a plump Glasgow merchant.) Pa. Good morning, Dr. Gregory ! I 'm just come into Edin- burgh about some law business, and I thought when I was here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, about my trouble. Dr. Pray, sir, sit down. And now, my good sir, what may your trouble be ? Fa. Indeed, doctor, I 'm not very sure ; but I 'm thinking it 's a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pinkling about my stomach ; — I 'm just na right. Dr. You are from the west country, I should suppose, sir ? Pa. Yes, sir, from Glasgow. Dr. Ay ; pray, sir, are you a glutton ? Pa. God forbid, sir ; I 'm one of the plainest men livin"' in all the west country. DIALOG OKS SERIOUS AND COMIC. 513 Dr. Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard ? Pa. No, Dr. Gregory ; thank God, no one can accuse me of that. I 'm of the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder ; so you may suppose I 'm na drunkard. Dr. I '11 siippose no such thing till you tell me your mode of life. I 'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I should wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink. When do you breakfast, and what do you take at it ? Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock ; take a cup of coffee, and one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kip- pered salmon, or, may be, both, if they 're good, and two or three rolls and butter. Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast ? Pa. Oh, yes, sir ! but I do n't count that as any thing. Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind of a dinner do you make ? Pa. Oh, sir, I eat a very plain dinner indeed. Some soup, and some fish, and a httle plain roast or boiled ; for I dinna care for made dishes : I thiak, some way, they never satisfy the appetite. Dr. You take a little pudding, then, and afterwards some cheese ? Pa. Oh, yes ! though I do n't care much about them. Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese ? Pa. Yes, one or the other ; but seldom both. Dr. You west-country people generally*take a glass of High- land whisky after dinner. Pa. Yes, we do ; it 's good for digestion. Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner? Pa. Yes, a g^ass or two of sherry ; but I 'm indifferent as to wine during dinner. I driuk a good deal of beer. Dr. What quantity of port do you drmk ? Pa. Oh, very little ; not above half a dozen glasses or so. Dr. In the west country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine with- out punch ? Pa. Yes, sir ; indeed, 't is punch we drink chiefly ; but for myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that 's moderate. Dr. Oh, exceedingly moderate indeed ! You then, after this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter ? Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the eve- ning letters. Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose ? Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to take supper ; just something before going to bed ; — a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted 33 514 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. cheese, or a half-hundred of oysters, or the like o' that, and may be, two-thii-ds of a bottle of ale ; but I take no regular supper. Dr. But you take a little more punch after that ? Pa. !No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I take a tumbler of warm whisky-toddy at night ; it is lighter to sleep on. l>r. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your e\ery- day life ; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little ? Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or 1 dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen. Dr. Not above twice a week ? Pa. No ; not oftener. Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite ? Pa. Yes, sir, thank God, I have ; indeed, any ill health that I have is about meal-time. Dr. (^assuming u, severe look, knitting !ii.TS OF AH ENGLISH DUELIST AKD A KOKTH-AMEEICAN SAVAGE MEKCURT. Duel. Mercui-y, Charon's boat is on the other side of the water. Allow me, before it returns, to have some conversation with the North-American Savage, whom you brought hither with me. I never before saw one of that species. He looks very grim. Pray, sir, what is your name ? I understand you speak English. Sav. Yes, I learned it in my childhood, having been bred for some years among the EngHsh of New York. But, before I was a man, I returned to my valiant countrymen, the Mohawks ; and having been villainously cheated by one of your's in the sale of some rum, I never cared to have anything to do with them 524 THB KEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. afterwards. Yet I took up the hatchet for them with the rest of my tribe in the late war against France, and was killed while I was out upon a scalping parly. But I died ^ (;iy well sati^lied : for my brethren were victorious ; and, before i was shot, I had gloriously scalped seven men, and five women and children. In a former war, I had performed still greater exploits. My name is the Bloody-Bear ; it was given me to express my fierceness and valor. Dud. Bloody-Bear, I respect you. and am much your humble servant. My name is Tom Pushwell, very well known at Arthur's. I am a gentleman by my birth, and by profession a gamester and a man of honor. I have killed men in fair fighting, in honorable single combat ; but do n't " understand cutting the throats of women and children. Sav. Sir, that is our way of making war. Every nation, has its customs. But by the grimness of your countenance, and that hole in your breast, I presume you were killed as I was, in some scalping party. How happened it that your enemy did not take off your scalp ? Duel. Sir, I was killed in a duel. A friend of mine had lent me a sum of money ; and after two or three years, being in great want himself, he asked me to pay him. I thought his demand, which was somewhat peremptory, an affront to my honor, and sent him a challenge. We met in Hyde Park. The fellow could not fence : but I was absolutely the adroitest swordsman in England. So I gave him three or four wounds ; but at last he ran upon me with such impetuosity, that he put me out of my play, and I could not prevent him from whipping me through the lungs. I died the next day, as a man of honor should ; without any sniveling signs of contrition or repentance : and he will follow me soon ; for his surgeon has declared his wounds to be mortal. It is said that his wife is dead of grief, and that his family of seven children will be undone by his death. So I am well revenged, and that is a comfort. For my part, I had no wife. I always hated marriage : my mistress will take good care of herself, and my children are provided for at the foundhng hospital. Sav. Mercury, I won't go in the boat with that fellow. He has murdered his countryman ; he has murdered his friend : I say positively, I won't go in the boat with that fellow. I will swim over the i-iver : I can swim like a duck. J/e/'. Swim over the Styx ! it must not be done : it is against the laws of Pluto's empire. You must go in the boat and be quiet. Sao. Do n't tell me of laws ; I am a savage : I value no laws. Talk of laws to the Englishman : there are laws in his country ; DIALOGtIES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 525 and yet you see he did not regard them. For they could never allow him. to kill his fellow-subject, in time of peace, because he asked him to pay an honest debt. I know, indeed, that the English are a barbarous nation : but they can 't possibly be so brutal as to make such things lawful. Mer. You reason well against him. But how;, comes it that you are so offended with murder ; you, who have frequently massacred women in their sleep, and children in the cradle ? Sav. I killed none but my enemies : I never killed my own countrymen : I never killed my friend. Here, take my blanket, and let it come over in the boat ; but see that the murderer does not sit upon it, or touch it. If he does, I will burn it instantly in the fire I see yonder. Farewell. I am determined to swim over the water. Mer. By this touch of my wand, I deprive thee of all thy strength. Swim now, if thou canst. Sav. This is a potent enchanter. Restore me my strength, and I promise to obey thee. Mer. I restore it ; but be orderly, and do as I bid you ; other- wise worse will befall you. Duel. Mercury, leave him to me. I' 11 tutor him for you. Sirrah Savage, dost thou pretend to be ashamed of my company? Dost thou not know that I have kept the best company in England ? Sav. I know thou art a scoundrel. Not pay thy debts ! kill thy friend who lent thee money for asking thee for it ! Get out of my sight. I will drive thee into the Styx. Mer. Stop. I command thee. No violence. Talk to him calmly. Sav. I must obey thee. Well, sir, let me know what merit jrou had to introduce you into good company ? What could you do. Duel. Sir, I gamed, as I told you. Besides, I kept a good table. I eat as well as any man either in England or France. Sav. Eat ! did you ever eat the liver of a Frenchman, or his leg, or his shoulder ? Thei-e is fine eating for you ! I have eat twenty. My table was always well served. My wife was esteemed the best' cook for the dressing of man's flesh in all North America. You will not pretend to compare your eating with mine ? Duel. I danced very finely. Sav. I 'U dance with thee for thy ears. I can dance all day long. I can dance the war dance with more spirit than any man of the nation. Let us see thee begin it. How thou standest like a post ! Has Mercury struck thee with his enfeeblmg rod ? 526 THE NBW AMERICAN 6PEAKEK. Or art tliou ashamed to let us see liow awkward thou art ? If he wuuld permit me, I would teach thee to dance in a way that thou hast never yet learned. But what else canst thou do, thou bragging rascal ? Duel. O misery ! must I bear all this ! What can I do with this fellow ? , I have neither sword nor pistol ; and his shade seems to be twice as strong as mine. Mer. You must answer his questions. It was your own desire to have a conversation with him. He is not well bred ; but he will tell you some truths which you must necessarily hear, when you come before Bhadamanthus. He asked you what you could do besides eating and dancing. Duel. I sung very agreeably. Sav. Let me hear you sing your death-song, or the war- whoop. I challenge you to sing. Come, begin. The fellow is mute. Mercury, this is a liar. He has told us nothing but hes. Let me pull out his tongue. Duel. The lie given me ! and, alas ! I dare not resent it ! What an indelible disgrace to the family of the Pushwells ! This is indeed tormenting. Mer. Here, Charon, take these two savages to your care. How far the barbarism of the Mohawk will excuse his horrid acts, I leave Minos to judge. But what can be said for the Englishman ? Can he plead the custom of dueling ? A bad excuse at the best ! but here it cannot avail. The spirit that urged him to draw his sword against his fi-iend is not that of honor ; it is the spirit of the furies ; and to them he must go. Sav. If he is to be punished for his wickedness, turn him over to me. I perfectly understand the art of tormenting. Sirrah, I begin my work with this box on your ears, and will soon teach you better manners than you have yet learned. Duel. Oh, my honor, my honor, to what infamy art thou fallen ! THE PROPHET OF MECCA. MOHAMMED ALCANOE. Moh. Why dost thou start, Alcanor ? whence that horror ? Approach, old man, without a blush, since heaven, For some high end, decrees our future union. Ale. I blush not for myself, but thee, thou tyrant ; For thee, bad man, who com'st with serpent guile, DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 627 To SOW dissension in the realms of peace. Thy veiy name sets families at variance, 'Twixt son and father 'bursts the bonds of nature. And scares endearment from the nuptial pillow ! And is it, insolent dissembler ! thus Thou com'st to give the sons of Mecca peace. And me an unknown god ? Mbh. Were I to answer any but Aloanor, That unknown god should speak in thunder for me ; But here with thee I 'd parley as a man. Ale. What canst thou say ? what urge in thy defense ? What right hast thou received to plant new faiths. Or lay a claim to royalty and priesthood ? Moh. The right that a resolved and towering spirit Has o'er the groveling instinct of the vulgar. [hammed. Ale. Patience, good heavens ! have I not known thee, Mo- When void of wealth, inheritance, or fame, Kanked with the lowest of the low at Mecca ? Moh. Dost thou not know, thou haughty, feeble man, That the low insect, lurking in the grass. And the imperial eagle, which aloft Ploughs the ethereal plain, are both alike In the Eternal Eye ? Ale. What sacred truth ! from what polluted lips ! (Aside.) Moh. Hear me ; thy Mecca trembles at my name ; If therefore thou wouldst save thyself or city, Embrace my proffered friendship. What to-day I thus solicit, I '11 command to-morrow. Ale. Contract with thee a friendship ! frontless man Know'st thou a god can work that miracle ? Moh. I do — necessity — thy interest. Ale. Interest is thy god, equity is mine. Propose the tie of this unnatural union ; Say, is 't the loss of thy ill-fated son. Who in the field fell victim to my rage ; Or the dear blood of my poor captive children. Shed by thy butchering hands ? Moh. Ay, 't is -thy children. . Mark me then well, and learn the important secret. Which I 'm sole master of — thy children live. Ale. Live ! Moh. Yes ! both live. Ale. What say'st thou ? Both ? Moh. Ay, both. Ale. And doRt thou not beguile me ? 528 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Moh. Ko, old man. Ale. Propitious heavens ? Say, Mohammed, for now Methinks I could hold endless con\"erse with tlirc ; Say what 's their portion, liberty or bondage ? Moh. Bred in my camp, and tutored in my law, I hold the balance of their destinies ; And now 'tis on the turn — their lives or deaths — 'T is thine to say which shall preponderate. Ale. Mine ! can I save them ? name the mighty ransom — - If I must bear their chains, double the weight. And I will kiss the hand that puts them on ; Or if my streaming blood must be the purchase, Drain every sluice and channel of my body ; My swelling veins will burst to give it passage ! Moh. I '11 tell thee, then : Renounce thy pagan faith, Abolish thy vain gods, and — Ale. Ha ! Moh. Nay, more : Surrender Mecca to me, quit this temple. Assist me to impose upon the world. Thunder my Koran to the gazing crowd. Proclaim me for their prophet and their king. And be a glorious pattern of credulity To Korah's stubborn tribe. These terms performed. Thy son shall be restored, and Mohammed's self Will deign to wed thy daughter. Ale. Hear me, Mohammed : — I am a father, and this bosom boasts A heart as tender as e'er parent bore. After a fifteen years of anguish for them. Once more to view my children, clasp them to me, And die in their embraces — melting thought ! But were I doomed or to enslave my country, And help to spread black error o'er the earth. Or to behold those blood-imbrued hands Deprive me of them both — know me, then, Mohammed, I 'd not admit a doubt to cloud my choice — (Looks earnestly at Mohammed for some time before he speaks.) Farewell ! [Exit.) Moh. Why, fare thee well, then, churlish dotard : Inexorable fool ! Now, by my arms, I will have great revenge : I '11 meet thy scorn With triple retribution ! miller. DIALOGUES -^ SERIOUS AND COMIC. S20 THE DRAMATIST. SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY DANGLE SNEER. Ban. Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to the managers yet ? — or can I be of any service to you ? Sir F. No, no, I thank you ; I believe the piece had sufficient recommendation with it. — I thank you, though — I sent it to the manager of Co vent- Garden theater this morning. Sneer. I should have thought that it might have been cast (as the actors call it) better at Druiy-Lane. Sir F. Oh ! no — never send a play there, while I live — hark 'ee ! ( Whispers Sneer.) Sneer. " Writes himself ! " — I know he does — Sir F. I say nothing — I take away from no man's merit — am hurt at no man's good fortune — I say nothing. — But this I win say, through all my knowledge of hfe I have observed, that there is not a passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy ! Sneer. I believe you have reason for what you say, indeed. Sir F. Besides, I can tell you it is not always so safe to leave a play in the hands of those who write themselves. Sneer. What, they may steal from them, hey, my dear Pla- giary ? Sir F. Steal ! to be sure they may ; and, serve our best thoughts as gipsies do stolen children, disfigure them to make 'em pass for their own. Sneer. But your present work is a sacrifice to Melpomene, and he you know never — Sir F. That 's no security. A dextrous plagiarist may do anything. Why, sir, for aught I know, he might take out some of the best things in my tragedy, and put them into his own comedy. Sneer. That might be done, I dare be sworn. Sir F. And then, if such a person gives you the least hint or assistance, he is apt to take the merit of the whole — Dan. If it succeeds. Sir F. Ay : but with regard to this piece, I think I can hit that gentleman, for I can safely aver he never read it. Sneer. I '11 tell you how you may hurt him more. SirF. How? Sneer. Declare he wrote it. Sir F. Plague on 't now. Sneer, I shall take it ill. — I beliere you want to take away my character as an author. 45 630 IHK NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Sneer. Then I am sure you ought to be very much obliged to me. Sir F. Hey ! sir ! — Da7i. Oh, you know he never means what ho says. Sir F. Sincerely then — you do like the piece ? Sneer. Wonderfully ! Sir F. But come now, there must be something that you think might be mended, hey ? — Mr. Dangle, has nothing struck you ? Dan. Why, truly, it is but an ungracious thing, for the most part, to — Sir F. With most authors it is just so indeed ; they are in general strangely tenacious ! But, for my part I am never so well pleased as when a judicious critic points out any defect to me ; for what is the purpose of showing a work to a friend, if you do not mean to profit by his opinion ? Sneer. Very true. Why, then, though I seriously admire the piece upon the whole, yet there is one small objection ; which, if you '11 give me leave, I '11 mention. Sir F. Sir, you can 't oblige me more. Sneer. I think it wants incident. Sir F. You surprise me ! — wants incident ? Sneer. Yes ; I own I think the incidents are too few. Sir F. Believe me, Mr. Sneer, there is no person for whose judgment I have a more implicit deference. But I protest to you, Mr. Sneer, I am only apprehensive that the incidents are too crowded. — My dear Dangle, how does it strike you ? Dan. Really, I can 't agree with my friend Sneer. I think the plot quite sufficient ; and the iirst four acts by many degrees the best I ever read or saw in my life. If I might venture to sug- gest anything, it is that the interest rather falls off in the fifth. Sir F. Rises, I beheve you mean, sir. Dan. No, I do not, upon my word. Sir F. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul ; it certainly do n't fall off, I assure you. No, no ; it do n't fall off. Dan. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours. Sir F. The newspapers ! Sir, they are the most villainous — licentious — abominable — infernal — Not that I ever read them — No — I make it a rule never to look into a newspaper. Dan. You are quite right ; for it certainly must hurt an author of delicate feelings to see the hberties they take. Sir F. No ! quite the contrary ; their abuse is, in fact, the best panegyric — I hke it of all things. An author's reputation is only in danger from their support. DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIO. 531 Sneer. Why that 's true — and that attack, now, on you the other day — Sir F. What? where? Ban. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday : it was com- pletely ill-natured, to be sure. Sir F. Oh, so much the better. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I would n't have it otherwise. Ban. Certainly, it is only to be laughed at, for — Sir F. You do n't happen to recollect what the fellow said, do you ? Sneer. Pray, Dangle, — Sir Fretful seems a little anxious — Sir F. Oh no ! — anxious, — not I, — not the least — I — but one may as well hear, you know. Ban. Sneer, do you recollect ? Make out something. [Aside.) Sneer. I will. (To Bangle.) Yes, yes, I remember per- fectly. Sir F. Well, and pray now — not that it sig-nifies — what might the gentleman say ? Sneer. Why, he roundly asserts that you have not the slight- est invention or original genius whatever ; though you are the gTeatest traducer of all other authors hving. Sir F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very good ! Sneer. That as to comedy, you have not one idea of your own, he believes, even in your common-place book, where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are kept with as much method as the leger of the lost and stolen office. Sir F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very pleasant ! Sneer. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have the skill even to steal with taste : but that you glean from the refuse of obscure volumes, where more judicious plagiarists have been before you ; so that the body of your work is a composition of dregs and sediments, like a bad tavern's worst wine. SirF. Ha! ha! Sneer. In your more serious eflforts, he says, your bombast would be less intolerable, if the thoughts were ever suited to, the expression ; but the homehness of the sentiment stares through the fantastic encumbrance of its fine language, hke a clown in one of the new uniforms ! Sir J?". Ha ! ha ! Sneer. That your occasional tropes and flowers suit the gen- eral coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs would a ground of linsey-woolsey ; while your imitations of Shakspeare resem- ble the mimicry of Falstaff's page, and are about as near tha standard of the original. 632 THE NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Sir F. Ha! Srucr. In short, that even Ihe fine passa£;cs you steal are of no service to you ; for the poverty of your own language pre- vents their assimilating ; so that they lie on the surface like lumps of marl on a barren moor, encumbering what it is not in their power to fertihze ! Sir F. {after great agitation.) Now another person would be vexed at this. Siieer. Oh ! but I would n't have told you, only to divert Sir F. I know it — I a??i diverted. — Ha! ha! ha! — not the least invention ! — Ha ! ha ! ha ! very good ! — very good ! Sneer. Yes — no genius ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Dan. A severe rogue ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! But you are qxute right. Sir Fretful, never to read such nonsense. Sir F. To be sure — for if there is anything to praise, it is a foolish vanity to be gratified at it ; and if it is abuse, why one is always sure to hear of it from one rascally good-natured friend or another ! shbridan. THE SWISS PATRIOT. GESLEK ALBERT S AKNEM TELL VEKWER OFFICERS — SOLDIERS PEOPLE. Scene 1. — A mountain with mist. {Gesler seen descending with a hunting pole.) Ges. Alone — alone ! and every step the mist Thickens around me ! On these mountain tracks To lose one's way, they say, is sometimes death I What, ho ! Holloa ! No tongue replies to me ! What thunder hath the horror of this silence ! Cursed slaves, to let me wander from them ! Ho — 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. 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 falls with faintness.) Albert enters, almost breathless from the'fury of the storm.) DIALOGUES SERIOUS AND COMIC. 533 Alb. I '11 breathe upon this level, if the wind Will let me. Ha ! a rock to shelter me ! Thanks to it — ^ a man ! and fainting. Courage, friend ! Courage. — A stranger that has lost his way — Take heart — take heart : you are safe. How feel you now ? Oes. Better. Alb. You have lost your way upon the hills ? Ges. I have. Alb. And whither would you go ? Ges. To Altorf. Alb. I '11 guide you thither. Ges. You ai-e a child. Alb. I know the way ; the track I 've come Is harder far to find. Ges. The track you have come ! — What mean you ? Sui-e You have not been still farther in the mountains ? Alb. I have traveled from Mount Faigel. Ges. No one with thee ? Alb. No one but Him. Ges. Do you not fear these storms ? Alb. He 's in the storm. Ges. And there are torrents, too, That must be crossed ! Alb. He 's by the torrent too. Ges. You are but a child. Alb. He will be with a child. Ges. You are sure you know the way ? Alb. 'T is but to keep the side of yonder stream. Ges. But g-uide me safe, I '11 give thee gold. Alb. I '11 guide thee safe without. Ges. Here 's earnest for thee. Here — I '11 double that. Yea, triple it — but let me see the gate of Altorf. Why do you refuse the gold ? Take it. Alb. No. Ges. You shall. Alb. I will not. Ges. Why? Alb. Because I do not covet it ; — and though I did. It would be wrong to take it as the price Of doing one a kindness. Ges. Ha ! — who taught thee that ? Alb. My father. Ges. Does he live in Altorf ? Al'). No ; in the mountains. 534 THE NEW AMERICAN 6PKAKEB. ^*«';r(i Sir H. De U B rh.— -1/»h,,i,), .( . Pr. I.yop PI .y lur— 'tifiri 'n'ai h'-Uii-ation. Prni*«RSf)r S^illv— rpi7«(ffft.'e Suhntanctt. Pr..'.^-,or Willie— .)/.(. a; e'. .Ti^. f51 iKfii-r, K-q. — I'lti'ugof.hkal /rftriMitfiUt. R. HTHitiin, Ks;ii.)iinif tr.sefiil Arts iji SuoXIuiid. ttc. Witli Add'tions and NotL'S tjy Jamks liKNwu-K. LL.!),, j'riitcs.sor of Natural Evpi'riiiient.al, ,Plii!nMi;diy and Glieioisiry in Columbia . * College, New York. Illustrated by Ein,'raviiig.-i. 1 vol. Svo, 4 ; .■ ■ ?E -' '' TiAY^RirS BABYT/ON AXO NTNEYEH. , Discoyeries Ainonjr the Kulns of Bahylon and Nineveh; with Travels in Arintnia. Kurdistan, and tlie UeSL'i-t: bt-ini: the result of a Scrond Kvpi^di- tion. nndi-rtaken for the TrNStfe-^ of the BririHh Museiiin. liy Austkn II. Lavaku. M.I*. Author of Nilieveli and its Rf-rnaiHs. 1 vul, i2ino. " Kit tliiin IjiVJ't insiii- of ti cilv ;in lienji ; of ft !f l- Qi.'