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Comes a still voice-Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course. Nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go

To mix for ever with the elements,

To be a brother to the insensible rock

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thy eternal resting place

Shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world-with kings,
The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills,
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales,
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty; and the complaining brooks,
That make the meadow green; and, poured round all,
Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce;
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound
Save his own dashings; yet-the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep-the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe

Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,-
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those, who, in their turn, should follow them.
So live, that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves

To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

LVI.

Burial of a College Classmate.-N. P. WILLIS.
YE'VE gathered to your place of prayer
With slow and measured tread :

Your ranks are full, your mates all there-
But the soul of one has fled.

He was the proudest in his strength,
The manliest of ye all;

Why lies he at that fearful length,

And ye around his pall?

Ye reckon it in days, since he
Strode up that foot-worn aisle,
With his dark eye flashing gloriously,
And his lip wreathed with a smile.
O, had it been but told you, then,
To mark whose lamp was dim,
From out yon rank of fresh-lipped men,
Would ye have singled him?

Whose was the sinewy arm, which flung
Defiance to the ring?

Whose laugh of victory loudest rung-
Yet not for glorying?

Whose heart, in generous deed and thought,
No rivalry might brook,
And yet distinction claiming not?
There lies he-go and look!

On now-his requiem is done,
The last deep prayer is said-
On to his burial, comrades-on,
With the noblest of the dead!
Slow-for it presses heavily-
It is a man ye bear!

Slow-for our thoughts dwell wearily
On the noble sleeper there.

Tread lightly, comrades!-we have laid
His dark locks on his brow-
Like life-save deeper light and shade:
We'll not disturb them now.
Tread lightly-for 'tis beautiful,
That blue-veined eyelid's sleep,
Hiding the eye death left so dull-
Its slumber we will keep.

Rest now!-his journeying is done-
Your feet are on his sod-
Death's chain is on your champion-
He waiteth here his God!
Ay! turn and weep-'tis manliness
To be heart-broken here-

For the grave of earth's best nobleness
Is watered by the tear.

PART V.

EXERCISE IN ARGUMENTATIVE

DECLAMATION.

A DEBATE

ON THE

CHARACTER OF JULIUS CESAR.
BY SHERIDAN KNOWLES.*

Chairman: ROBERT ARCHER. Debaters: James Gibson, Francis M'Cracken, Robert Patterson, Robert Gamble, Ben. jamin Gamble, Francis Archer, Robert Vance, William M'Cleery, Robert Templeton, William Simms, Henry Herbert, Francis Ward.

CHAIRMAN.-Gentlemen, I am happy to see you. Agreeably to the notice of your late worthy chairman, you have assembled to discuss the propriety of calling Cæsar a Great Man. I promise myself much satisfaction from your debate. I promise myself the pleasure of hearing many ingenious arguments on each side of the question. I promise myself the gratification of witnessing a contest, maintained with animation, good humour and courtesy. You are my sureties, and I shall not be disappointed.

The avocations of your late chairman have not allowed him to resume his seat-a seat honourable in itself, but

*See Introduction, ante, page 33.

more honourable from the dignity with which he filled it. I have been appointed to succeed him.

My first duty is, to bear testimony to the accomplishments of my predecessor; to his eloquence, his disinterestedness, his address-to all which, I know no other way of doing justice, than by acknowledging my total inability to describe their excellence. My next duty regards myself; and calls upon me to declare my sense of the honour I enjoy, in having been appointed to this station. My last duty-and one that I discharge with great diffidence-is, to present you with a few observations that have reference to the occasion of your being assembled.

You are assembled, gentlemen, to discuss the merits of a man, whose actions are connected with some of the most interesting events in Roman story. You have given the subject due consideration-You come prepared for the contest; and I shall not presume to offer any opinion, respecting the ground which either side ought to take. My remarks shall be confined to the study of Oratoryand, allow me to say, I consider Oratory to be the second end of our academic labours, of which the first end is, to render us enlightened, useful and virtuous.

The principal means of communicating our ideas are two-speech and writing. The former is the parent of the latter; it is the more important, and its highest efforts are called Oratory.

If we consider the very early period at which we begin to exercise the faculty of speech, and the frequency with which we exercise it, it must be a subject of surprise that so few excel in Oratory. In any enlightened community, you will find numbers who are highly skilled in some particular art or science, to the study of which they did not apply themselves till they had almost arrived at the stage of manhood. Yet, with regard to the powers of speech-those powers which the very second year of our existence generally calls into action, the exercise of which goes on at our sports, our studies, our walks, our very meals; and which is never long suspended, except at the hour of refreshing sleep-with regard to those powers, how few surpass their fellow-creatures of common information and moderate attainments! how very few deserve distinction!-how rarely does one attain to eminence !

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