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3. Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,

And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise-
Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
4. The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall:
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

5. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight,
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear,
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 6. 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"Oh God thou hast blest me-I ask for no more." 7. Ah! what is that flame, which now bursts on his eye? Ah! what is that sound which now 'larums his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! 'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere! 8. He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck: Amazement confronts him with images direWild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreckThe masts fly in splinters-the shrouds are on fire!

9. Like mountains the billows tremendously swellIn vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save: Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave! 10. Oh! sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of blissWhere now is the picture that fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?

11. Oh! sailor-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. 12. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge: But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge.

13. On beds of green sea-flowers 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.

14. Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll:
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye-

Oh! sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul.

;

LXVI.-BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

MRS. HEMANS.

1. THE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire:

I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!—O! break my father's chain!" 2. "Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man, this day! Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his way." Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed,

And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

3. And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land: "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

4. His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went:

He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting,

bent;

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took-
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

5. That hand was cold-a frozen thing-it dropped from his like lead! He looked up to the face above-the face was of the dead!

A plume waved o'er the noble brow-the brow was fixed and white; He met, at last, his father's eyes-but in them was no sight!

6. Up from the ground he sprang and gazed; but who could paint that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze-
They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood;
For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood.

7. "Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then:
Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!
He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown—
He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

8. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for, now: My king is false-my hope betrayed! My father-O! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!

9. "I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet! I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ! Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then-for thee my fields were won ; And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!" 10. Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train;

And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face-the king before the dead:

11. "Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?
Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this?
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-give answer, where are they?
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold
clay !

12. "Into these glassy eyes put light-be still! keep down thine ire!
Bid these white lips a blessing speak-this earth is not my sire:
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed?
Thou canst not?—and a king!—his dust be mountains on thy head!"

13. He loosed the steed-his slack hand fell-upon the silent face

He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place:
His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain-
His banner led the spears no more, amid the hills of Spain.

LXVII.-ORATION AGAINST VERRES.

CICERO.

1. I ASK now, Verres, what have you to advance against this charge? Will you pretend to deny it? Will you pretend that any thing false, that even any thing exaggerated is alleged against you? Had any prince, or any state, committed the same outrage against the privi leges of Roman citizens, should we not think we had suffi

cient reason for declaring immediate war against them? What punishment, then, ought to be inflicted on a tyrannical and wicked pretor, 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 appealing to the justice of his country against a cruel oppressor, who had unjustly 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 pretor. 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 without the least shadow of evidence, or even of suspicion, of. having come to Sicily as a spy.

2. It was in vain that the unhappy man cried out, “I am a Roman citizen, I have served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and will attest my innocence." The bloodthirsty pretor, deaf to all he could urge in his own defence, ordered the infamous punishment to be inflicted. Thus, fathers, was an innocent Roman citizen publicly mangled with scourging; while the only words he uttered amid his cruel sufferings were, "I am a Roman citizen!" With these he hoped to defend himself from violence and infamy. But of so little service was this privilege to him, that while he was asserting his citizenship, the order was given for his execution—for his execution upon the cross!

3. O liberty! O sound once delightful to every Roman ear! O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship! once sacred, now trampled 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 commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty and sets mankind at defiance?

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LXVIII-FROM THE FIRST ORATION AGAINST CATILINE. CICERO.

1. How far wilt thou, O Catiline, abuse our patience? How long shall thy madness outbrave our justice? To what extremities 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: the 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 Rome? Canst thou, I say, behold all this, and yet remain undaunted and unabashed? Art thou sensible that thy measures are detected?

2. Art thou sensible that this senate, now thoroughly informed, comprehends the full extent of thy guilt? Point me out the senator ignorant of thy practices, during the last and the preceding night; of the place where you met, the company you summoned, and the crime you concerted. The senate is conscious, the consul is witness to this: yet mean and degenerate-the traitor lives! Lives! did I say? He mixes with the senate: he shares in our counsels 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 Romans if we can escape his frantic rage.

3. Long since, O Catiline! ought the consul to have doomed thy life a forfeit to thy country; and to have

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