THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 From the collection of 
 Julius Doerner, Chicago 
 Purchased, 1918. 
 
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 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/ninthtenthanniveOOmoun 
 
FEBRUARY 22, 1353. 
 
 ©IE3SHIB ©IF IBZQIBCSlISIBSo 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Salutatory 
 
 F. ZACHARIE, La. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 C. HERRICK, N. Y Thanatopsis 
 
 J. KENT, Pa “ When I am old” 
 
 E. LEVERICH, N. Y Bunker Hill 
 
 C. ROSER, Ga Le Due de Rohan a ses Soldats 
 
 ( French .) 
 
 H. PEARCE, R. I Giles Cory’s Dream 
 
 O. SCHMIDT, N. Y Fame 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 L. DA SILVA, 
 
 T. ZACHARIE, 
 N. WRIGHT, 
 
 M. SORREL, 
 
 D. A. BOKEE, 
 
 Brazil Le Genie des Tempetes 
 
 ( Original French Translation.) 
 
 La. “ Little at first, but Great at last” 
 
 N. Y - Hungary 
 
 Ga ( Original Latin Translation from 
 
 Hilliard’s Eulogy of Webster.) 
 
 N. Y Honor to Woman 
 
 C. L. SCHLATTER, N. Y. The Jewish Pilgrim 
 
 W. SLIDELL, La Discours de Micipsa a Jugurtha 
 
 ( Original French Translation from Latin.) 
 
m 
 
 .pXount pleasant &tatrem£. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 
 •f C. MAURICE, 
 
 N. Y 
 
 
 F. KENT, 
 
 Pa 
 
 The Unknown Ships 
 
 (SJ 
 
 G. GRANT, 
 
 N. Y 
 
 ( Original French Translation .) 
 
 
 II. MILLIKIN, 
 
 La 
 
 
 
 S. GILMAN, 
 
 N. Y. 
 
 
 % 
 
 A. STODDARD, 
 
 Ga. .... .... .. 
 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 LANGUAGES. 
 
 Introduction. ...by R. Barker, N. Y. 
 
 The Greek B. Lee, N Y. 
 
 The Latin W. Slidell, La. 
 
 The French F. Zacharie, La. 
 
 The German T. Emanuel, Ala. 
 
 The English M. Sorrel, Ga. 
 
 Decision by the presiding Judge— C. Minturn, N. Y. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Wtntlj &nmbcrsar£ 
 
 185 3 . 
 
^ 1 'Xvv 2 © GuMJl^tlL 
 
 3 ' 11-43 
 
 To him who, in the love of Nature, holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile, 
 
 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
 Into his darker musings, with a mild 
 And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When 
 thoughts 
 
 Of the last hitter hour come like a blight 
 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
 Go forth under the open sky, and list 
 To Nature’s teachings. . . . 
 
 The golden sun, 
 
 The planets, ail 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, 
 
 Ntnti) ^nmbersarj? 
 
 1 853 . 
 
 700074 
 
his own 
 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 favorite 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 shall follow them. 
 
 So live, that, when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan, that moves 
 To that mysterious realm 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. 
 
 &»mbersar£. 
 
When I am old, — and 0 ! how soon 
 Will life’s sweet morning yield to noon, 
 And noon’s broad, fervid, earnest light 
 Be shaded in the solemn night ; 
 
 Till like a story well nigh told, 
 
 Will seem my life, when I am old. 
 
 When I am old — this breezy earth 
 Will lose for me its voice of mirth ; 
 
 The streams will have an under-tone 
 Of sadness, not by right their own ; 
 
 And Spring’s sweet power in vain unfold 
 Its rosy charms, when I am old. 
 
 When I am old — my friends will be 
 Old, and infirm, and b; wed, like me ; 
 
 Or else, their bodies ’neath the sod, 
 
 Their spirits dwelling safe with God : 
 The old church bell will long have tolled 
 Above the rest, when I am old. 
 
 When I am old — I’d rather bend 
 Thus sadly o’er each buried friend, 
 
 Than see them lose the earnest truth 
 That marks the friendship of our youth : 
 ’Twill be so sad to have them cold, 
 
 Or strange to me, when I am old. 
 
 When I am old — O ! how it seems 
 Like the wild lunacy of dreams, 
 
 To picture in prophetic rhyme 
 That dim far-distant shadowy time : 
 
 Kinti) ^nntbcrcari>. 
 
 1 8 53 . 
 
When I am old — perhaps ere then 
 I shall be missed from haunts of men ; 
 Perhaps my dwelling may be found 
 Beneath that green and quiet mound ; 
 My name by stranger hands enrolled 
 Among the dead, when I am old. 
 
 Ere I am old — O ! let me give 
 My life to learning how to live ; 
 
 Then shall I meet with willing heart 
 An early summons to depart, 
 
 Or find my lengthened days consoled 
 By God’s sweet peace, when I am old. 
 
 BUNKER HILL. 
 
 It was a starry night in June, 
 
 The air was soft and still, 
 
 When the “ minute-men” from Cambridge came, 
 And gathered on the hill ; 
 
 Beneath us lay the sleeping town, 
 
 Around us frowned the fleet, 
 
 And the pulse of freemen, not of slaves, 
 
 Within our bosoms beat, 
 
 And every heart rose high with hope, 
 
 As fearlessly we said, 
 
 “We will be numbered with the free, 
 
 “ Or numbered with the dead.” 
 
 Bring out the line to mark the trench 
 And stretch it on the sward. 
 
 Nmtij ^mttbersars. 
 
 1 853 . 
 
.ptount pleasant gcatrems* 
 
 The trench is marked — the tools are brought- 
 We utter not a word, — 
 
 But stack our guns : then fall to work 
 With mattock, and with spade. 
 
 A thousand men, with sinewy arms, 
 
 And not a sound is made ; 
 
 So still were we, the stars beneath, 
 
 That scarce a whisper fell : 
 
 We heard the red-coat’s musket click, 
 
 And heard him cry “All’s well !” 
 
 See, how the mom is breaking — 
 
 The red is in the sky ! 
 
 The mist is creeping from the stream, 
 That floats in silence by ; 
 
 The Lively’s hull looms through the fog, 
 And they our works have spied, 
 
 For the ruddy flash and round shot part 
 In thunder from her side ; 
 
 And thus we waited till we saw, 
 
 At scarce ten rifles’ length, 
 
 The old vindictive Saxon spite, 
 
 In all its stubborn strength. 
 
 Then, sudden, around 
 
 The jagged rampart, burst 
 From every gun, the livid light, 
 
 Upon the foe accurst. 
 
 Then quailed a monarch’s might 
 Before a free-born people’s ire; 
 
 Then drank the sward the veteran’s blood, 
 Where swept the yeoman’s fire ; 
 
 Then, staggered by the shot, we saw 
 Their serried columns reel. 
 
 Ntntt) gmubersarg. 
 
8 
 
 ptount pleasant glcaaems. 
 
 m 
 
 And fall, as falls the bearded rye 
 Beneath the reaper’s steel ; 
 
 And then arose a mighty shout, 
 
 That might have woke the dead : 
 
 “ Hurrah ! they run — the field is won !” 
 
 “ Hurrah ! the foe has fled !” 
 
 And every man hath dropped his gun, 
 
 To clutch his neighbor’s hand, 
 
 As his heart kept praying all the while, 
 For Home, and Native Land. 
 
 Thrice on that day we stood the shock 
 Of thrice a thousand foes ; 
 
 And thrice that day, within our lines, 
 
 The shout of victory rose. 
 
 And though our swift fire slackened then, 
 And, reddening in the skies, 
 
 We saw, from roofs and walls, 
 
 The flaming columns rise, 
 
 Yet, while we had a cartridge left, 
 
 We still maintained the fight, 
 
 Nor gained the foe one foot of ground 
 Upon that blood-stained height. 
 
 What though for us no laurels bloom, 
 
 Nor o’er the nameless brave 
 No sculptured trophy, scroll, or hatch, 
 Records a warrior’s grave, — 
 
 What though to us the day was lost, — 
 Upon that deathless page 
 The everlasting charter stands, 
 
 For every land and age : 
 
 For man hath broke his felon bonds, 
 
 And cast them in the dust, 
 
 \ rj} 
 
Jttount pleasant &ratrrm» 
 
 And claimed his heritage divine — 
 And justified the trust ; 
 
 While through his rifted prison bars 
 'I he hues of Freedom pour 
 O’er every nation, race, and clime, 
 
 O’er every sea and shore, 
 
 Such glories as the Patriarch viewed, 
 When, ’mid the darkest skies, 
 
 He saw, above a ruined world, 
 
 The Bow of Promise rise. 
 
 LE DUO DE ROHAN A SES SOLD ATS. 
 
 Soldats ! Nous avons passe par des lieux pres- 
 que inaccessibles pour venir dans cette vallee : 
 nous y sommes enfermes de tous cotes. Voila 
 l’armee imperiale qui se met en bataille devant 
 nous; les Grisons sont derriere qui n’attendent 
 que l’gvenement de cette journee pour nous char- 
 ger, si nous tournons le dos. Les Valtelins ne 
 sont pas moins disposes a achever ce qui restera 
 de nous. 
 
 Ne pensez done pas a la retraite, car vous 
 n’avez qu’a lever les yeux pour en voir toute l’im- 
 possibilite ; ce ne sont, de tous cotes, que preci- 
 pices insurmontables, de sorte que notre salut de- 
 pend de notre seul courage. 
 
 Pour l’amour de Dieu ! mes amis, tandis que 
 les armes de notre roi triomphent partout avec 
 tant d’eclat, ne souffrons pas qu’elles eprouvent 
 un echec entre nos mains ; faisons, par une ge- 
 nereuse resolution, que ce petit vallon, presque 
 
 Ntntlj ilmttbersarg. 
 
 1 6 5 3 . 
 
 t 
 
10 
 
 inconnu au monde, devienne considerable a la 
 posterite, et soit aujourd’hui le theatre de notre 
 gloire. 
 
 Allons, enfants, suivez-moi a la victoire, et 
 vive la France ! ! 
 
 GILES CORY’S DREAM. 
 
 Giles Cory lay in Salem gaol — 
 
 A stubborn wizzard he ; 
 
 Dame Cory slumbered by his side — 
 
 A guilty witch was she. 
 
 And as they lay, one Sunday morn, 
 
 All in their place of shame, 
 
 Giles Cory had a troubled dream, 
 
 And told it to his dame. 
 
 “ My good wife dear, I’ve dream’d a dream. 
 All through the live-long night ; 
 
 And coming things were shown to me 
 In vision clear and bright. 
 
 “ I dream’d a hundred years were past. 
 And sixty more were gone, 
 
 And then I stood a living man — 
 
 Alas ! I stood alone. 
 
 “ I was among strange phantoms there — 
 No living soul I knew ; 
 
 And you would hardly wonder, Dame, 
 ’Twas eighteen fifty-two. 
 
 “ Full soon I saw that I had come 
 Amongst a race of witches ; 
 
 Wtntfj &ttmbersar£. 
 
 

 iRSotwt pleasant ^catremg. 
 
 KCntf) ^nntbcrsarw 
 
 For every man I looked upon 
 Was destitute of breeches.” 
 
 “ Fye — oh, fye !” said Goody Cory, 
 
 (And sharply spake the dame, 
 
 “ That you should look upon them thus — 
 I blush for very shame.” 
 
 “Pray hear me out, impatient wife — 
 For know, these wizzard coons, 
 
 Although they had no breeches on, 
 
 Were clothed with pantaloons. 
 
 “And ah, how queer the women look’d ! 
 ’Twould waken your compassion, 
 
 To see what awkward clothes they wore, 
 So strangely out of fashion. 
 
 “ I saw a man pull all his teeth — 
 
 It took him but a minute ; 
 
 He oped his mouth, and put them back — 
 
 I thought the deuce was in it. 
 
 “ A limping man had lost a leg, 
 
 A wooden one had he 
 
 To tell which leg the man had lost, 
 
 Was quite too much for me. 
 
 “ I saw a man cut off a limb. 
 
 The surgeon’s knife all gory, 
 
 But yet the patient felt no pain 
 “ ’Tis false !” said Goody Cory. 
 
 “ ’Twas in my dream I saw it, dame, 
 
 I saw him take the stitches 
 
 And then I knew I’d fell among 
 A race of real witches. 
 
“ I met a man who’d lost an eye, 
 And chose to have another ; 
 
 He bought one at the nearest shop, 
 Just like its living brother. 
 
 “ I had a raging tooth to draw, 
 
 (To you ’twill seem a fable ;) 
 
 I went to sleep, and then awoke, 
 And found it on the table.” 
 
 “ I don’t believe a word you say,” 
 Said faithless Goody Cory ; 
 
 “Just show this molar tooth to me, 
 And I’ll believe your story !” 
 
 Quoth Giles unto his wife again — 
 (’Tis thus to me it seems :) 
 
 “ How often have I told you, dame, 
 ’Twas in the land of dreams? 
 
 “ I looked upon this wizzard race 
 With still increasing wonder ; 
 
 They drew the lightning from the 
 And bottled up the thunder. 
 
 :ky, 
 
 “ They carried news by lightning teams ; 
 
 Made portraits with the sun ; 
 
 Used cotton for their gunpowder, 
 
 To charge the sporting gun. 
 
 “A magic substance they have found, 
 And some ingenious lubber 
 Makes every thing (save consciences,) 
 Of Patent India Rubber. 
 
 “ To light their home with flaming air, 
 The elements they torture ; 
 
 Hrntf) &untbersar» 
 
 18 53 . 
 
ifftouttt pleasant glcatrnng 
 
 And hope to get, by taking Paine’s, 
 
 Their candle-light from water. 
 
 “ I told them that to see the world, 
 
 I had a strong desire ; 
 
 They took me off in vapory cloud, 
 
 And chariot of fire ! 
 
 “ Full forty miles an hour they go, 
 
 By power of nought but steam ; 
 
 And ships with wheels go swift” — “ ’Tis false !” 
 Said Goody, with a scream. 
 
 Quoth Giles, “ Remember, my good wife, 
 
 ’Tis a prophetic gleam — 
 
 I do not speak my waking thoughts, 
 
 I only tell my dream. 
 
 “ I pondered on these sorceries, 
 
 And thought them Witchcraft sins ; 
 
 But marvelled why, like Witchcraft now, 
 They did not prick with pins ! 
 
 “ I saw these wizzards gather round, 
 
 To listen to a tapping ; 
 
 In wide-mouth wonder swallow all 
 The witchery of rapping. 
 
 “It was, I own, with humble shame. 
 
 A mystery to me, 
 
 That souls in bliss should come to Earth, 
 
 To say their ABC. 
 
 “ Oh, what a miracle sublime ! 
 
 It shows the world’s advance, 
 
 When spirits leave their bright abode, 
 
 To make a table dance. 
 
 Nuitfj gmrtbfrsarst 
 
14 
 
 Jtaount pleasant 0catrrmM. 
 
 “ Amazed, I saw how calm they were 
 With all this spirit-rising ; 
 
 They only called these magic arts 
 A kind of magnetizing. 
 
 “ So none for witchcraft met the fate 
 Of Pharaoh’s luckless baker 
 Nor did they seek to drive or scourge 
 A Baptist or a Quaker. 
 
 “ I went into a dwelling-house — 
 I ransacked every room — 
 
 I could not find a spinning-wheel, 
 Nor yet a weaver’s loom. 
 
 “ They had no snuffers on the shelf; 
 
 The dressers, too, had flown ; 
 
 No pewter plates, wellscrubb’d and neat, 
 In order brightly shone. 
 
 “ No settle by the kitchen fire, 
 No sand upon the floor; 
 
 And when I asked for tinder-box 
 In laughter they did roar. 
 
 “I looked upon the hillock green 
 The winds were sweeping o’er 
 And ghostly shadows flitted by, 
 Of forms beheld before. 
 
 “ Remember’d names were sculptured there 
 On many an ancient stone ; 
 
 And one I saw, full grown with moss — 
 
 I looked — it was mv own ! 
 
 “ A sudden thrill came o’er me then 
 So fearful did it seem, 
 
 Nutti) £litmbersar». 
 
 1 853 . 
 
 
 
ptount pleasant ^catrcmg. 
 
 I shuddered once, and then a woke - 
 And now you have my dream.” 
 
 FAME. 
 
 Of all the phantoms fleeting in the mist 
 Of Time, though meagre all, and ghostly thin. 
 Most unsubstantial, unessential shade, 
 
 Was earthly Fame. She was a voice alone, 
 
 And dwelt upon the noisy tongues of men. 
 
 She never thought, but gabbled ever on ; 
 Applauding most what least deserved applause. 
 The motive, the result, was nought to her : 
 
 The deed alone, though dyed in human gore, 
 And steeped in widows’ tears, if it stood out 
 To prominent display, she talked of much, 
 
 And roared around it with a thousand tongues. 
 As changed the wind her organ, so she changed 
 Perpetually ; and whom she praised to-day, 
 Vexing his ear with acclamations loud, 
 To-morrow blamed, and hissed him out of sight. 
 Such was her nature, and her practice such : 
 
 But, oh ! her voice was sweet to mortal ears, 
 
 And touched so pleasantly the strings of pride 
 And vanity, which in the heart of man 
 Were ever strung harmonious to her note, 
 
 That many thought, to live without her song 
 Was rather death than life. To live unknown, 
 Unnoticed, unrenowned, to die unpraised, 
 
i^lount pleasant &catnm£, 
 
 Such thought was cold about the heart, and chill’d 
 The blood. Who could endure it? who could choose 
 Without a struggle to be swept away, 
 
 From all remembrance, and have part no more 
 With living men. 
 
 Philosophy failed here, and self-approving pride ; 
 Hence it became 
 
 The aim of most, and main pursuit, to win 
 A name, to leave some vestige as they passed, 
 That following ages might discern they once 
 Had been on earth, and acted something there. 
 Many the roads they took, the plans they tried, 
 But all in vain. Who grasp’d at earthly Fame, 
 Grasp’d wind ; nay, worse, a serpent grasp’d, that 
 through 
 
 His hands slid smoothly, and was gone, but left 
 A sting behind, which brought him endless pain : 
 For oft her voice was old Abandon’s lure, 
 
 By which he charmed the foolish soul to death. 
 
 LE GENIE DES TEMPETES. 
 
 O nation, la plus temeraire de toutes les na- 
 tions ! Yous, indomptables guerriers, vous, navi- 
 gateurs infatiguables, vous osez maintenant pene- 
 trer dans ces vastes mers dont je suis le gardien, 
 dans ces vastes mers qui n’ont jamais ete sillon- 
 nees ! Puisque vous voulez arracher a la nature 
 les secrets de I’humide element, eh bien, mortels 
 temeraires ! apprenez les maux qui vous sont re- 
 serves sur cette mer orageuse et sur les terres loin- 
 taines que vous soumettrez par la guerre. 
 
 Nfintl) Sttimbersars. 
 
 
 l S 5 3. 
 
JtHoimt pleasant ^calremg. 
 
 Malheur aux vaisseaux assez hardis pour s’e- 
 lancer sur vos traces ! Je dechainerai contre eux 
 les vents et les tempetes. Malheur a la flotte qui 
 viendra braver mon pouvoir ! A peine aura-t-elle 
 paru sur mes ondes, qu’elle sera engloutie dans 
 les dots. Je signalerai surtout ma vengeance sur 
 le premier navigateur qui m’est venu braver dans 
 ma demeure. Mes yeux peuvent lire dans le 
 livre des destins, et j’y lis que chaque annee ra- 
 menera pour vous de nouveaux naufrages, et que 
 la mort sera le moindre de vos maux. 
 
 Le ciel a decide qu’un heros, longtemps cou- 
 ronne par la victoire, deposera ici non seulement 
 ses trophees conquis sur la flotte ottomane, mais 
 payera meme de sa vie la destruction de Quiloa 
 et de Momba9a, et trouvera ici une sepulture 
 eternelle. 
 
 Un autre guerrier, sensible a l’amour et a la 
 gloire, amenera ici la beaute que son coeur aura 
 choisie. Quelle aflreuse destinee les attend sur 
 ces rivages ! Ils survivront a leur naufrage, 
 mais ils eprouveront d’inexprimables soufFrances. 
 Leurs malheureux enfants, devores par la faim, 
 expireront sous leurs yeux : leur mere infortunee, 
 depouillee par les Cafres feroces et avares, sera 
 exposee a l’inclemence des airs et foulera de ses 
 pieds delicats les sables brulants de ces contrees. 
 Bientot, suivie de son epoux, elle fuira dans l’e- 
 paisseur des forets. La, les deux amants refugies 
 dans les bras Pun de Pautre, exhaleront ensemble 
 leur dernier soupir, et le recit de leurs maux fera 
 fremir d’horreur les habitants des rives du Tage. 
 
 NttUi) gluntbersari?. 
 
$flount pleasant gRa&emtt. 
 
 LITTLE AT FIRST, BUT GREAT AT LAST 
 
 A traveller through a dusty road, 
 
 Strewed acorns on the lea ; 
 
 And one took root, and sprouted up, 
 
 And grew into a tree. 
 
 Love sought its shade at even-time 
 To breathe its early vows, 
 
 And Age was pleased, in heats of noon. 
 
 To bask beneath its boughs ; 
 
 The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, 
 The birds sweet music bore, 
 
 It stood, a glory in its place, 
 
 A blessing evermore. 
 
 A little spring had lost its way 
 Among the grass and fern ; 
 
 A passing stranger scooped a well, 
 
 Where weary men might turn. 
 
 He walled it in, and hung with care 
 A ladle at the bush. 
 
 He thought not of the deed he did, 
 
 But judged that toil might drink. 
 
 He passed again — and lo ! the well, 
 
 By summers never dried, 
 
 Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, 
 And saved a life beside. 
 
 A nameless man, (amid a crowd 
 That thronged the daily mart,) 
 Let fall the word of hope and love 
 Unstudied from the heart : 
 
 glmubersars* 
 
 1 853 . 
 
A whisper on the tumult thrown — 
 A transitory breath. 
 
 It raised a brother from the dust. 
 
 It saved a soul from death. 
 
 O germ ! O fount ! O word of love ! 
 
 O thought at random cast ! 
 
 Ye were but little at the first, 
 
 But mighty at the last. 
 
 Ptouut pleasant ^catrcma. 
 
 HUNGARY. 
 
 Dead on the plain her warriors lie, 
 
 Their battle shouts are o’er ; 
 
 No more the loud bucinna rings 
 From hill to cliff-crowned shore : 
 Triumphant shouts of victory 
 Above her fallen brave, 
 
 Vanquished at last beneath the foe, 
 
 Her banners drink the wave. 
 
 From Zara to the Danube’s side, 
 
 Leagued with the wily Croat, 
 
 Where’er the despot’s shadow falls, 
 
 The Austrian eagles float ; 
 
 Their horsemen, backed by sword and crown, 
 In conquering marches tread, 
 
 Alike o’er Hungary’s struggling sons, 
 
 And o’er her martyred dead. 
 
 Twelve times the treacherous tyrants swore, 
 In God’s eternal name, 
 
 To guard in equity and peace 
 Her pure and noble fame ; 
 
 Ntntij gtontbersars 
 
 1853 . 
 

 Twelve times the kingly oaths were broke- 
 Still burned the accursed brand — 
 
 Till from their hills they armed to strike 
 Her name from out the land. 
 
 Then rose the wild avenging cry, 
 
 As sweeps the tempest’s roar, 
 
 “ The house of Hapsburg is foresworn, 
 
 Her kings shall rule no more.” 
 
 Swift to their fiery battle steeds 
 Her bounding warriors sprung ; 
 
 O’er cliff, and hill, and rocky steep, 
 
 The Magyar war-song rung. 
 
 But for the coward traitor hearts 
 Who bent the servile knee, 
 
 And dimmed in treason’s cloudy rays 
 The star of Liberty, 
 
 The sword once wakened from its sheath, 
 Had never fought in vain, 
 
 The invader’s hostile ranks had fled — 
 
 Her borders heaped with slain. 
 
 u Not always to the swift the race, 
 
 The battle to the strong,” 
 
 Nor always frowns the cause of right 
 Triumphant over wrong : 
 
 Yet, doomed and fallen Hungary, 
 
 Thy sons bleed not in vain ! 
 
 High o’er the midnight of thy woe 
 Morning shall rise again ! 
 
 Once more shall Justice be enthroned; 
 
 The vassal’s chains shall fall — 
 
 Once more a fearful cry must break 
 
 Ntntij &nmbcrsar». 
 
 Si- 
 

 i&ount pleasant glcartrms. 
 
 Through Austria’s princely hall — 
 Once more her sons must share the fight, 
 
 O, Patriot Chief, with thee ! 
 
 And God, the God of hosts, shall win 
 The battle for the free. 
 
 HONOUR TO WOMAN. 
 
 Honour to Woman ! To her it is given 
 
 To guard the earth with the roses of heaven ! 
 
 All blessed, she linketh the Loves in their choir; 
 
 In the veil of the Graces her beauty concealing, 
 
 She tends on each altar that’s hallow’d to Feeling, 
 And keeps ever-living the fire. 
 
 From the bounds of Truth careering, 
 
 Man’s strong spirit mildly sweeps, 
 
 With each hasty impulse veering, 
 
 Down to Passion’s troubled deeps, 
 
 And his heart, contented never, 
 
 Greeds to grapple with the far, 
 
 Chasing his own dream forever, 
 
 On through many a distant star ! 
 
 But woman, with looks that can charm and 
 enchain, 
 
 Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again, 
 By the spell of her presence beguiled ; 
 
 In the home of the mother her modest abode, 
 
 And modest the manner by nature bestowed, 
 
 On Nature’s most exquisite child ! 
 
 Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting, 
 
 Foe to foe, the angry strife ; 
 
 Nmti) Stombersarg* 
 
 1853 . 
 
J&ount pleasant &catrem£. 
 
 Man, the wild one, never resting, 
 
 Roams along the troubled life ; 
 
 What he planneth still pursuing, 
 
 Vainly as the hydra bleeds, 
 
 Crest the sever’d crest renewing — 
 
 Wish to wither’d wish succeeds. 
 
 But woman, at peace with all being, reposes, 
 
 And seeks from the moment to gather the roses 
 Whose sweets to her culture belong ; 
 
 Ah ! richer than he, tho’ his soul reigneth o’er 
 The mighty dominion of Genius and Lore, 
 
 And the infinite circle of Song. 
 
 Strong, and proud, and self-depending, 
 
 Man’s cold bosom beats alone, 
 
 Heart with heart divinely blending, 
 
 In the love that gods have known; 
 
 Soul’s sweet interchange of feeling, 
 
 Melting tears, — he never knows ; 
 
 Each hard sense the hard one steeling, 
 
 Arms against a world of foes. 
 
 Alive as the wind-harp, how lightly soever, 
 
 If woo’d by the zephyr, to music will quiver, 
 
 Is woman to Hope and to Fear ; 
 
 Ah ! tender one, still at the shadow of grieving, 
 How quiver the chords, how thy bosom is heaving, 
 How trembles thy glance through the tear ! 
 
 Man’s dominion, war and labour ; 
 
 Might to right, the statute gave ; 
 
 Laws are in the Scythian’s sabre; 
 
 Where the Mede reign’d, see the slave ! 
 Peace and Meekness grimly routing, 
 
 Wmttj &umbers3r£ 
 
 1 85 3 . 
 
 * 
 
 J ' ^ "c/x-Yo 
 
JtSouut pleasant ^catremg 
 
 Prowls the War-lust rude and wild; 
 
 Eris rages, hoarsely shouting, 
 
 Where the vanish’d Graces smiled. 
 
 But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth, 
 Of the life that she charmeth, the sceptre she 
 swayeth ; 
 
 She lulls, as she looks from above, 
 
 The Discord whose hell for its victims is gaping, 
 And blending awhile the forever escaping, 
 Whispers Hate to the image of Love. 
 
 THE JEWISH PILGRIM. 
 
 Are these the ancient holy hills, 
 
 Where angels walked of old ? 
 
 Is this the land our story fills 
 With glory not yet cold ? 
 
 For I have passed by many a shrine, 
 
 O’er many a land and sea ; 
 
 Yet still, O promised Palestine, 
 
 My dream hath been of thee. 
 
 I’ve seen thy mountain beauteous green, 
 Thy valleys fresh and fair, 
 
 With summers bright as they have been, 
 When Israel’s home was there. 
 
 Tho’ o’er thee sword and time have passed, 
 And cross and crescent shone, 
 
 And heavily the chain hath pressed, 
 
 1 85 3 . 
 
Blount pleasant &catrem» 
 
 Whose blood hath stained the polar snow. 
 
 And quenched the desert sand ; 
 
 And thine the homeless hearts that turn 
 From all earth’s shrines to thee, 
 
 With their lone faith for ages borne 
 In sleepless memory. 
 
 For thrones are fallen and nations gone 
 Before the march of Time, 
 
 And where the ocean rolled before 
 Are forests in their prime. 
 
 Since Gentile ploughshares marred the brow 
 Of Zion’s holy hill, 
 
 Where are the Roman eagles now ? 
 
 Yet Judith wanders still. 
 
 And hath she wandered thus in vain, 
 
 A pilgrim of the past? 
 
 No ! long deferred her hope hath been, 
 
 But it shall come at last. 
 
 For in her wastes a voice I hear, 
 
 As from some prophet’s urn, 
 
 It bids the nations harbour here, 
 
 For Jacob shall return. 
 
 O ! lost and loved Jerusalem, 
 
 Thy pilgrim may not stay 
 To see the glad earth’s harvest home 
 In thy redeeming day ; 
 
 But now resigned in faith and trust, 
 
 1 seek a nameless tomb, 
 
 At least beneath thy hallowed dust, 
 
jfHount pleasant 
 
 DISCO CRS DE MICIPSA A JUGURTHA. 
 
 Tu etais encore tout petit, Jugurtha, et la perte 
 de ton royaume t’avait laisse sans avenir, sans 
 fortune, quand je t’approchai de mon trone, bien 
 persuade qu’a raison de mes bienfaits, je ne te se- 
 rais pas moins cher qu’a mes propres enfants, si 
 je venais a en avoir ; mon esperance n’a pas ete 
 trompee. En effet, sans parler de tant d’autres 
 hauts faits, ton recent retour a Numance a repen- 
 du sur moi et sur mon royaume le plus glorieux 
 eclat : par ta valeur tu as resserre de la maniere 
 la plus etroite le lien de notre amitie avec les Ro- 
 mains ; tu as fait briber de nouveau en Espagne 
 le nom de notre famille ; enfin, ce qu’il y a de 
 plus difficile au monde, par ta gloire tu as impose 
 silence a l’envie. 
 
 Maintenant, puisque la nature va mettre fin a 
 ma vie, je te prie par cette main que je t’abandonne, 
 je te supplie par la majeste meme de la royaute, 
 je te conjure de cherir toujours mes enfants, tes 
 proches par la naissance, tes freres par adoption. 
 
 Prends bien garde aussi de ne pas accorder ton 
 affection a des etrangers, au lieu de l’accorder a 
 ceux qui te sont unis par le sang, Les vrais ap- 
 puis de la royaute ne sont ni les armees ni les 
 tresors, mais ce sont les amis ; les amis dont l’af- 
 fection ne s’acquiert point par la force des armes^ 
 ni ne s’achete point au prix de l’or, mais s’obtient 
 par les bons offices et la loyaute ; or, quel ami 
 plus sur qu’un frere pour son frere ! Quel de- 
 voument pourras-tu trouver dans un etranger si 
 tu deviens l’ennemi de ta famille ! 
 
 
 1 853 . 
 
$aouut pleasant ^catremn 
 
 Je vous laisse un trone vraiment inebranlable 
 si vous etes unis, mais chancelant si vous cessez 
 de l’etre, car les plus petits Etats grandissent par 
 la concorde, et les plus puissants perissent par la 
 discorde. Du reste, c’est a toi, plus qu’a mes en- 
 fants, a toi, Jugurtha, qui as sur eux la superiori- 
 te de Page et de l’experience, qu’il appartient de 
 pourvoir a ce qu’il n’arrive rien de facheux, d’au- 
 tant plus que dans toute lutte, le plus puissant, 
 fut-il offense, passe pour l’agresseur par cela seul 
 qu’il peut davantage. 
 
 TRIBUTE TO D. WEBSTER. 
 
 Boom on ! thou melancholy minute-gun, 
 
 Boom on ! 
 
 And toll, thou solemn bell ! 
 
 To sorrowing hearts your story tell — 
 
 Ye bid the Nation robes of mourning don ; 
 
 Her statesman’s course is run ! 
 
 Down through the still, pure air 
 
 Of this clear mom, 
 
 The stricken leaves are floating everywhere, 
 Stripping each blithe young tree, each aged thorn, 
 Autumn, with fingers chill, retakes his vestments 
 fair ! 
 
 Boom on, thou melancholy gun, 
 
 And toll, sad bell. 
 
 A glorious life hath faded with the leaves — 
 
 A people for its benefactor grieves ; 
 
 At height of hope, death ruthlessly bereaves ; 
 
 Ring on, thou tribute knell ! 
 
 Mutfj &utiibersarj?. 
 
 1 853 . 
 
Not for a hero’s rest, 
 
 Thou mournful gun, 
 
 Not o’er the shivered sword and trampled crest, 
 And carnage done ; 
 
 O ! not for thee, thou deep-toned bell, 
 
 Thy heavy tidings swell ! 
 
 His nobler fields were won 
 Where peace serenely sat 
 In halls of loftiest state — 
 
 Where Faith and Honor wait 
 To guard the massive gate ; 
 
 And he expires, 
 
 Amid his household band, 
 
 Propped by Affection’s tenderest hand, 
 
 Beside Home’s altar fires ! 
 
 Calmly to welcome rest, 
 
 Life’s labors done, 
 
 Sinks on Columbia’s breast, 
 
 Her honored son ! 
 
 The trappings of her woe, 
 
 From east to farthest west, 
 
 Her drooping soon will show ; 
 
 From north to south thy voice shall go, 
 
 Thou melancholy gun ! 
 
 Thy funeral notes, O dreary hell, 
 
 Shall swing through many a distant dell ! 
 And beat with startling throbs the air, 
 
 O’er crowded marts — o’er hamlets fair, 
 
 And foreign lands will learn to weep 
 Such echoes wafted o’er the deep ! 
 
 Not least, where he will roam no more, 
 
 Nmttj glmnbersar# 
 
 1 8 G 3. 
 
fttount pleasant gicatremg. 
 
 or sounding shore — 
 
 The blank will be ! 
 
 His kindly greeting, ready hand — 
 
 His aspect, dignified, yet bland, 
 
 His bearing free, 
 
 Forever more are gone ! 
 
 Toll on, sad bell — and thou, stern gun, 
 
 Boom on ! 
 
 Ye poured his requiem notes at earliest morn — 
 And with the unclouded sun, 
 His life, on earth well done, 
 
 In worlds of light and joy is just begun ! 
 
 Ours is the grief — his the high triumph won. 
 Peal on ! of both the voice, thou signal gun ! 
 
 THE UNKNOWN SHIPS. 
 
 On the far horizon the ice fleet rides, 
 
 And each lance-like peak is bright 
 With the rainbow’s hue, as the morning glides 
 O’er the drifts of glittering white. 
 
 From the frozen waves of the Arctic seas, 
 
 From the solitude of snow, 
 
 With the blasting strength of the north-east breeze 
 On the stately icebergs go. 
 
 They were rent away by the wild spring tide, 
 And the current’s gathering might, 
 
 From the hoary mountain’s cracking side, 
 
 In the howling clear March night. 
 
 Nmtfj &nmbersar» 
 
 18 5 3 . 
 
.ptount pleasant gcafrtms 
 
 No sound is heard but the sea-bird’s wail, 
 
 And the fall of the melting snow, 
 
 And the whistling rush of the coming gale 
 And the billow’s splash below. 
 
 But darkly rises a towering mast 
 O’er the iceberg’s spectral pride ; 
 
 Those gallant ships, they are anchored fast 
 In that tideless harbor’s side., 
 
 No living soul treads the wind bleached decks, 
 And no midnight watch they keep ; 
 
 No pilot stands at the helm-like wrecks, 
 
 They are drifting down the deep. 
 
 By their captors dumb they are borne along ; 
 
 But their bonds melt day by day ; [strong, 
 
 For the wind blows warm, and the sun shines 
 On the frost-bound wanderer’s way. 
 
 To the glowing seas of the south they pass 
 To some wild and savage strand ; 
 
 But where are the souls that they bore, alas ! 
 When they left their native land ? 
 
 Oh ! ask the stars, and the winds, and waves — 
 For that secret dread they keep ; 
 
 And the sparkling deeps of the lone ice-caves, 
 Where the snows of ages sleep. 
 
 REPONSE DE LORD THURLOW AU DUC 
 DE GRAFTON. 
 
 Je suis etonne de l’attaque que le noble Due a 
 faite contre moi. Oui, milords, je suis etonne du 
 
 Nmtf) gmubersarg, 
 
 18 03 . 
 
30 
 
 X 
 
 discours de sa Seigneurie. Le noble Due ne peut 
 regarder ni devant lui, ni derriere lui, ni a cote de 
 lui, sans apercevoir quelque noble Pair, qui ne 
 soit redevable de son siege en cette assemblee a 
 ses succes dans une profession a laquelle j’appar. 
 tiens. Le noble Lord ne sent-il pas qu’il est aussi 
 honorable pour un'homme de devoir sa position a 
 ses propres succes, que de la devoir au liasard ! 
 
 Quoique le langage du noble Due soit aussi ap- 
 plicable et aussi insultant a ces illustres Lords, 
 qu’il Test a moi-meme, je ne crains pas d’en 
 prendre moi seul toute l’application. Personne 
 n’a plus de respect que moi pour la pairie, cepen- 
 dant je dois avouer, milords, que la pairie sollici- 
 tait ma presence, mais que je ne sollicitais pas la 
 pairie. 
 
 Bien plus, je pourrais dire, que comme membre 
 du parlement, que comme garde des sceaux, que 
 comme conseiller particulier de sa majeste, que 
 comme grand chancelier d’Angleterre, j’oserai 
 me me dire qu’en maqualite d’homme, dignite que 
 pas un ne saurait me refuser, mais dignite que le 
 noble Due regarderait comme une injure si on 
 osait faire allusion a sa Seigneurie, oui, j’oserai 
 meme dire qu’en ma qualite d’homme seulement, 
 je suis en ce moment aussi respectable, je de- 
 mande la permission d’ajouter, je suis en ce mo- 
 ment aussi respecte que le plus her de tous les 
 pairs, sur le quel j’abaisse maintenant mes re- 
 gards. 
 
 n 
 
 Nint$ SKnmbersnri? 
 
 1 8 5 3 . 
 
 
TO THE URSA MAJOR. 
 
 W ith what a stately and majestic step 
 That glorious Constellation of the North 
 Treads its eternal circle ! going forth 
 Its princely way amongst the stars in slow 
 And silent brightness. Mighty one ! all hail ! 
 
 I joy to see thee, on thy glowing path 
 Walk, like some stout and girded giant — stern 
 Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot 
 Disdains to loiter on its destined way. 
 
 The other tribes forsake their midnight track, 
 And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave ; 
 
 But thou dost never close thy burning eye, 
 
 Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on, 
 While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds 
 Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds. 
 The near horizon tempts to rest in vain. 
 
 Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quit 
 Thy long-appointed watch ; but, sleepless still, 
 Dost guard the fixed light of the universe, 
 
 And bid the North for ever know its place. 
 
 Ages have witnessed thy devoted trust, 
 Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God 
 Sent forth that shout of joy, which rang through 
 heaven, 
 
 And echoed from the outer spheres that bound 
 The illimitable universe, — thy voice 
 Joined the high chorus ; from thy radiant orbs 
 The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise, 
 Who thus had cast another sparkling gem, 
 
 Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd 
 Of splendors that enrich his firmament. 
 
 Ntnti) ^mubcrsarm 
 
 1 853 . 
 
 m 
 
 mmmm- 
 
$8(ount pleasant gcalrems 
 
 As thou art now, so wast thou then, the same. 
 Ages have rolled their course, and Time grown 
 gray; 
 
 The earth has gathered to her womb again, 
 
 And yet again, the myriads, that were born 
 Of her, — uncounted, unremembered tribes. 
 
 The seas have changed their beds, the solid con- 
 tinents 
 
 Have left their banks, — and man’s imperial works, 
 The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had 
 flung 
 
 Their haughty honors in the face of heaven, 
 
 As if immortal, — have been swept away, — 
 Shattered and mouldering, buried and forgot. 
 
 But time has shed no dimness on thy front, 
 
 Nor touched the firmness of thy tread ; youth, 
 strength, 
 
 And beauty, still are thine, — as clear, as bright, 
 As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth, 
 Beautiful offspring of his curious skill, 
 
 To watch earth’s northern, and proclaim 
 The eternal chorus of Eternal Love. 
 
 LAUGHTER FOR ALL. 
 
 Alas ! the glory of historic page — 
 
 The fame of heroes scarce lives half an age ; 
 How ends in ridicule the pride of story ! 
 Glory, how empty — if it be but glory ! 
 Pompey, a mastiff, watches near your hall, 
 And bull-dog Caesar guards a butcher’s stall. 
 Rivals of old, they show the self-same spite : 
 
 Mutt) ^umbersars* 
 
 1853 . 
 
 I 
 
HJount pleasant ^catrems, 
 
 Throw them a bone, and for a bone they fight. 
 Scipio, the bolt of war, a vulgar hound, 
 
 Flies at a bull, and pins him to the ground. 
 Hector, once Troy’s defender, now a dog, 
 
 Defends your cabbages from man and hog. 
 
 Have you a savage brute you cannot tame? 
 
 You very aptly give him Nero’s name : 
 
 A surly terrier, all night long he howls, [fowls. 
 And keeps from thieves your fleeces and your 
 O, mockery of man’s heroic line ! 
 
 Cato, a sheep-dog !— Brutus worries swine ! 
 
 Gods quaff no nectar now from golden cups ; 
 Celestials have their downs, and brutes their ups : 
 Olympus litters nothing now but pups. 
 
 Juno — Diana — Yenus— once the pets 
 Of mighty poets, now of vain coquettes, 
 
 Are fondled lap-dogs — carried everywhere : 
 
 In coach to church, or to the theatre. 
 
 Should Fate Democritus to life restore, 
 
 To see so wondrous change, he’d laugh the more, 
 And louder than he ever laughed before. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 Heavy and solemn, 
 
 A cloudy column, 
 
 Through the green plain they marching came ; 
 Measureless spread, 
 
 Like a table dread, 
 
 For the wild grrm dice of the iron game. 
 
 Their looks are bent on the shaking ground, 
 
 And the heart beats loud with a knelling sound ! 
 
 Ntntfj gumbcrsara?* 
 
 1 8 53 . 
 
 
Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt, 
 Gallops the major along the front — 
 
 “ Halt !” 
 
 And, fetter’d, they stand at the stark command, 
 And the warriors silent halt. 
 
 Proud in the blush of morning glowing, 
 
 What on the hill-top shines in flowing? 
 
 “See you the foeman’s banners waving?” 
 
 We see the foemen’s banners waving : 
 
 “ God be with ye — children and. wife !” 
 
 Hark to the music, the trumpet and fife — t. 
 
 How they ring through the ranks which they 
 rouse to the strife : 
 
 Thrilling they sound with their glorious tone — 
 Thrilling they go through marrow and bone ! 
 Brothers, God grant when this life is o’er, 
 
 In the life to come, that we meet once more ! 
 
 See the smoke how the lightning is cleaving 
 asunder ! 
 
 Hark, the guns peal on peal, how they boom in 
 their thunder. 
 
 From host to host, with kindling sound, 
 
 The shouting signals circle round. 
 
 Aye, shout it forth to life or death — 
 
 Freer already breathes the breath : 
 
 War is waging — slaughter raging — 
 
 And heavy through the reeking pall 
 The iron death-dice fall ! 
 
 Nearer they close — foes upon foes. 
 
 “ Ready !” from square to square it goes. 
 
 Down on the knee they sank, 
 
 And the fire comes sharp from the foremost rank : 
 
 
 18 53 . 
 
jPaount pleasant ^catrcmg 
 
 Many a man to the earth is sent — 
 
 Many a gap by the balls is rent — 
 
 O’er the corpse before springs the hinder man, 
 That the line may not fail to the fearless van. 
 
 To the right, to the left, and around and around, 
 Death whirls in its dance on the bloody ground, 
 God’s sunlight is quench’d in the fiery fight, 
 
 And over the host falls a brooding night. 
 Brothers, God grant when this life is o’er, 
 
 In the life to come, that we meet once more. 
 
 The dead men lie bathed in weltering blood, 
 And the living are blent in the slippery flood ; 
 And their feet, as they reeling and sliding go, 
 Stumble still on the corpses that sleep below. 
 
 “ What, Francis !” — “ Give Charlotte my last fare- 
 well !” 
 
 As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell — 
 “ I’ll give — O God ! are their guns so near ? 
 
 Ho, comrades — yon volley ! look sharp to the rear ! 
 I’ll give thy Charlotte thy last farewell. 
 
 Sleep soft : where death thickest descendeth in 
 vain— 
 
 The friend thou forsakest thy side shall regain.” 
 Hitherward, thitherward, reels the fight ; 
 
 Darkly, and more darkly, day glooms into night. 
 Brothers, God grant when this life is o’er, 
 
 In the life to come, that we meet once more. 
 
 Hark to the hoofs that galloping go ! 
 
 The adjutants flying — 
 
 The horsemen press hard on the panting foe, 
 Their thunder booms in dying — 
 
 Victory ! 
 
jf&ount pleasant &catrem£. 
 
 The terror has seized on the dastards all, 
 
 And their colours fall — 
 
 Victory ! 
 
 Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight ; 
 
 And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night. 
 Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, 
 
 The triumph already sweeps marching in song. 
 Farewell, fallen brothers ! though this life be o’er, 
 There’s another in which we shall meet you once 
 more. 
 
 ® IE 2 ® 2 M 2i 2) Hi IB “D? HI □ 
 
 LANGUAGES. 
 
 Introduction by R. Barker, N. Y. 
 
 The Greek B. Lee, N. Y 
 
 The Latin W. Slidell, La, 
 
 The French F. Zacharie, La 
 
 The German T. Emanuel, Ala 
 
 The English M. Sorrel, Ga 
 
 Decision by the presiding Judge— C. Minturn, N. Y. 
 
amt! Helmut ^taking. 
 
 FEBRUARY 22, 1854. 
 
 ©if usaiB© ubiiSo 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Song .by the SCHOOL CHOIR. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Salutatory M. SORREL, Ga. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 W. BRANDRETII, N. Y Life’s Better Moments 
 
 T. ZACHARIE, La. Valediction 
 
 S. GILMAN, N. Y Monti’s Ode to Napoleon 
 
 C. ROSER, Ga. Christophe Colomb a son equipage r§volt§ 
 
 (French.) 
 
 J. VANDERVOORT, N. Y Religious Liberty abroad 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 E. LEVERICH, N. Y The Masque of the New Year 
 
 J. PRINGLE, S. C Tribute to Gen. Taylor 
 
 T. NELSON, N. Y Venice 
 
 B. LEE, N. Y Las Casas aux Espagnols 
 
 ( Original French Translation .) 
 
 A- STODDARD, Ga ..... Horatius Codes 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 ' 
 
 1 v ' 
 
 18 5 4. 
 
 $g@ . 
 
\©H?I 
 
 LEE, 
 
 VILLALONGA, 
 
 SPENCER, 
 
 KENT, 
 
 C. MAURICE, 
 
 N. Y. 
 
 J. HICKS, 
 
 N. Y. 
 
 T. GIBBS, 
 
 R. I. 
 
 W. SLIDELL, 
 
 La. 
 
 0. SCHMIDT, 
 
 N. Y. 
 
 J^ottut pleasant gteatremg* 
 
 N. Y France and England 
 
 Porto Rico Pintura de la Inquisicion 
 
 ( Spanish ) 
 
 N. Y The Land of which I dream 
 
 Ga Greece. ( Orig . Lat. Trans, from Jarvis) 
 
 N. Y. ...The Rock of the Atlantic 
 
 Pa. Fadeless is'a Loving Heart 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 (j French.) 
 
 .The Sultan and the Czar 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 NATIONAL HEROISM. 
 
 Introduction - by the President. 
 
 The Greeks - H. Millikin, La. 
 
 The Romans D. McIntosh, N. Y. 
 
 The French B. Lee, N. Y. 
 
 The English - C. Mintukn, N. Y. 
 
 The Americans L.F. Zacharie, La. 
 
 The Ladies --M. Sorrel, Ga. 
 
 Decision by the President F. Kent, Pa. 
 
Of beauty and bloom, 
 
 But they hang like sweet roses 
 On the edge of the tomb ; 
 Blessings they bring us, 
 
 As lovely as brief ; 
 
 They meet us when happy, 
 And leave us in grief. 
 
 (i 
 
 Hues of the morning, 
 Tinging the sky, 
 
 Come on the sun-beams, 
 And off with them fly. 
 Shadows of evening 
 Hang soft on the shore ; 
 Darkness enwraps them, — 
 We see them no more. 
 
 So, Life’s better moments 
 In brilliance appear, 
 Dawning in beauty, 
 
 Our journey to cheer. 
 Round us they linger, 
 
 Like shadows of even ; 
 Would that we, like them, 
 Might melt into Heaven 
 
 3Tentfj glnmbersari?, 
 
 1854 . 
 
$ 
 
 As flowers that bud and bloom before us, 
 
 Then droop in languor and decay ; 
 
 As clouds that form their bright shapes o’er us, 
 Then speed their trackless course away ; 
 
 As sparkling waves we watch advancing, 
 
 That melt in foam beneath our gaze ; 
 
 As sunlight o’er the waters glancing, 
 
 That smiles and then withdraws its rays ; 
 
 As summer insects, to their night-homes wending, 
 Sweep by us with a hum of melody ; 
 
 As gentle showers on the earth descending, 
 
 Gem for a fleeting space each shrub and tree — 
 
 So pass away the gifts and joys of earth ; 
 
 Frail as the rose, thecloud, the waves as fleeting; 
 
 We scarce can welcome happiness to birth, 
 
 Ere some sad note of change arrests the greeting. 
 
 The hopes we build, the friends we prize, 
 
 The visioned schemes our hearts delighting, 
 
 How do they vanish from our eyes ! 
 
 The real our joyous fancies blighting. 
 
 The scenes we love Time marks with change, 
 And gladsome hours have no abiding, 
 
 And friends o’er land and ocean range, 
 
 The earth’s wide space our lot dividing. 
 
 But shall we therefore shun the pleasant things 
 This else too barren wilderness adorning? 
 
 And give to joy and gladness swifter wings, 
 Shielding our hearts in cold and selfish warning? 
 
 sahnubrrsnri?, 
 
 1 854 . 
 

 JBount pleasant SUatrcms 
 
 No ! for the memory of delights that leave us 
 Lingers — a welcome echo of the past. 
 
 No ! for through all the myriad ills that grieve us, 
 Hope struggles on, consoling to the last. 
 
 And through life’s varied scenes and hours departed, 
 Its mingled heritage of joy and pain, 
 
 One solace ever clings to the warm-hearted, 
 Affection can live on, — and friends may meet 
 again. 
 
 MONTI’S ODE TO NAPOLEON. 
 
 He was. When motionless and dumb, 
 
 The last sigh left the clay, 
 
 And orphan’d of that wondrous soul 
 His wondrous body lay, — 
 
 As motionless, as dumb with awe, 
 
 Earth heard the tidings fly, 
 
 Mute pondering on his mortal hour, 
 
 The Man of Destiny ! 
 
 Nor knew when o’er her trembling plain 
 Another footstep dread 
 
 Should tramp th’ ensanguined dust with tracks 
 Like his — the mighty dead ! 
 
 From Alps unto the Pyramids, 
 
 From Durro to the Rhine, 
 
 The lightning of his right red hand 
 He launched out, half divine. 
 
 From Scylla’s rock to Danube’s shore 
 It leaped — from sea to sea. 
 
 STcitti) Sltimbcrsavn* 
 
 1854 . 
 
 
Was it true glory ? Ye alone 
 Will judge, Posterity. 
 
 We can but bow our heads before 
 The Maker uncreate, 
 
 Who stamped his image on this soul 
 In lines so wondrous great. 
 
 The stormy trembling joy that broods 
 O’er vast designs conceived, — 
 
 The burning thirst to win a throne, 
 That, won, is scarce believed, — 
 Both, all were his, — the mad desire 
 And its fulfilment strange ! 
 
 Glory by peril made more sweet, 
 
 And then, in endless change, 
 
 Height, victory, a monarch’s dome, 
 
 An exile’s roof of pain, 
 
 Twice hurled into the dust, and twice 
 Royally crowned again. 
 
 He, nameless, named himself. In him, 
 Two warring dynasties 
 Converged, and humbly read their fate 
 From his commanding eyes. 
 
 He, making silence, ’tween them both 
 Sat arbiter awhile, 
 
 Then vanished, and his idle days 
 Closed in a narrow isle ; 
 
 Of envy wild, of pity deep, 
 
 Perpetual sign to prove ; 
 
 Of unextinguishable hate, 
 Unconquerable love. 
 
 How often, at the silent death 
 Of some void, aimless day, 
 
 Entti) &mtibcrsnr;» 
 
 185 4 . 
 

 
 iHotmt pleasant &catrem» 
 
 His fiery eyes low bent, his arms 
 Crossed on his breast alway, 
 
 He stood, while all the days that were 
 Assaulted him like foes : 
 
 He sees once more the moving tents, 
 
 The vales marched through, the shows 
 Of glittering foot and horsemen bold, 
 
 In wary lines displayed, — 
 
 The lightning of the imperial will, 
 
 As lightning like obeyed. 
 
 O Muse of triumphs, lovely, calm, 
 
 As an immortal is, 
 
 Benign faith sitting in thine eyes, 
 
 O joyful Muse, write this : 
 
 No loftier soul than his e’er trod 
 The Golgotha of doom, 
 
 So let all bitter words die mute 
 On the dead hero’s tomb ! 
 
 & 
 
 CHR1STOPHE COLOMB A SES MATELOTS 
 REVOLTED. 
 
 Espagnols, qu’allez-vous faire ? M’arracher la 
 vie? Mais quand vous m’aurez jete a. la mer, 
 en aurez-vous plus de moyens de retourner en 
 Espagne ? 
 
 Moi seul, j’ai pu vous diriger sur ces mers in- 
 connues, moi seul, je puis vous reconduire dans 
 votre patrie. Si je meurs, prives de guide, vous 
 serez condamnes a peril* au milieu des solitudes 
 
 Sentt) ^umbersarw, 
 
 1 8 5 4 . 
 
J&ount pleasant gtca&emg 
 
 de FOcean ; car j’emporterai dans la tombe le se- 
 cret de ma navigation. 
 
 En vain vous essayez de m’epouvanter ; trem- 
 blez a votre tour, car votre sort est attache au 
 mien, et mon trepas serait bientot venge. Q,uel 
 droit auriez-vous alors, egares sur l’abime des 
 mers, a la protection du Dieu des tempetes? 
 Oseriez-vous le supplier, vous, meurtriers de 
 votre chef, oseriez-vous le supplier de sauver vos 
 jours, oseriez-vous le supplier de vous rendre a 
 votre patrie et a vos families ? 
 
 Croyez-vous que le dessein que j’ai forme ne 
 soit pas line inspiration de Dieu meme? C’est 
 lui qui vous envoie porter le flambeau de l’Evan- 
 gile au dela des mers, comme il y envoie le soleil 
 porter l’eclat du jour. Yous ne croyez pas que 
 cet astre ait re^i du Createur une mission inu- 
 tile et qu’il roule sans but vers l’Occident desert, 
 vous devez croire aussi que vous trouverez de ce 
 cote du ciel une autre terre et d’autres hommes. 
 
 Espagnols, un dernier effort ; je ne vous de- 
 mandeplus que trois jours de perseverance, et j’en 
 jure par cet astre qui brille sur nos tetes, vos espe- 
 rances ne seront pas trompees. 
 
 
 RELIGIOUS LIBERTY ABROAD. 
 
 If there were any one idea which, more than 
 others, animated the founders of these States, it 
 was that of Religious Freedom. The Pilgrim 
 Fathers of New England brought it with them 
 from their persecutions in England, and their 
 
 STcnti) &nmbersar)>. 
 
 Wm 
 
 1 854 . 
 
exile in Holland, when they sought and found, in 
 the Western wilderness, freedom to worship God. 
 The Dutch founders of this city brought it with 
 them from that Fatherland which was a refuge 
 of the persecuted for opinion’s sake throughout 
 Europe. In Pennsylvania, William Penn, the 
 head of a persecuted and despised sect, proclaimed 
 religious freedom to every inhabitant of his peace- 
 ful commonweath. The Catholic founders of 
 Maryland, disgusted with the strifes of rival sects 
 in the Old World, proclaimed the equality of all 
 in the New ; and in Carolina, to which the Hu- 
 guenots flew from the fanaticism of their country- 
 men for religion’s sake, there was laid the foun- 
 dation of Universal Toleration. This funda- 
 mental idea of religious freedom was preserved in 
 our fundametal laws. The Constitution of the 
 United States declares that Congress shall make 
 no law respecting the establishment of religion, 
 or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, and all 
 the constitutions of this State, from that which 
 was first made amid the perils and disquietudes 
 of the Revolutionary contest, to the last, which 
 was framed in the piidst of our abounding pro- 
 sperity, contained this remarkable declaration, — 
 worthy to be held in perpetual remembrance, — 
 that the free profession and enjoyment of religious 
 profession and practice, without discrimination 
 or preference, shall be for ever allowed, in this 
 State, to all mankind. Such being the idea of 
 the right of conscience, it does not comport with 
 our sense of right, nor our self-respect, that we 
 should lose those rights when our business, or 
 
 
 1 854 . 
 
iWount pleasant ^cattem^. 
 
 our pleasure, calls us abroad. We hold that an 
 American citizen going abroad has the palpable 
 and visible shield of his country forever hanging 
 over him, — that he may stand unabashed as an 
 equal even in the presence of princes, and that 
 wherever he is, if he demands protection as an 
 American citizen, “he shall have it.” This the 
 President has proclaimed from the steps of the 
 Capitol, and our Secretaries have asserted it in 
 State papers. Our navies have maintained it at 
 foreign ports, and our commanders, from the sides 
 of our wooden walls, have proclaimed it in lan- 
 guage which neither thrones nor sceptres can 
 ignore. And even the pride of the ancient House 
 of Hapsburgh has suffered the humiliation of 
 surrendering to force what was demanded of it in 
 the name of American citizenship. Shall we be 
 less sensitive to our religious rights than to those 
 which are purely political ? Is there any reason 
 why we should maintain the one and surrender 
 the other ? On the contrary, as the rights of con- 
 science are the chiefest of all rights, they should 
 be the first to guard, and the last to surrender. 
 We ask for no exclusive privileges. We do not 
 seek to make the occasion of our being abroad 
 an opportunity for propagandism. We do not 
 assume to assail the institutions, civil or religious, 
 of any other country, by act or word ; but we 
 maintain that an American citizen, going abroad, 
 carries with him all his personal rights, and the 
 chiefest among those rights are the rights of con- 
 science, with all their incidents. 
 
 &enti) ^umbersara?. 
 
 < 
 
 t 
 
 1 854 . 
 
p 
 
 mm 
 
 C'lJj/'satf! 
 
 THE MASQUE OF THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 Out from tower and from steeple rang the sudden New 
 Year bells, 
 
 Like the chorusing of genii in aerial citadels ; 
 
 And, as they chimed and echoed overthwart the gulf of 
 gloom, 
 
 Lo, a brilliance burst upon me, and a masque went thro’ 
 the room. 
 
 First, the young New Year came forward, like a little 
 dancing child, 
 
 And his hair w T as as a glory, and his eyes were bright 
 and wild, 
 
 And he shook an odorous torch, and he laughed, but did 
 not speak, 
 
 And his smile went softly rippling through the roses of 
 his cheek, 
 
 Round he looked across his shoulder ; and the Spirit of 
 the Spring. 
 
 Entered slowly, moved before me, paused and lingered 
 on the wing ; 
 
 And she smiled and wept together, with a dalliance quaint 
 and sweet. 
 
 And her tear-drops changed to flowers underneath her 
 gliding feet 
 
 And the Goddess of the Spring — that spirit tender and 
 benign. — 
 
 Squeezed a vapory cloud, which vanished into heaven’s 
 crystal wine ; 
 
 And she faded in the distance where the thickening leaves 
 
12 
 
 Emtlj ^nnibersavj?- 
 
 jfHount pleasant &£atrent£, 
 
 Summer, shaking languid roses from his dew be-dappled 
 hair, 
 
 Summer, in a robe of green, and with his arms and 
 shoulders bare, 
 
 Next came forward ; and the richness of his pageants 
 filled the eye ; 
 
 Breadths of fertile meadows basking underneath the 
 happy sky; 
 
 Long grass swaying in the playing of the almost wearied 
 breeze ; 
 
 Flowers bowed beneath a crowd of the yellow-armored 
 bees ; 
 
 Sun-uprisings, and sun-settings, and intensities of noon ; 
 
 Purple darkness of the midnight, and the glory of the moon ; 
 
 Silver stars in azure evenings, slowly climbing up the steep; 
 
 Corn-fields ripening to the harvest, and the wide seas 
 smooth with sleep ; 
 
 Circled with these living splendors, Summer passed from 
 out my sight, 
 
 Like a dream that filled with beauty all the caverns of 
 the night ; 
 
 And the vision and the presence into empty nothing ran ; 
 
 And the New Year was still older, and seemed now a 
 youthful man. 
 
 hi. 
 
 Autumn ! Forth from glowing orchards stepped he gayly, 
 in a gown 
 
 Of warm russet, freaked with gold, and with a visage 
 sunny-brown ; 
 
 On his head a rural chaplet, wreathed with heavily drop- 
 ping grapes, 
 
 And broad, shadow-casting vine-leaves, like the Baccha- 
 nalian shapes, 
 
ptount pleasant ^ca&cmi). 
 
 Fruit and berries rolled before him, from the year’s ex- 
 haustless horn, 
 
 Jets of wine went spinning upwards, and he held a sheaf 
 of corn ; 
 
 And he laughed for very joy, and he danced from too 
 much pleasure, 
 
 And he sang old songs of harvest, and he quaffed a 
 mighty measure. 
 
 But above this wild delight an overmastering graveness 
 rose, 
 
 And the fields and trees seemed thoughtful in their abso- 
 lute repose ; 
 
 And I saw the woods consuming in a many-colored death, 
 
 Streaks of yellow flame, down deepening through the 
 green that lingereth, 
 
 Autumn walked in glee and triumph over mountain, wood 
 and plain, 
 
 And he looked upon their richness as a king on his 
 domain ; 
 
 All too soon he waned, and vanished over misty heaths 
 and meres ; 
 
 And the New Year stood beside me like a man of fifty 
 years. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In a foggy cloud obscurely entered Winter, ashy pale, 
 
 And his step was hard and heavy, and he wore an icy mail : 
 
 Blasting all the path before him, leapt a black wind from 
 the north, 
 
 And from stinging drifts of sleet he forged the arrows of 
 his wrath. 
 
 Yet some beauty still was found, for when the fogs had 
 passed away, 
 
 The wide lands came glittering forward in a fresh and 
 strange array ; 
 
 &nmbersarj?* 
 
 1854 . 
 

 sdfijS 
 
 14 
 
 JtJoimt pleasant &catrem2>. 
 
 Naked trees had got snow foliage, soft, and feathery, and 
 bright, 
 
 And the earth looked dressed for heaven in its spiritual 
 white. 
 
 But the face of Winter^softened, and his lips broke into 
 smiles, 
 
 And his heart was filled with radiance as from far en- 
 chanted isles ; 
 
 For across the long horizon came a light upon the way, 
 
 The light of Christmas fires, and the dawning of new day, 
 
 And Winter moved not onward, like the rest, but made 
 a stand, 
 
 And took the Spirit of Christmas, as a brother, by the 
 hand ; 
 
 And together tow’rd the heavens, a great cry of joy they 
 sent— 
 
 And the New Year was the Old Year, and his head was 
 grey and bent. 
 
 TRIBUTE TO GENERAL TAYLOR. 
 
 Rest, wearied soldier, rest — thy work is done, 
 Thy last great battle fought — the victory won ; 
 And where thy country’s Genius vigil keeps, 
 Around thine honored grave a nation weeps. 
 
 Not in the tumult of the swelling fight, 
 
 On thy long day came down the peaceful night, 
 But mid thy country’s annals that proclaim, 
 Thy worth, thy valor, and thine honest fame. 
 
 Rest, patriot hero, rest — the war of life 
 No more shall vex thee with its fevered strife, 
 
 
 185 4 . 
 
pimmt pleasant ^calremg. 
 
 Nor mortal care, nor pomp of earthly state, 
 Weigh down the soul — the toil of being great. 
 
 All human things are vain — the mightiest power, 
 Fades like a shadow, — withers in an hour ; 
 
 Our proudest hopes decay, — our surest trust 
 Dissolves and dies, — and we ourselves are dust. 
 
 And while thy name floats down Time’s rolling 
 stream, 
 
 The soldier’s glory and the sage’s theme ; 
 Taught by thy fate, let this the nations own, 
 That God on high is great, and God alone. 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 Long I dreamed of rare old Venice — 
 Venice bright, and free, and brave ; 
 Saw her people scant but hardy, 
 
 Win their city from the wave ; 
 
 Saw from scattered islets springing 
 Tower and dome, and palace fair; 
 Saw her sailors, lithe and sturdy, 
 
 Sea, and storm, and battle dare. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Long I dreamed of proud, old Venice 
 Venice of the conquering sword; 
 Saw her host of famous captains 
 Driving back the Moslem horde 
 Saw her matchless, blind old hero 
 Trample on the Imposter’s sign- 
 
 Seutf) gUintbersatg. 
 
 1 854 . 
 
.piouttt pleasant &catrcm». 
 
 Saw him plant the blessed standard 
 Where ’twas set by Constantine. 
 
 in. 
 
 Then I dreamed of “Golden Venice” — 
 Venice rich, and learned, and wise ; 
 
 Saw full robed her mighty masters 
 Sweeping by in lordly guise ; 
 
 Saw great Paul, and glorious Titian, 
 
 Strike from heaven itself their light ; 
 
 Saw them frame those deathless heir-looms, 
 Starring yet their Country’s night. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But I woke in fallen Venice — 
 
 Falling low and falling yet ; 
 
 Saw her nameless among the nations — 
 Knew her sun of glory set — 
 
 Saw her palaces deserted, 
 
 Turned to uses vile and low — 
 
 Knew her old patrician glories 
 Naught but tales of long ago. 
 
 v. 
 
 But I woke in ruined Venice — 
 
 Venice of the watery ways ; 
 
 Saw a people poor and idle 
 Shuffle through ignoble days ; 
 
 Saw the merchants’ great Rialto 
 Filled with costermongers’ stalls ; 
 
 Saw her stately havens empty — 
 
 Travellers shew her council halls. 
 
 vi. 
 
 I woke in Austria’s Venice — 
 
 &enti) ^irmbersarin 
 
 1 8 54 . 
 
 

 i&onut pleasant &catmn£, 
 
 CTenti} gumbersara?. 
 
 
 Venice tame beneath her yoke ; 
 Saw the Austrian bayonet gleaming- 
 Heard the Teuton’s guttural croak- 
 Saw by night a phantom gliding 
 On the waters dark and slow — 
 Heard beneath the winged lion 
 Muttered wailings come and go. 
 
 LAS CASAS AUX ESPAGNOLS. 
 
 Espagnols ! n’avez-vous pas encore mis le 
 comble a votre cruaute sanguinaire ? Vous de- 
 sirez de nouveaux massacres, 6 ciel ! de nouveaux 
 massacres, et contre qui ? Contre un roi si paci- 
 fique que vos crimes atroces n’ont pas meme ex- 
 cite dans son coeur le moindre desir de vengeance 
 et qui, offense ou vainqueur, implore de nouveai* 
 la paix ! Contre un peuple qui ne fit jamais le 
 moindre mal a une creature humaine ! Contre 
 un peuple embieme d’irmocence, qui vous offrit 
 Phospitalite la plus empressee et les soins les plus 
 touchants ! Et comment Pen avez-vous recom- 
 pense? II vous apporta ses tresors et vous le 
 depouillates de ses autres biens. II vous offrit 
 1’hospitalite avec la plus grande confiance et vous 
 Pen lecompensates par Poppression et le deshon- 
 neur ! 
 
 Pizarre, ecoute-moi ! . . . Vous aussi, chefs, 
 ecoutez-moi. . . . Et toi, Dieu tout puissant, dont 
 la foudre peut reduire en poussiere les roches les 
 plus imp6netrables, inspire a ton serviteur des 
 paroles persuasives et que ta puissance inspire 
 son courage ! . . . Oh ! je vous en supplie, vous 
 
JHouut pleasant ^catremg. 
 
 chefs, vous mes compatriotes, oh je vous en sup- 
 pi ie, ne renouvelez pas les horreurs que votre in- 
 satiable avarice a infligees a cette malheureuse et 
 innocente race ! . . . Mais imposons silence a nos 
 soupirs ! Ne coulez plus, vous larmes d’une dou- 
 leur inutile ! Delirante affliction, n’etouffe pas 
 mes paroles ! 
 
 Espagnols, je n’ai qu’une seule grace a implorer 
 de vous : c’est de vous supplier de m’envoyer 
 encore une fois vers ceux que vous appelez vos 
 ennemis. Oh ! que je sois le messager de votre 
 repentir et je reviendrai bientot comble de leurs 
 benedictions pour vous. . . . Elvire, vous versez 
 des larmes ! He las ! il n’y a done que vous qui 
 possediez un coeur compatissant ! . . . Mais le 
 temps fait, les prieres deviennent inutiles ; les 
 chefs ont resolu de livrer immediatement le 
 combat. 
 
 O Dieii ! tu as choisi ton serviteur, non pour 
 maudire, mais pour benir mes compatriotes, et 
 cependant si je benissais aujourd’hui leur armee, 
 je croirais blasphemer contre ta bonte divine. 
 
 . . . Non, non. je maudis vos projets homicides ! je 
 maudis les liens sanguinaires qui vous unissent. 
 due la discorde, le crime, la rebellion detruisent 
 vos sinistres projets et aneantissent vos esperances 
 coupables ! due sur vous et sur vos enfants re- 
 tombe la terrible responsibilite du sang que vous 
 repandrez aujourd’hui ! Je vous quitte pour tou- 
 jours ! Mes yeux affaiblis ne peuvent plus sup- 
 porter les horreurs dont ils ont ete trop longtemps 
 les tgmoins. 
 
 
 STcnti) ^mubersarw. 
 
 1 854 . 
 

 i&ouut pleasant gRatrems 
 
 HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. 
 
 Then out spake brave Horatius, 
 The captain of the gate : 
 
 “ To every man upon this earth 
 Death cometh soon or late. 
 
 And how can man die better 
 Than facing fearful odds 
 For the ashes of his fathers, 
 
 And the temples of his gods ; 
 
 “ Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
 With all the speed ye may ; 
 
 I, with two more to help me, 
 
 Will hold the foe in play. 
 
 In yon straight path a thousand 
 May well be stopped by three, 
 
 Now who will stand on either hand, 
 And keep the bridge with me ?” 
 
 hi. 
 
 “ Horatius,” quoth the consul, 
 
 “ As thou say’st, so let it be.” 
 
 And straight against that great array 
 Forth went the dauntless three. 
 
 For Romans in Rome’s quarrel 
 Spared neither land nor gold ; 
 
 Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 
 
 In those brave days of old. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But meanwhile axe and lever 
 Have manfully been plied, 
 
 STcnti) &nmbersav». 
 
 1 85 4 . 
 
0^9 
 •l* 
 
 k® fs 
 
 20 
 
 Jtaount pleasant glca&emt?. 
 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering 
 Above the boiling tide. 
 
 “ Come back, come hack, Horatius !” 
 Loud cried the Fathers all : 
 
 “ Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
 Back, ere the ruin fall !” 
 
 v. 
 
 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 further shore 
 Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 
 They would have crossed once more. 
 
 vi. 
 
 But with a crash like thunder 
 Fell every loosened beam, 
 
 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
 Lay right athwart the stream : 
 
 And a long shout of triumph 
 Rose from the walls of Rome, 
 
 As to the highest turret tops 
 Was splashed the yellow foam. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Alone stood brave Horatius, 
 
 But constant still in mind ; 
 
 Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 
 And the brood flood behind. 
 
 “Down with him!” cried false Sextus, 
 With a smile on his pale face. 
 

 \®£'' ■ 
 
 i^tount pleasant gtcatremi?. 
 
 “ Now yield thee,” cried Lars Porsena, 
 “ Now yield thee to our grace.” 
 
 VIII. 
 
 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 Palibinus 
 The white porch of his home ; 
 
 And he spake to the noble river 
 That rolls by the towers of Rome : 
 
 IX. 
 
 “ O 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. 
 
 x. 
 
 No sound of joy or sorrow 
 Was heard from either bank ; 
 
 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 Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
 And e’en the ranks of Tuscany 
 Could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 Senti) Slnmbersarw. 
 
 1 85 4 . 
 

 jt&otint pleasant 
 
 Bat fiercely ran the current, 
 Swollen high hy 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 They gave him of the even-land, 
 That was of public right. 
 
 As much as two strong oxen 
 Could plough from morn till night ; 
 And they made a molten image, 
 And set it up on high, 
 
 And there it stands unto this day 
 To witness if I lie. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And still his name sounds stirring 
 Unto the men of Rome, 
 
 As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 
 
23 
 
 Blount pleasant Slcatiems. 
 
 To charge the Yolscian home. 
 
 And wives still pray to Juno 
 For boys with hearts as hold 
 As his who kept the bridge so well 
 In those brave days of old. 
 
 FRANCE AND ENGLAND. 
 
 Two sisters stand by Stamboul’s sunny waters, 
 Two sisters sit where Arctic ice-winds rave — 
 Hands clasped, the first watch a fleet’s crew at 
 quarters, 
 
 Hands clasped, the second weep beside a grave. 
 
 The same two sisters long upon each other, 
 
 Stern have they frowned across their channel sea : 
 But now all rivalries and hates they smother, 
 And sit thus, hand in hand laid lovingly. 
 
 Why, sisters, rest ye thus at peace together, 
 Your ancient feuds and factions all laid by? — 
 Why smile you in that purple Asian weather? 
 Why weep you ’neath the leaden Polar sky ? 
 
 “Two causes, stranger, hold us thus united — 
 Both fit to make true friends of noble foes ; 
 
 In the bright East we stand to see wropg righted, 
 In the black North a hero’s eyes we close. 
 
 “ Those battle flags that side by side are swelling, 
 Speak of brute force defied, of law maintained: 
 Those funeral flags that side by side are trailing, 
 Speak both of loss endured and triumph gained. 
 
 STenti) Sinmbersarj?. 
 
 1 8 54 . 
 
“ Yon banded fleet to all the nations teaches. 
 
 He that doth wrong his wrong shall sore abye ; 
 
 The icy monument of Bellot preaches 
 
 How nobly love can live, how grandly faith can die. 
 
 “Are not these lessons worthy of the giving? 
 
 To give them is’t not well to use our might ? 
 Then leave us to our gladness and our grieving, 
 Under the Eastern sun, beneath the Polar night. 
 
 PINTURA DE LA INQUISICION. 
 
 Senor, nada he pronunciado delante del con- 
 greso que no sea publico, no solo a la nacion sino 
 a toda la Europa. Debo repetir que he sido muy 
 contenido y moderado en la pintura que hice de 
 este odioso y horrible tribunal, que, desde su 
 establecimiento en Castilla, comenzb a desen- 
 frenarse y escederse en golpes de arbitriaridad, 
 crueldad y despotismo, como consta del breve del 
 Santo Padre, Sicsto IV., y de otros monumentos 
 histbricos, que no necesito reproducir. Defien- 
 dalo como quieran sus patrones y protectores ; 
 mas insultan descaradamente a la humanidad 
 cuanto nos lo pintan dulce, suave, compasivo, 
 caritativo, ilustrado, justo piadoso. ^Qme lenguage 
 es este, senor ? Yo entro en los magnificos 
 palacios de la inquisicion, me acerco a las puertas 
 de bronce de sus horribles y hediondos calabozos, 
 tiro los pesados y asperos cerrojos, desciendo y me 
 paro a media escalera. Un aire fetido y corrum- 
 pido entorperze mis sentidos, pen samientos lu- 
 
 2Tcuti) ^umbersari). 
 
 1 8 54 . 
 
gunbres aflijen mi espiritu, tristes y lamentables 
 gritos despedazan mi corazon. Alii veo a un 
 sacerdote del Senor padeciento por una atroz 
 calumnia en la mension del crimen ; aqui a un 
 anciano, ciudadano honrado y virtuoso, por una 
 intriga domestica ; aculla a una justo que acaso 
 no tendria mas delito que su hermoso y su pudor. 
 
 . . . Auqui enmuderzco, porque un nudo en la 
 garganta no me permite articular ; porque la de- 
 bilidad de mi pecho no me deja prosequir. 
 
 Las generaciones futuras se llenaran de espa- 
 nato y admiracion. La historia confirmara, algun 
 dia lo que he dicho, descubrira lo que oculto, 
 publicara lo que callo. £Q,ue tardu, pues, en 
 libertad de la nacion de un establecimiento tan 
 monstruoso ? 
 
 THE LAND OF WHICH I DREAM. 
 
 These peaks are nearer heaven than earth below, 
 These hills are higher than they seem ; 
 
 5 Tis not the clouds they touch, nor the soft brow, 
 Of the o’erbending azure, as we deem ; 
 
 ‘Tis the blue floor of heaven that they upbear ; 
 And, like some old and wildly rugged stair, 
 
 They lift us to the land where all is fair — 
 
 The land of which I dream. 
 
 These ocean-waves, in their unmeasured sweep, 
 Are brighter, bluer than they seem ; 
 
 True image, here, of the celestial deep, 
 
 Fed from the fulness of the unfailing stream — 
 
 5Tenti) ^umbersarg 
 
 1 854 . 
 
JHount pleasant ^Icalrema? 
 
 Heaven’s glassy sea of everlasting rest, 
 
 With not a breath to stir its silent breast — 
 
 The sea that laves the land where all are blest- 
 The land of which I dream. 
 
 And these keen stars, the bridal gems of night, 
 Are purer, lovelier than they seem ; 
 
 Filled from the inner fountain of deep light, 
 They pour down heaven’s own beam, 
 
 Clear speaking from their throne of glorious blue^ 
 In accents ever ancient, ever new, 
 
 Of the glad home above, beyond our view — 
 The land of which I dream. 
 
 This life of ours, these lingering years of earth, 
 Are briefer, swifter than they seem ; 
 
 A little while, and the great second birth 
 Of Time shall come, the prophets’ ancient theme ! 
 Then He, the King, the Judge, at length shall 
 come, 
 
 And for the desert, where we sadly roam, 
 
 Shall give the kingdom for our endless home — 
 The land of which I dream. 
 
 THE ROCK OF THE ATLANTIC. 
 
 In the sleepless Atlantic, remote and alone, 
 
 Is a rock which the wild waves all wrathfully beat ; 
 Its echoing bulwarks with sea-drift are strewn, 
 
 And dark are the waters that roll at its feet. 
 
 Let the shrill winds of Ocean go forth as they may, 
 
 It wars with the surges, and knows not of rest ; 
 
 &nnibersarn 
 
 1 8 54 . 
 
f 
 
 J&outit pleasant glca&emn 
 
 Its pinnacles drip with the fast falling spray, 
 
 And billows are breaking in foam on its breast. 
 
 But tho’ breakers and whirlwinds around it may sweep, 
 That hermit of ocean lives conquering on, 
 
 And the mariner sees it still fronting the deep, 
 
 As it flung back the surf in the years that are gone. 
 All worn, but unshaken, that desolate rock, 
 
 Fast rooted where islands and earthquakes are born, 
 Looks fearlessly down on the breakers’ rude shock, 
 
 And laughs the vain force of the tempest to scorn. 
 
 FADELESS IS A LOVING HEART. 
 
 Sunny eyes may look their brightness ; 
 Nimble feet forget their lightness ; 
 Pearly teeth may know decay ; 
 
 Raven tresses turn to gray ; 
 
 Cheeks be pale, and eyes be dim ; 
 
 Faint the voice, and weak the limb ; 
 But though youth and strength depart, 
 Fadeless is a loving heart. 
 
 Like the little mountain-flower, 
 
 Peeping forth in wintry hour, 
 
 When the summer’s breath is fled, 
 
 And the gaudier flowerets dead ; 
 
 So when outward charms are gone, 
 Brighter still doth blossom on, 
 
 Despite Time’s destroying dart, 
 
 The gentle, kindly loving heart. 
 
 1 8 54 . 
 

 i^otmt pleasant Slcahemb. 
 
 Yet the wealth may melt like snow, 
 And the wit no longer glow ; 
 
 But more smooth we’ll find the sea, 
 And our course the fairer be 
 If our pilot, when we start, 
 
 Be a kindly loving heart. 
 
 Ye in worldly wisdom old — 
 
 Ye who bow the knee to gold, — 
 
 Doth this earth as lovely seem 
 As it did in Life’s young dream, 
 
 Ere the world had crusted o’er, 
 
 Feeling good and pure before — 
 
 Ere ye sold at Mammon’s mart 
 The best yearnings of the heart ? 
 
 Grant me, Heaven, my earnest prayer- 
 Wh ether life of ease or care 
 Be the one to be assigned, 
 
 That each coming year may find 
 Loving thoughts and gentle words 
 Twined within my bosom’s chords, 
 And that age may but impart 
 Riper freshness to my heart ! 
 
 NATURE AND THE DREAMER. 
 
 With proud and lofty brow uplit,and earnest kindling eye, 
 A poet dreamer stood beneath the great o’er-arching sky, 
 The setting sun was on the sea, whose mighty waters 
 rolled, 
 
 With love -gifts from the Lord of Light, with purple and 
 with gold. 
 
 Sent fj ^nnibersars* 
 
 18 54 . 
 
 
i^lQuut pleasant Bcafremn. 
 
 In high majestic beauty crowned, with banners bright 
 unfurled, 
 
 Nature before the poet stood, a fair and wondrous world ; 
 And steeped his soul in bounding life, in rapture deep 
 and wild, 
 
 So that he felt once more indeed a simple joyous child. 
 
 The poet loved old Nature well : the busy haunts of men, 
 He in despair had madly fled, nor thought to seek again ; 
 Amid the far blue solitudes he poured a reverent love, 
 Upon the mountain altars, with the watching heaven above. 
 
 0 life, so free and beautiful ! 0 world, so strangely fair ! 
 0 trees, and flowers, and gorgeous skies ! 0 glad, pure 
 summer air ! 
 
 It is a rapture high to breathe — a joy, to feel the sun — 
 To dream of life immortal still when human life is done ! 
 
 Ah, is it thus ? Then, surely, truth must reach that soul 
 of thine ; 
 
 0 minstrel, deemest thou thyself than Nature more divine ? 
 Believe it still ! for crowning joys, and sufferings, and 
 death, — 
 
 These are thy proud prerogatives, and these thy kingly 
 wreath. 
 
 ’Tis thine to search and comprehend, the word deep 
 mysteries, 
 
 Nobler in this than stars and suns, and fair insate skies. 
 The soul may pierce thro’ earth and heaven, the beautiful 
 sublime, 
 
 And reign in regal majesty beyond the shores of Time. 
 
 Then was it well to shun thy kind, to whom one God 
 hath given 
 
 The same fair dreams, the same high powers, the same 
 sweet hopes of heaven ? 
 
 
 
 1854 . 
 
iHoutrt pleasant Slcatrema?. 
 
 0, rather work together still — God smiling from above, 
 One Father and one brotherhood in sympathy and love. 
 
 The dreamer felt the stern rebuke — a thousand harmonies 
 Rose from the depth of Nature’s heart, and filled the air 
 and skies : 
 
 The perfume of a peace divine o’er all the land was borne, 
 And in that calm his soul laid down the burden of its scorn. 
 
 His spirit woke to bright new life, to lofty counsels then, 
 High hopes and olden memories came o’er him once again, 
 His eye with inspiration glowed, his soul was flushed 
 with light; 
 
 He fell amid the ranks of men, to combat for the right. 
 
 
 RAP1DITE DE LA VIE. 
 
 Les hommes passent comme les fleurs qui 
 s’epanouissent le matin, et qui Is soir sont fletries 
 et foulees aux pieds. Les generations des hommes 
 s’ecoulent comme les ondes d’un fleuve rapide ; 
 rien ne peut arreter le temps, qui entraine apres 
 lui tout ce qui para it le plus immobile. Toi- 
 meme, 6 mon fils, mon cher fils, toi-meme qui 
 jouis maintenant d’une jeunesse si vive et si 
 feconde en plaisirs, souviens-toi que ce bel age 
 n’est qu’une fleur qui sera presque aussitot sechee 
 qu’eclose : tu te verras changer insensiblement ; 
 les graces riantes, les doux plaisirs qui t’accom- 
 pagnent, la force, la sante, la joie, s’evanouiront 
 comme un beau songe ; il ne t’en restera qu’un 
 triste souvenir; la vieillesse languissante et en- 
 nemie des plaisirs viendra rider ton visage 
 
 gluntbersara?, 
 
 18 54 . 
 

 Jf$lount pleasant gUatoems* 
 
 courber ton corps, affaiblir tes membres, faire tarir 
 dans ton coeur la source de la joie, te degouter du 
 present, te faire craindre l’avenir, te rendre insen- 
 sible a tout, except e a la douleur. Ce temps te 
 parait eloigne. Helas ! tu te trompes, mon fils ; 
 il se hate, le voila qui arrive : ce qui vient avec 
 tant de rapidite n’est pas loin de toi, et le present 
 qui s’enfuit est deja bien loin, puisqu’il s’aneantit 
 dans le moment que nous parlons, et ne peut plus 
 se rapprocher. Ne compte done jamais, mon fils ? 
 sur le present ; mais soutiens-toi dans le sentier 
 rude et apre de la vertu, par la vue de l’avenir. 
 Prepare-toi, par des mceurs pures et par Pamour 
 de la justice, une place dans Pheureux sejour de 
 la paix. 
 
 THE CZAR AND THE SULTAN. 
 
 THE SULTAN. 
 
 The Sultan sat in his grand divan, 
 
 As only a tailor or Mussulman can, 
 
 With his legs across and his knees asunder, 
 
 Arid his feet out of sight, tucked neatly under. 
 The Sultan sits in his tight surtout, 
 
 Button’d up to his throat, and of plain dark blue, 
 With a scarf of the finest cashmere tied 
 Round his waist, and the ends flowing loose at 
 his side ; 
 
 And trowsers.of crimson, embroidered with lace, 
 And remarkable only for plenty of space ; 
 
 While jauntily stuck on his Majesty’s head, 
 
 Is a little fez cap of the brightest of red. 
 
 Etntf) griimbersatrs 
 
In silence smokes the Sultan there, 
 
 With a changeless fair, and outward air 
 Of a man without a thought or care. 
 
 It ’s certainly true 
 That the Sultan knew 
 His affairs have begun to look terribly blue ; 
 
 That his people, his throne, 
 
 His crown, — let alone 
 
 The head that is in it, — may soon be o’erthrown ; 
 And he owns in his heart that the dolefullest 
 “phiz” he e’er 
 
 Saw in his lifetime is that of the Vizier. 
 
 The Vizier enters the grand divan, — 
 
 A dried up, yellow face, ancient man ; 
 
 And he makes a formal, deep salaam, 
 
 And tries to look quiet, unmoved, and calm ; 
 
 But the Vizier’s heart in his breast is thumping ; 
 As hard as a pavior the granite bumping, 
 
 And when the Vizier has done his bow, 
 
 The Sultan says, with an unchanged brow, 
 
 As he puffed a cloud, “ Well, what’s the row?” — 
 “ Sublimest of rulers !” the Vizier begins, 
 
 “ Great monarch of monarchs ! may all of my sins 
 Be forever unpardoned by Allah, if I, 
 
 Your sublimity’s slave, tell your highness a lie ! 
 The Russians — ” “ I thought so,” the Sultan says, 
 As he strokes his beard and shifts his fez, 
 
 “ Whenever I see any minister come 
 With a face such as your’s is, — so long and so 
 glum,— 
 
 I know that I’m booked for a long dissertation 
 About that infernal, detestable nation. 
 
 If I’m monarch of monarchs, (as all Sultans are 
 
 (Ecnti) ghimbersarn. 
 
 1 8 54 . 
 
Why the deuce don’t you bring me the head of 
 the Czar?” 
 
 Then up jumped the Vizier, 
 
 His head growing dizzier, 
 
 And firmly resolved to blurt out the truth ; 
 
 And he says, in a tone 
 ’Twixt a sigh and a groan, 
 
 “ Great monarch, the Russians have crossed the 
 Pruth !” 
 
 The Sultan takes a tremendous whiff, 
 
 In the style that the vulgar call “ drawing it stiff,” 
 And watching the smoky clouds gracefully wave, 
 Observes, with decision, “The mischief they 
 have !” 
 
 THE CZAR. 
 
 Czar Nicholas sits in his large arm-chair, 
 
 With his eyes on the floor in a steady stare. 
 
 In his grand cuirass of polished steel, 
 
 And his long jack-boots, with spurs at the heel. 
 And he scratches his ears, and bites his nails, 
 And from under his seat he pulls his tails. 
 
 Over the stones, 
 
 At the risk of his bones, 
 
 At a gallop speeds Nesselrode’s carriage along ; 
 To the palace he goes, 
 
 And the minister knows 
 Czar Nicholas isn’t a man to wait long. 
 Nesselrode enters the Emperor’s hall, 
 
 Nesselrode’s eyes on the Emperor fall. 
 
 “Touching the Turk and his grand commotion, 
 
 I think, Count N., that I ’ve got a new notion.” 
 Nesselrode thinks, if he has, ’tis strange, 
 
 Sent!) ^mtibersavg 
 
 1 8 54 . 
 
 
i&outtt pleasant ^caUemg 
 
 
 The thing’s so “used up,” that the glimpse of a 
 change 
 
 In any one’s views, on a subject so flat, 
 
 Must be rare as plain truth, — or a Turk in the hat. 
 “ It’s remarkably clear that our actions all tally 
 With what we’ve professed — there’s been no 
 shilly-shally ; 
 
 Well, that being settled, suppose we proclaim 
 To all people the justice and truth of our claim ; 
 Send round to the several courts of each nation 
 A defying and bullying grand proclamation. 
 
 We would’nt call it that, by-the-bye ; p’rhaps we’d 
 better 
 
 Bestow on’t the name of a ‘ circular letter.’ ” 
 
 So Nesselrode mildly suggests a doubt, 
 
 As to how might the end of the thing turn out : 
 u Would his Majesty please explain more fully 
 In what way, and whom, he proposes to bully?” 
 (C All Europe, of course, all the world, every soul, 
 North, South, East, and West, from the Line to 
 each Pole! 
 
 I’ll frighten them all into fits ; the mere shaking 
 Of Russia’s big fist will set them all quaking. 
 John Bull, with his blustering airs, the old 
 rogue, he 
 
 Fears Russia as much as a child fears a bogy, 
 While his neighbor, the newly-fledged Emperor, 
 drat him, — 
 
 Between you and me, I should like to get at him. 
 Take an Emperor’s word, you’ll alarm the whole 
 pack of them.” 
 
 Count Nesselrode’s posed, he’s completely con- 
 founded : 
 
 £enttj gnmbersarw* 
 
 1 85 4 . 
 
35 
 
 J&ouut pleasant ^catremw, 
 
 Insulting all Europe he doesn’t think wrong, 
 
 But suggests that it’s “coming it rather too strong.” 
 “ Not a bit, not a bit, 
 
 It’s strong, — that’s just it. 
 
 In the face of all Europe I venture to spit 
 So take up your quill, 
 
 Write away, sir, until 
 
 You’ve taught all the nations a bit of my will ; 
 And don’t be too nice, — 
 
 Put in plenty of spice.” 
 
 Czar Nicholas sits in his chair again, 
 
 In a great cuirass, but it’s certainly plain 
 Czar Nicholas isn’t in quite such glee 
 As his Majesty whilome was wont to be. 
 
 He’s gnawing his thumb, 
 
 He’s looking half glum, 
 
 And for several minutes sits perfectly dumb ; 
 While Nesselrode, there, 
 
 In the opposite chair, 
 
 Twirls his fingers with quite an abstracted air. 
 Czar Nicholas “ hems,” and clears his throat, 
 
 And mutters some words about “ drawing a note.” 
 Nesselrode rouses, and pricks up his ears, 
 
 By no means quite sure if he rightly hears. 
 
 “ But is’t in his Majesty’s contemplation 
 To concoct any further and fresh proclamation ? ” 
 “Proclamation be — never mind what, it’s not that. 
 I’m thinking I’m not quite such a flat 
 As to let you go trying your hand at a second, 
 The harm of your first, sir, ’s not easily reckoned.” 
 Nesselrode scarcely restrains a cry, 
 
 Which sounds remarkably like “ Oh my ! ” 
 
 As he thinks with a pang and heart-drawn sigh 
 
 <£entf) ^wmbersarg. 
 
 1854 . 
 

 Of imperial gratitude, laying the blame 
 On his shoulders, — well knowing he could’nt dis- 
 claim 
 
 The “ circular letter,” as bearing his name. 
 
 “Look here !” says the Czar, “let us see how we 
 stand ; 
 
 We’re deserted and threatened on every hand. 
 There are England and France swearing firmest 
 alliance 
 
 To back up the Porte, and set us at defiance ; 
 There’s Austria, too, even ventures to double, 
 (Catch me ever again helping him out of trouble!) 
 But Austria doesn’t like fighting, — I know it, 
 
 He hasn’t the pluck, but he don’t like to show it ; 
 I know him, — in spite of his valorous look, — 
 
 To quarrel with me won’t at all suit his book. 
 Let us draw up an “ accommodating note.” 
 
 And as soon as the paper is set afloat, 
 
 Austria shall back it, — all Europe lay claim to it 
 As theirs, — and the Sultan will soon put his name 
 to it. 
 
 Let Austria and me just manage the work : 
 
 It’s odd if, between us, we don’t sell the Turk.” 
 
 THE SULTAN. 
 
 The Sultan sits in his grand divan, 
 
 As the Sultan sat when our tale began, 
 
 And his Vizier is there, and he bows and scrapes, 
 And hands up a paper bound round with tapes, 
 And inscribed, “To the Sultan, with Austria’s 
 respects.” 
 
 And the Sultan reads through it, looks half per- 
 plex’d, 
 
 &entl) &mubersarw. 
 
 1 8 54 . 
 

 i^ount pleasant 0catremw. 
 
 And then pitches it from him and growls, “ What 
 next? 
 
 Sign that ! put my name to that note ! a nice chap 
 
 Is Austria indeed to have laid such a trap. 
 
 A pretty bright flame through all Turkey ’twould 
 kindle, 
 
 If I signed such a thing. It’s a regular swindle; 
 
 A case of “ note stealing,” which Austria’s con- 
 niving at ; 
 
 And they think I’m so blind I can’t see what 
 they’re driving at. 
 
 They’ll find their mistake, — I’ll do only what’s 
 right, 
 
 And I won’t be bamboozled, so that cock won’t 
 fight.” 
 
 THE CZAR. 
 
 Again Czar Nicholas sits in his chair, 
 
 And under his breath he’s heard to swear 
 About “ blessed” yound Turks, and their wonderful 
 keenness, 
 
 And Austrian humbug, ingratitude, meanness ; 
 And French animosity, parvenu crowned heads, 
 And English monarco-republican “roundheads;” 
 And Prussian neutrality, 
 
 And the wretched fatality, 
 
 That nobody meets him with real cordiality, 
 While ev’ry one’s talking about Russian rascality. 
 Nesselrode comes in a deuce of a fright, 
 
 His teeth on a chatter, his face all white. 
 
 And he stutters and chokes at the news he tells, 
 
 “ The fleet has entered the Dardanelles ! ! ” 
 Nicholas starts, and his great big chest 
 
 ®entf) Slttmbersnrs. 
 
 in 
 
 SKSKrf, . 
 
 1 854 . 
 
irHmmt pleasant &catiemf> 
 
 By the great cuirass feels quite opprest, 
 
 While his knees and his legs half shaky feel 
 In his long jack-boots with the spurs at the heel, 
 Till at length he asks, with a ray of hope, 
 
 “ Count Nesselrode, how are we off for soap?” 
 
 No lips ever uttered a deeper sigh, 
 
 No tear ever glistened in sadder eye, 
 
 No heart in a breast ever louder thump’d, 
 
 Than Count N.’s, as he answered, “ Completely 
 stump’d.” 
 
 “ By Jove !” says the Czar, “ Then we’ are in a 
 wrong box, 
 
 No friends out of doors, and no tin in the strong 
 box.” 
 
 THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 The Old Year paused when his race was run, 
 And his last day’s pilgrimage was done. 
 Twelve long months he had held his way 
 Onward, onward, by night and day, 
 
 Caring not for the cares of earth, 
 
 Mirthful not with its scenes of mirth ; 
 
 “ Hasting not, resting not,” on he went, 
 
 Like a star in the lofty firmanent. 
 
 He started forth at the dead of night, 
 
 An old man, robed in the purest white, 
 
 With a long gray beard, and a hoary head, 
 With a clear bright eye, and a stately tread, 
 His noble stature by age unbent, 
 
 And thus for months on his way he went. 
 
 18 54 . 
 

 Then, as he journeyed, he cast away 
 His robe of white, and his beard so gray ; 
 With buds and blossoms he wreathed his head, 
 And a bright green mantle around him spread, 
 To greet his coming the flow’rets sprang, 
 
 And the air with the birds’ glad music rang ; 
 For the foot which trampled to dust again, 
 
 The budding hopes of the sons of men, 
 
 The foot which hurried with careless stride 
 O’er the ruins of humane love and pride — 
 That foot passed on with its soft, quick tread, 
 Calling each blossom from sylvan bed, 
 Waking to life, as at second birth, 
 
 The bright and beautiful forms of earth. 
 
 Then with a graceful, yet firmer tread, 
 
 With lilies and vine-leaves garlanded, 
 
 The wanderer passed in his silent race, 
 
 O’er many a verdant and lovely place, 
 
 Giving earth’s treasures a brighter bloom,. 
 Giving man’s treasures full often a tomb, 
 Bathing all nature in richer light, 
 
 Shrouding full often the heart in night ; 
 Silently keeping his destined way, 
 
 Onward he journeyed by night and day. 
 
 Then he left behind his wreath of flowers,. 
 With the balmy air and the shady bowers.. 
 And wove a garland his brow to suit, 
 
 Of purple leaves and of golden fruit ;; 
 
 The foliage sere in his pathway fell, 
 
 Telling of sorrow and death too well. 
 
 But he heeded not what hope or joy 
 His reckless footstep might destroy ; 
 
 STcntf) glmtiberscirg. 
 
Jtfouut pleasant ^catrentg. 
 
 His path was marked, and he trod the way, 
 Whether through sunlight or shade it lay. 
 When he had well-nigh run his race, 
 
 And saw before him his resting-place, 
 
 He donned the garment of white once more, 
 And the long gray beard which he had before. 
 
 At last he paused, for his race was run, 
 
 And his last day’s pilgrimage was done. 
 
 Cold, and silence, and night, had sway, 
 
 When that strange old wanderer passed away ; 
 Darker than night, more stern than snow, 
 
 None could follow, or see him go, 
 
 Yet men were silent, and bowed the head, 
 
 As if the soul of a king had fled. 
 
 Though the silent wanderer took no part 
 In the joys and cares of the human heart, 
 
 Yet where is the untouched spirit, where, 
 
 To which he brought not, or joy, or care? 
 Never an eye on his form was cast, 
 
 As in silence and awfulness on he past, 
 
 That saw again what it saw before, 
 
 When it turned its glances to earth once more. 
 There is not on earth a single spot 
 Which the print of his footstep beareth not. 
 
 In the heart’s most secret and silent place 
 Has that fearful stranger left his trace ; 
 
 On all that he passed, on all that he met, 
 
 The print of his mystic seal was set, 
 
 And the impress of that signet strange, 
 
 Its wondrous motto, was one word — “ change .” 
 Ah ! who can read with an eye undim, 
 
 The stamp which that wanderer left on him. 
 
 &nmbersar». 
 
 1 854 . 
 
jftouut pleasant ^catremw* 
 
 He passed o’er all, ere his work was done, 
 
 All save the throne of the Changeless One ! 
 
 Ah ! but the few who drew boldly near, 
 
 And walked at the side of the stern Old Year, 
 In his mantled form, in his moveless face, 
 
 Saw heavenly beauty, divinest grace — 
 
 That his calm, clear glance, undimmed by tears 
 Took in all ages, and countless spheres ; 
 
 That his tireless step, so firm and strong 
 Moved to the movements of heavenly song ; 
 Knew that sublime was the path he trod. 
 
 Girt by angels, and straight to God. 
 
 And so they followed where’er he led 
 ’Mid ruins, deserts, and graves of dead ; 
 
 With lofty hope, and without a fear, 
 
 They kept by the side of that good Old Year. 
 
 NATIONAL HEROISM. 
 
 Introduction by the President. 
 
 The Greeks H. Millikin, La. 
 
 The Romans... D. McIntosh, N. Y. 
 
 The French B. Lee, N. Y. 
 
 The English C. Minturn, N. Y. 
 
 The Americans _ , F. Zacharie, La. 
 
 The Ladies M. Sorrel, Ga. 
 
 Decision by the President F. Kent, Pa.