More blooming than the spring, and sweeter far, 70 Than asphodels or roses infant sweets. Oh! I could dwell forever on his praise, To tell the mighty theme; here in my breast 85 EVANTHE. Ha! what was that? till death-ye Gods! Ah, now I feel distress's tort'ring pang - VARDANES. Naught but your kindness saves him, 90 Yet bless me with your love, and he is safe; But the same frown which kills my growing hopes, CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN A Mysterious Voice (From Wieland, Chap. IX) I returned to the closet, and once more put my hand upon the lock. Oh, may my ears lose their sensibility ere they be again assailed by a shriek so terrible! Not merely my understanding was subdued by the sound; it acted on my 5 nerves like an edge of steel. It appeared to cut asunder the fibres of my brain and rack every joint with agony. The cry, loud and piercing as it was, was nevertheless human. No articulation was ever more distinct. The breath which accompanied it did not fan my hair, yet did every circumstance combine to persuade me that the lips 10 which uttered it touched my very shoulder. "Hold! hold!" were the words of this tremendous prohibition, in whose tone the whole soul seemed to be wrapped up, and every energy converted into eagerness and terror. Shuddering, I dashed myself against the wall, and, by 15 the same involuntary impulse, turned my face backward to examine the mysterious monitor. The moonlight streamed into each window, and every corner of the room was conspicuous, and yet I beheld nothing! The interval was too brief to be artificially measured, be- 20 tween the utterance of these words and my scrutiny directed to the quarter whence they came. Yet, if a human being had been there, could he fail to have been visible? Which of my senses was the prey of a fatal illusion? The shock which the sound produced was still felt in every part of my 25 frame. The sound, therefore, could not but be a genuine commotion. But that I had heard it was not more true than that the being who uttered it was stationed at my right ear; yet my attendant was invisible. I cannot describe the state of my thoughts at that 30 moment. Surprise had mastered my faculties. My frame shook, and the vital current was congealed. I was conscious only to the vehemence of my sensations. This condition could not be lasting. Like a tide, which suddenly mounts to an overwhelming height and then gradually subsides, my 35 confusion slowly gave place to order, and my tumults to a calm. I was able to deliberate and move. I resumed my feet, and advanced into the midst of the room. Upward, and behind, and on each side, I threw penetrating glances. I was not satisfied with one examination. He that hitherto 40 refused to be seen might change his purpose, and on the next survey be clearly distinguishable. I Solitude imposes least restraint upon the fancy. Dark is less fertile of images than the feeble lustre of the moon. 45 was alone, and the walls were checkered by shadowy forms. As the moon passed behind a cloud and emerged, these shadows seemed to be endowed with life, and to move. The apartment was open to the breeze, and the curtain was occasionally blown from its ordinary position. This motion 50 was not unaccompanied with sound. I failed not to snatch a look and to listen when this motion and this sound occurred. My belief that my monitor was posted near was strong, and instantly converted these appearances to tokens of his presence; and yet I could discern nothing. 5 10 PHILIP FRENEAU A Political Litany Libera nos, Domine - Deliver us, O Lord, From a junto that labor for absolute power, Whose schemes disappointed have made them look sour; From groups at Saint James's who slight our Petitions, From pirates sent out by command of the king From the valiant Dunmore, with his crew of banditti Who plunder Virginians at Williamsburg city, The little fat man with his pretty white hair. 15 From bishops in Britain, who butchers are grown, 20 From Tryon, the mighty, who flies from our city, And swelled with importance, disdains the committee (But since he is pleased to proclaim us his foes, What the devil care we where the devil he goes). 25 From the caitiff, Lord North, who would bind us in chains, From our noble King Log, with his toothful of brains, 30 He has conquered our lands as they lay on his map. From a kingdom that bullies, and hectors, and swears, That we, disunited, may freemen be still, Eutaw Springs At Eutaw Springs the valiant died; Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide; If in this wreck of ruin, they Can yet be thought to claim a tear, The friends of freedom slumber here! Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain, Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest! 5 10 Stranger, their humble graves adorn; That proves the evening shall be clear. They saw their injured country's woe; The flaming town, the wasted field; Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, Now rest in peace, our patriot band; We trust they find a happier land, The Wild Honey Suckle Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, No roving foot shall crush thee here, By Nature's self in white arrayed, Thus quietly thy summer goes, |