WILS CLS PN4201 .05x 1835 TES SPEAKER; hoice Collection of Pieces DIDACTIC, DESCRIPTIVE, PATHETIC, في THE LIBRARY OF THE REGENTS TY OF UNIVERSITY B ARTIDUS གད Wilson Library MINNESOTA Abner Hummele Book, Baught of S.Z. Bene Sept 10th 1847. ! ove 736 1837. Brigit a Hamster, { A L THE UNITED STATES SPEAKER; CONSISTING OF A Choice Collection of Pieces, NARRATIVE, DIDACTIC, DESCRIPTIVE, PATHETIC, &c. & FROM THE BEST AUTHORS. Selected with a view to supply the young student in elocution with a number of exercises for improvement in the important arts of reading and speaking. COMPILED BY THOMAS T. SMILEY, AUTHOR ÓF AN EASY INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF GEOGRAPHY, &C. TWENTY-THIRD EDITION, ENLARGED AND IMPROVED. PHILADELPHIA :¿. PUBLISHED BY THOMAS L. BONSAL C NO. 37 MARKET STREET SOLD BY BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY THROUGHOUT THE UNITED STATES, 1835. Eastern District of Pennsylvania, to wit: L. 8. BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the seventeenth day of February, Anno Domini one thousand eight hundred and thirty-one, THOMAS T. SMILEX, of the said district, hath deposited in this office the title of book, the title of which is in the words following, to wit: "The United States Speaker; consisting of a Choice Collection of Pieces, Narrative, Didactic, Descriptive, Pathetic, &c. From the best authors. Selected with a view to supply the young student in elocution with a number of exercises for improvement in the impor- tant arts of reading and speaking. Compiled by Thomas T. Smiley, author of an Easy Introduction to the Study of Geography, &c." The right whereof he claims as author, in conformity with an Act of Congress entitled "An Act to amend the several Acts respecting copy rights." D. CALDWELL, Clerk of the District, } 1 CONTENTS. American Sages, Shylock and Tubal, Description of a Storm of Hail, The Drowning Fly, Lines spoken by a Boy, The Gamester, Gilderoy, Dialogue on Physiognomy, Elegy to Pity, The Lap Dog, Epilogue to Addison's Cato, The Gleaper, PAGE. 5 Monsieur Tonson, 6 An Address to the Deity, 7 The Hindoo's Complaint, 9 Address to the Deity, ib. Brutus and Cassius, PAGE. - 65 70 71 - 10 Epilogue-spoken by two young Ladies, 11 13 Scenes from Pizarro, 15 Speech of Rolla to the Peruvian soldiers before the battle, 16 18 Dialogue between a Schoolmas- ter and School Committee, False Alarms, - 19 Hymen's Eclogue between Ad- metus and Menalchas, Douglas's account of a Hermit, Passage of the Israelites through the Red Sea, The two Robbers, Intemperance, Address to my Bird, Douglas's account of himself, Careless Matilda, The Disappointment, Cassius' Speech, True Charity requires a Sacri- fice, Soliloquy of Dick the Appren- tice, Scene from the tragedy of Dou- glas, Edward and Warwick, Turnip Tops, Clarence's Dream, Dialogue on Cowardice and Knavery, Liberty and Slavery contrasted, Scene from the tragedy of Cato, Scene from the tragedy of Dou- glas, Lord Ullin's Daughter, The Three Warnings, Priuli and Jaffier, Cecilia and Henrietta, -73 74 223 78 79 81 87 93 20 Scene from the Poor Gentleman, 94 21 Scene from She Stoops to Con- quer, 22 The Quack Doctor, 23 Harlequin Epilogue, 24 Jaffier and Pierre, 26 The Turkish Lady, 27 The Voice of Nature, ib. Battle of Linden, 29 Timothy and Mrs. Fidget, 30 Hunks and Blithe, 32 Scene from the tragedy of Ta- merlane, Edwin and Emma, 33 Meddlesome Matty, Scenes from the tragedy Othello, 34 37 The Wonders of Nature, 40 The Mariner's Dream, 41 Mary, the Maid of the Inn, Scenes from the Merchant Venice, 43 47 Ode on the Passions, 100 103 106 107 110 - 112 120 121 123 131 - 134 137 of 138 - 143 144 145 of · 148 157 159 161 163 166 - 168 48 Battle of Floddenfield, and death of Marmion, 50 The Old Beggar, 57 Battle of Beil and Duine, 59 Alonzo the Brave, and the Fair Imogene, 61 64 The Lighthouse, iv Contents. บ The Gipsy Wanderer, The Fire-fly Lamb, Macbeth's Soliloquy, • Description of a Battle in Lalla Rookh, Lay of the Last Irish Harper, Prologue to the tragedy of Cato, Hot Cockles, The Baby, Octavian, Othello's Apology for his Mar- riage, Lady frozen to a Statue, Lady shot in Battle, Lot's Wife, - Brutus' harangue on the death of Cæsar, High Life Below Stairs, Parting of Hector and Andro- mache, Anthony's Oration over Caesar's body, On the Order of Nature, Jupiter to the Inferior Deities, Eneas to Queen Dido, Soliloquy of Hamlet on Death, The Camelion, PAGE. 169 Elegy on the Death of an unfor- 170 tunate Young Lady, 171 Hamlet's Soliloquy on his Mo- ther's Marriage, 172 Hamlet and Ghost, PAGE. 215 217 218 221 Part II. 223 176 Alcanzar and Zaida, Part I. ib. 177 Soliloquy of the King in Hamlet, 225 178 The Rainbow, 186 Slave-trade, Extract from a dis- course by Daniel Webster, 191 Letter from the British Spy in Virginia, w 226 179 Moses in the Bulrushes, 227 Scenes from the drama of Moses - 180 in the Bulrushes, 228 182 Pericles, 236 183 The Felon, 239 185 184 Reply to the Address of a Mis- sionary in 1805, by Sagnym Whatka, alias Red Jacket, 241 243 245 249 201 251 - 202 On Laying the Corner Stone of the Bunker Hill Monument, 253 204 Alliance between Religion and 205 Liberty, 255 206 Dignity of Human Nature, 258 210 • 211 208 Extract from an Address on Fe- male Education, by Samuel F. Dickinson, 259 Providence vindicated in the present state of Man, Selfishness Reproved, Hamlet and Horatio, Hotspur and Glendower, Hotspur reading a Letter, The Man of Ross, The Country Clergyman, The Begger's Petition, 194 Commemoration of the First Set- tlement in New England.- Webster, · 197 198 199 Embarkation of the Plymouth Pilgrims from England, 212 Virtues of General Washington, 261 214 Political Economy--Mrs. Bryan, 263 wils,cls ANB 0523-1 THE UNITED STATES SPEAKER. AMERICAN SAGES. SEE on yon dark'ning height bold Franklin tread, Heaven's awful thunders rolling o'er his head; Convolving clouds the billowy skies deform, And forky flames emblaze the black'ning storm. See the descending streams around him burn, Glance on his rod, and with his guidance turn; He bids conflicting heavens their blast expire, Curbs the fierce blaze, and holds th' imprison'd fire. No more, when folding storms the vault o'erspread, The livid glare shall strike thy face with dread; Nor tow'rs nor temples, shudd'ring with the sound, Sink in the flames, and spread destruction round. His daring toils, the threat'ning blasts that wait, Shall teach mankind to ward the bolts of fate; The pointed steel o'ertop th' ascending spire, And lead o'er trembling walls the harmless fire; In his glad fame while distant worlds rejoice, Far as the lightnings shine, or thunders raise their voice See the sage Rittenhouse, with ardent eye, Lift the long tube, and pierce the starry sky: Clear in his view the circling systems roll, And broader splendours gild the central pole. He marks what laws th' eccentric wand'rers bind, Copies creation in his forming mind, And bids, beneath his hand, in semblance rise, With mimic orbs, the labours of the skies. There wond'ring crowds, with raptur'd eyc, behold The spangled heav'ns their mystic maze unfold; While each glad sage his splendid hall shall grace, With all the spheres that cleave th' ethereal space. A 2 The United States Speaker. To guide the sailor in his wand'ring way, See Godfrey's toils reverse the beams of day. His lifted quadrant to the eye displays From adverse skies the counteracting rays: And marks, as devious sails bewilder'd roll, Each nice gradation from the steadfast pole. SHYLOCK AND TUBAL.* Shy. How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? Have you heard any thing of my backsliding daughter? Tub. I often came where I heard of her, but could not find her. Shy. Why, there, there, there, a diamond gone that cost me two thousand ducats at Frankfort! The curse never fell upon the nation till now! I never felt it before! Two thousand ducats in that and other precious jewels! I wish she lay dead at my feet! No news of them! And I know not what is spent in the search. Loss upon loss. The thief gone with so much, and so much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge; no ill luck stir- ring but what lights on my shoulders. Tub. O yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio, as I heard in Genoa- Shy. (Interrupting him) What! has he had ill luck? Tub. -Has had a ship cast away coming from Tri poli. Shy. Thank fortune! Is it true? Is it true? Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped from the wreck. Shy. I thank you, good Tubal. Good news! Good news! What, in Genoa, you spoke with them? Tub. Your daughter, as I heard, spent twenty ducats in one night. Shy. You stick a dagger in me, Tubal. I never shall see my gold again. Twenty ducats in one night! Twen- ty ducats! O father Abraham! Tub. There came several of Antonio's creditors in my company to Venice, who say he cannot but break. Shylock had sent Tubal after his daughter, who had eloped from his house. Antonio was a merchant hated by Shylock. The United States Speaker. Shy. I am glad on't. I'll plague him, I'll torture him; I am glad on't. Tub. One of them showed me a ring he had of your daughter for a monkey. Shy. Out upon her; you torture me, Tubal! It was my ruby. I would not have given it for as many mon- keys as could stand together upon the Rialto. Tub. Antonio is certainly undone. Go, Shy. Ay, ay, there is some comfort in that. Tubal, engage an officer. Tell him to be ready; I'll be revenged on Antonio; I'll wash my hands to the elbows in his heart's blood. DESCRIPTION OF A STORM OF HAIL. LONG rush'd the victors o'er the sanguine field, And scarce were Gibeon's loftiest spires beheld; When up the west dark clouds began to rise, Sail'd o'er the hills and lengthened round the skies; A ridge of folding fire their summits shone, But fearful blackness all beneath was thrown; Swift round the sun the spreading gloom was hurl'd, And night and solitude amaz'd the world. · At once the voice of deep resounding gales Rung slow and solemn in the distant vales; Then through the groves and o'er the extended plain, With stormy rage the rapid whirlwinds ran; Red o'er the glimmering hills with pomp divine, The lightning's flaming path began to shine; Far round th' immense, unusual thunders driven, Proclaim'd the onset of approaching heaven; Astonish'd nature own'd the strange alarm, And the world trembled at th' impending storm. O'er the dark fields aghast Canaan stream'd; Thick in their course their scatter'd bucklers gleam'd! Behind them Joshua urged the furious car, And tenfold horrors hovered round the war. But when the chief the spreading storm survey'd, And trac❜d Almighty arms in heaven display'd; 3 8 The United States Speaker. With piercing voice he gave the great command, Stand still, ye chosen sons, admiring stand! Behold what awful scenes in Heaven arise! Adore the power, that brightens in the skies! Now God's tremendous arm asserts his laws; Now bids his thunder aid the righteous cause; Shows man how virtue saves her chosen bands, And points the vengeance doom'd for guilty lands. Behold what flames shoot forth! what gloom ascends! How nature trembles! how the concave rends! How the clouds darken! see, in yonder sky, Their opening skirts proclaim the Almighty nigh! He spoke, and from the north a rushing sound Roll'd thro' the heavens, and shook th' embattled ground; Thron'd on a dark red cloud an angel's form Sail'd awfully sublime, above the storm; Half veil'd in mist, his countenance like a sun, Inflam'd the clouds, and through all ether shone; Long robes of crimson light behind him flow'd; His wings were flames; his locks were dyed in blood; Ten thousand fiery shapes were round him driven, And all the dazzling pomp of opening heaven. Now, save Canaan's cries that feebly rung Round the dark plain a fearful silence hung: Stretch'd in dire terror o'er the quivering band, The ethereal vision wav'd his sun bright hand; At once from opening skies, red flames were hurl'd, And thunders, roll'd on thunders, rock'd the world; In one broad deluge sunk the avenging hail, And fill'd with tempest, roar'd the hoary vale; Fierce raging whirlwinds boundless nature blend; The streams rush back, the tottering mountains ben Down the tall steep their bursting summits roll, And cliffs on cliffs, hoarse crashing, rend the pole. Far round the earth, a wild, drear horror reigns; The high heavens heave, and roar the gloomy plains; One sea of lightning all the region fills, And waves of fire ride surging o'er the hills: The nodding forests plunge in flame around, And with huge caverns gapes the shuddering ground; Swifter than rapid winds Canaan driven, Refuse the conflict of embattled heaven. The United States Speaker. 9 But the dire hail in vain the victims fly, And death unbounded shook from all the sky. The thunder's dark career, the seraph's arm, Fierce vengeance blazing down the immense of storm, From falling groves to burning flames they flew; Hail roars around and angry, hosts pursue; From shaking skies, Almighty arms are hurl'd, And all the gloomy concave bursts upon the world. THE DROWNING FLY. 1. In yonder glass behold a drowning fly! Its little feet how vainly does it ply! Poor helpless insect! and will no one save? Will no one snatch thee from the threat'ning grave? My finger's top shall prove a friendly shore, There, trembler, all thy dangers now are o'er. Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear: Go, join thy numerous kindred in the air. Away it flies; resumes its harmless play; And lightly gambols in the golden ray. 2. Smile not, spectators, at this humble deed: For you perhaps a nobler task's decreed; A young and sinking family to save; To raise the thoughtless from destruction's wave; To you, for help, the wretched lift their eyes: Oh! hear, for pity's sake, their plaintive cries; Ere long, unless some guardian interpose, O'er their devoted heads the floods may close. LINES SPOKEN BY A BOY. You'd scarce expect one of my age, To speak in public on the stage; And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me with a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by. 10 The United States Speaker. Large streams from little fountains flow; Tall oaks from little acorns grow: And though I now am small and young, Of judgment weak, and feeble tongue; Yet all great learned men, like me, Once learned to read their A, B, C, But why may not Columbia's soil Rear men as great as Britain's isle; Exceed what Greece and Rome have done, Or any land beneath the sun? Mayn't Pennsylvania boast as great As any other sister state? Or, where's the town, go far and near, That does not find a rival here? Or where's the boy, but three feet high, Who's made improvements more than I? These thoughts inspire my youthful mind To be the greatest of mankind; Great, not like Cæsar, stain'd with blood; But only great as I am good. THE GAMESTER. OH! Where is he, whose haggard eye Scarce dares to meet the morning's ray; Who trembling would, but cannot, fly From MAN, and from the busy day? 1 Mark, how his lip is fever'd o'er! Behold his cheek how deathly it appears! See how his bloodshot eye balls pour A burning torrent of unpitied tears! Now watch the varying gesture wild, See how his tortur'd bosom heaves! Behold misfortune's wayward child, For whom no kindred nature grieves! Despis'd, suspected, ruin'd, lost; His fortune, health, and reputation, flown; On mis'ry's stormy ocean tost, Condemn'd to curse his fate-and curse alone! The United States Speaker. 11 Once were his prospects bright and gay, And independence bless'd his hours; His was the smooth and sunny way Where tip-toe pleasure scatter'd flow'rs; Love bound his brow with thornless sweets, And smiling friendship fill'd his cup of joy:- Now, not a friend the victim meets, For, like a wolf, he wanders to destroy. All day, upon a couch of thorn, His weary feverish limbs recline; All night distracted and forlorn, He hovers round the fateful shrine,- Eager to seize with grasping hands The slender pittance of the fool, He links himself with caitiff bands, And learns the lesson of the GAMESTER'S SCHOOL. One hour, elate with ill got gold, And dazzled by the shining ore, In plenitude of joys behold The prodigal displays his store! The next, in poverty and fear, He hides him, trembling at approaching fate, While greedy creditors appear, And with remorseless rage lurk round his gate. Then comes the horror breeding hour: While recreant SUICIDE attends; And madness, with impetuous pow'r, The scene of desolation ends! Upon his grave no parent mourns, No widow'd love laments with graceful wo ; No joyful gleam for him returns ; For heav'n denies that peace his frenzy lost below! GILDEROY. THE last, the fatal hour is come, That bears my love from me; 12 The United States Speaker. I hear the dead note of the drum, I mark the gallows tree! The bell has toll'd; it shakes my heart; The trumpet speaks thy name; And must my Gilderoy depart To bear a death of shame? No bosom trembles for thy doom; No mourner wipes a tear; The gallows foot is all thy tomb, The sledge is all thy bier! Oh, Gilderoy, bethought we then So soon, so sad to part, When first in Roslin's lovely glen You triumph'd o'er my heart?' Your locks they glittered to the sheen, Your hunter garb was trim; And graceful was the riband green That bound your manly limb! Ah! little thought I to deplore These limbs in fetters bound; Or hear, upon thy scaffold floor, The midnight hammer sound. Ye cruel, cruel, that combin'd The guiltless to pursue; My Gilderoy was ever kind, He could not injure you! A long adieu! but where shall fly Thy widow all forlorn, Then every mean and cruel eye Regards my wo with scorn? 1 Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears, And hate thine orphan boy; Alas! his infant beauty wears The form of Gilderoy! Then will I seek the dreary mound That wraps thy mouldering clay; And weep and linger on the ground, And sigh my heart away. The United States Speaker. 13 ! 1 DIALOGUE ON PHYSIOGNOMY. Enter FRANK and HENRY. Frank. It appears strange to me that people can be so imposed upon. There is no difficulty in judging folks by their looks. I profess to know as much of a man at the first view, as by half a dozen years' acquaint- ance. Henry. Pray how is that done? I should wish to learn such an art. Fr. Did you never read Lavater on Physiognomy? Hen. No. What do you mean by such a hard word? Fr. Physiognomy means a knowledge of men's hearts, thoughts, and characters, by their looks. For instance, if you see a man with a forehead jutting over his eyes like a piazza, with a pair of eye brows, heavy like the comice of a house; with full eyes, and a Roman nose, depend on if he is a great scholar, and an honest man. Hen. It seems to me I should rather go below his nose to discover his scholarship. } Fr. By no means: if you look for beauty, you descend to the mouth and chin: otherwise never go below the region of the brain. Enter GEORGE. Geor. Well, I have been to see the man hanged. And he is gone to the other world, with just such a great forehead and Roman nose as you have always been prais- ing. Fr. Remember, George, all signs fail in dry weather. Geor. Now, be honest, Frank, and own that there is nothing in all this trumpery of yours. The only way to know men is by their actions. If a man commit bur- glary, think you a Roman nose ought to save him from punishment? Fr. I don't carry my notions so far as that; but it is certain that all faces in the world are different; and equally true, that each has some marks about it, by which one can discover the temper and character of the person B 14 The United States Speaker. Enter PETER. Peter. [to Frank.] Sir,-I have heard of your fame from Dan to Beersheba; that you can know a man by his face, and can tell his thoughts by his looks. Hearing this, I have visited you without the ceremony of an in- troduction. Fr. Why, indeed, I do profess something in that way. Pet. By that forehead, nose, and those eyes of yours, one might be sure of an acute, penetrating mind. Fr. I see that you are not ignorant of physiognomy. Pet. I am not; but still I am so far from being an adept in the art, that, unless the features are very remarkable, I cannot determine with certainty. But yours is the most striking face I ever saw. There is a certain firmness in the lines, which lead from the outer verge to the centre of the apple of your eye, which denotes great forecast, deep thought, bright invention, and a genius for great purposes. Fr. You are a perfect master of the art. And to show you that I know something of it, permit me to observe, that the form of your face denotes frankness, truth, and honesty. Your heart is a stranger to guile, your lips to deceit, and your hands to fraud. Pet. I must confess that you have hit upon my true character; though a different one from what I have sus- tained in the view of the world. Fr. [to Henry and George.] Now see two strong exam- ples of the truth of physiognomy. [While he is speaking this, Peter takes out his pocket book, and makes off with himself.] Now, can you conceive, that without this knowledge, I could fathom the character of a total stranger? Hen. Pray tell us by what marks you discovered that in his heart and lips was no guile, and in his hands no fraud? Fr. Ay, leave that to me; we are not to reveal our secrets. But I will show you a face and character, which exactly suits him. [Feels for his pocket book, in both pockets, looks wildly and concerned.] Geor. [Tauntingly.] Aye, "in his heart is no guile, in 3. The United States Speaker. 15 his lips no deceit, and in his hands no fraud! Now we see a strong example of the power of physiognomy!" Fr. He is a wretch! a traitor against every good sign! I'll pursue him to the ends of the earth. [Offers to go.] Hen. Stop a moment. His fine honest face is far enough before this time. You have not yet discovered the worst injury he has done you. Fr. What's that? I had no watch or money for him to steal. Hen. By his deceitful lips, he has robbed you of any just conception of yourself; he has betrayed you into a foolish belief that you are possessed of the most extraor dinary genius and talents. Whereas, separate from the idle whim about physiognomy, you have no more pre- tence to genius or learning than a common school boy. Learn henceforth to estimate men's hands by their deeds, their lips by their words, and their hearts by their lives. 2 ELEGY TO PITY. HAIL, lovely power, whose bosom heaves the sigh, When fancy paints the scene of deep distress; Whose tears spontaneous crystallize the eye, When rigid fate denies the power to bless. Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey From flow'ry meads can with that sigh compare: Not dew drops glitt'ring in the morning ray Seem near so beauteous as that falling tear. Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play; Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies. No blood stain'd traces mark thy blameless way; Beneath thy feet no hapless insect dies. Come, lovely nymph, and range the mead with me, To spring the partridge from the guileful foe; From secret snares the struggling bird to free; And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow, 16 The United States Speaker. And when the air with heat meridian glows And nature droops beneath the conq'ring gleam; Let us, slow wandering where the current flows, Save sinking flies that float along the stream. Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care, To me thy sympathetic gifts impart; Teach me in friendship's grief to bear a share, And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart. Teach me to sooth the helpless orphan's grief; With timely aid the widow's woes assuage; To misery's moving cries to yield relief; And be the sure resource of drooping age. So when the genial spring of life shall fade, And sinking nature own the dread decay, Some soul congenial then may lend its aid, And gild the close of life's eventful day. THE LAP DOG Eliza. Miss Nancy, what child was that your aunt had in her arms this morning, as she wwaking in the mall? Nancy. A child! Miss Eliza; a child! You don't think my aunt would be seen walking in public with a child in her arms!. Eli. Pray, Miss, where would be the harm? I know she has a beautiful pair of twins; and I thought it might be one of them, as it was partly covered with her cloak. Nan. No, indeed-it was her lap dog. Eli. Upon my word, Nancy, you have mended the matter mightily! Your aunt is ashamed to be seen walk- ing with a child in her arms; but is not ashamed to be seen carrying a paltry puppy through the streets! Pray how much more valuable is a puppy than a child? Nan. Why, as to the real value, Eliza, I don't know but a child should be prized the highest. Though my aunt says she would rather part with both her twins than The United States Speaker. 17 lose her dear little Trip. But you know, she would be taken for one of the lower sort of women, if she were to lug a child about with her; whereas nothing makes her appear more like a lady, than to be seen gallanting her little dog. And Trip is none of your common curs, I as- sure you. His mother was imported from Europe; and it is said she once belonged to a lady of nobility. You can't think what a sweet little creature he is. My aunt. nursed him wholly herself ever since he was a week old. Eli. And who nursed the twins? Nan. They were put into the country with a very good woman. They have never been at home but once since they were born. But their mamma visits them as often at least as once a month. Eli. Would she be willing to be as long absent from her dear little Trip, as you call him? Nan. O no, indeed! She would run crazy, if she were to lose him but for one day. And no wonder : for he is the most engaging little animal you ever saw. You would be diverted to see him drink tea out of the ladies' cups. And he kisses his mistress delightfully! Eli. It is very noble in your aunt to pay such attention to an object of so much consequence. He is certainly more valuable than half a dozen children. Does your aunt expect to learn him to talk? Nan. Talk! why he talks already. She says she per- fectly understands his language. When he is hungry, he can ask for sweetmeats. When he is dry, he can ask for drink. When he is tired of running on foot, he can ask to ride; and my aunt is never more happy than when she has him in her arms! Eli. And yet she would not be seen with one of her ●wn children in her arms! vulgar; and all her Children, you know, Nan. Why that would be very acquaintances would laugh at her. are always crying; and no ladies of fashion will ever admit them into their company. Eli. If children are always crying, little dogs are often barking, and which is the more disagreeable noise? Nan. Oh the barking of Trip is music to all who hear him! Mr. Fribble, who often visits my aunt, says he can raise and fall the eight notes to perfection; and he B ? 1 132 The United States Speaker. 18 prefers the sound of his voice to that of the harpsichord. It was he who brought his mother from London; and he says there was not a greater favourite among all the dogs in possession of the fine ladies of court. And more than all that, he says Trip greatly resembles a spaniel which belongs to one of the royal family. Mr. Fribble and my aunt almost quarrelled last night to see which should have the honour of carrying the dear little favour- ite to the play. Eli. After hearing so many rare qualifications of the little quadruped, I do not wonder at your aunt's choice of a companion. I am not surprised she should set her affections upon a creature so deserving of all her care. It is to be wished her children might never come in competition with this object of her affections. I hope she will continue to maintain the dignity of her sex; and never disgrace the fashionable circle to which she belongs, by neglecting her lap dog for the more vulgar employment of attending to her own offspring. * EPILOGUE to addison's cato. You see mankind the same in every age; Heroic fortitude, tyrannic rage, Boundless ambition, patriotic truth, And hoary treason, and untainted youth, Have deeply mark'd all periods and all climes, The noblest virtues, and the blackest crimes. Did Cæsar, drunk with power, and madly brave, Insatiate burn, his country to enslave? Did he for this, lead forth a servile host To spill the choicest blood that Rome could boast? The British Cæsar too hath done the same, And doom'd this age to everlasting fame. Columbia's crimson fields still smoke with gore; Her bravest heroes cover all the shore: The flower of Britain in full martial bloom, In this sad war, sent headlong to the tomb. The United States Speaker. 19 Did Rome's brave senate nobly dare t' oppose The mighty torrent, stand confessed their foes, And boldly arm the virtuous few, and dare The desp'rate horrors of unequal war? Our senate too the same bold deed have done, And for a Cato, arm'd a Washington; A chief, in all the ways of battle skill'd, Great in the council, mighty in the field. His martial arm, and steady soul alone, Have made thy legions shake, thy navy groan, And thy proud empire totter to the throne. O, what thou art, mayst thou forever be, And death`the lot of any chief but thee! We've had our Decius too; and Howe could say, Health, pardon, peace, George sends America; Yet brought destruction for the olive wreath; For health, contagion, and for pardon, death. Rise! then, my countrymen, for fight prepare; Gird on your swords, and fearless rush to war; 'Tis your bold task the gen'rous strife to try; For your griev'd country nobly dare to die! No pent up Utica contracts your powers; For the whole boundless continent is our's! ! THE GLEANER. BEFORE the bright sun rises over the hill, In the cornfields poor Mary is seen, Impatient her little blue apron to fill, With the few scattered ears she can glean. She never leaves off, or runs out of her place, To play or to idle and chat Except now and then just to wipe her hot face, And fan herself with her broad hat. "Poor girl, hard at work in the heat of the sun, How tired and hot you must be; Why don't you leave off, as the others have done, And sit with them under the tree?" 20 The United States Speaker. # 1 "Oh no! for my mother lies ill in her bed, Too feeble to spin or to knit, And my poor little brothers are crying for bread,. And yet we can't give them a bit! "Then could I be merry, and idle and play, While they are so hungry and ill? O no, I had rather work hard all the day, My little blue apron to fill.' 1 HYMEN'S ECLOGUE BETWEEN ADmetus AND MENALCHAS. Men. What makes Admetus sad? Whate'er it be, Some cause there is that thus hath alter'd thee! Is it the loss of substance? or of friends? Or thy content in discontentment ends? Is it some scruple in thy conscience, Which, unresolved, doth leave thee in suspense? Is it, that thou thy long wish'd love should loose? Admet. No, no, Menalchas, it is none of those' Men. Thou art not sick? Admet. Nor sick, nor greatly well. Men. Where lies thy grief? Admet. My countenance can tell! Men. Smooth is thy brow; thy count'nance fresh enough. Admet. But cares have made my wreakful mind as rough. Men. Of cares, Admetus? Admet. Yes! I have my share! Men. Yet, hope of cure! Admet. No hope of cure to care! Men. Nay, then I see, 'tis love that thee doth wring. Admet. Thou err'st Menalchas, there is no such thing. Men. If neither loss of friends, nor loss of wealth, Want to enjoy thy love, nor want of health, If neither discontent, nor grief do show Care in thy face, nor sorrow in thy brow, If thou be free as we all know thee free, Engaged to none,what is it grieveth thee? The United States Speaker. , 21 Admet. Wouldst know, Menalchas? Men. Yes! Admet. I'll tell thee then: The case is alter'd-I'm a married man! ง DOUGLAS'S ACCOUNT OF A HERMIT. BENEATH a mountain's brow, the most remote, And inaccessible by shepherds trod, In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand, À hermit liv'd; a melancholy man, Who was the wonder of our wandering swains. Austere and lonely, cruel to himself, Did they report him; the cold earth his bed, Water his drink, his food the shepherds' alms. I went to see him; and my heart was touch'd With rev'rence and with pity. Mild he spake ; And, entering on discourse, such stories told, As made me oft revisit his sad cell. For he had been a soldier in his youth; And fought in famous battles, when the peers Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led, Against th' usurping infidel display'd The blessed cross, and won the holy land. Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire His speech struck from me, the old man would shake His years away, and act his young encounters: Then, having show'd his wounds, he'd sit him down, And all the livelong day discourse of war. To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts; Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use Of the deep column and the lengthened line, The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm; For, all that Saracen or Christian knew Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known. R 22 The United States Speaker. * ASSAGE OF THE ISRAELITES THROUGH THE RED SEA. Now on the margin of broad Elim's flood, Trembling and pale the host of Israel stood; With awful pomp the fiery cloud ascends, Gleams o'er the breathless bands, that rearward bends; Close-wedg'd, the concourse vast o'erhang the shore, Gaze at the scene, and wonder, and adore. Fair in the van the holy Prophet rose, As morning bright, and calm as ev'ning close: Scarce had his sandals mark'd the glitt'ring sand, Scarce had he rais'd aloft the potent wand, When lo! the waves, as conscious of his call, Shrink from their bed, and mount into a wall; A crystal barrier form on either side, And ope a pebbly path-way through the tide Nor long, with bended knees, and eyes elate, The pious fugitives devoutly wait; Onward they move, immerging in the deep, And sigh and shudder as the bank they leap; Mothers and infants cling in fond embrace, And sires scarce brave the terrors as they pass. Silent and slow they march amid the waves, Eye the dark chambers and affrighted caves; Start at each step, as bursts upon their view The mingled wonders of a scene so new. Two shining walls their polish'd fronts oppose, And like two mirrors vast the host enclose: Reflected bright, in imitation just, On either flank extends an equal host; In triple numbers thus they move to view, Two mimic Israels seems to guard the true. Rous'd from their haunts, the scaly monsters glare; Alarm'd and jealous for their empire there; Sullen they veer, and eye the host askance, And now receding seem, and now advance. Th' unwieldy grampus near, majestic moves, And timid dolphins seek their coral groves. The United States Speaker. 23 Familiar now with toils and dangers tried, Bold in the presence of their GUARD AND GUIDE, With firmer step the vast procession goes, Nor scarce, at length, one backward eye-ball throws As onward still they move, the Asian height A watery vista opens to their sight; And now, at hand, the less'ning walls between Fair Baal-zephon's glitt'ring spires are seen; Thither they bend, and as they gain the strand, Loud hallelujahs peal from band to band. THE TWO ROBBERS.* Alexander. What! art thou the Thracian robber, of whose exploits I have heard so much? Robber. I am a Thracian, and a soldier! Alex. A soldier!—a thief, a plunderer, an assassin! the pest of the country! I could honour thy courage, but I must detest and punish thy crimes! Rob. What have I done of which you can complain? Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; violated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons and properties of thy fellow subjects? Rob. Alexander! I am your captive-I must hear what you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. But my soul is unconquered; and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. Alex. Speak freely. Far be it from me to take the ad- vantage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to converse! Rob. I must then answer your question by another. How have you passed your life? Alex. Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest; among so- vereigns, the noblest; among conquerors, the mightiest. Rob. And does not Fame speak of me, too? Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band? Was there * Alexander the Great in his tent. A man with a fierce counte- nance, chained and fettered, brought before him. \ 24 The United States Speaker. n ever-but I scorn to boast. have not been easily subdued. You yourself know that I Alex. Still, what are you but a robber-a base, dis- honest robber? Rob. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry; plundering, ravaging,. killing without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable last for dominion? All that I have done to a single district with a hundred followers, you have done to whole nations with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth. What is then the difference, but that as you were born a king and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I? Alex. But if I have taken like a king, I have given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and philo- sophy. Rob. I too, have freely given to the poor, what I took from the rich. I have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of mankind; and have stretch- ed out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I know indeed little of the philosophy you'talk of; but I believe neither you or I shall ever atone to the world for the mischiefs we have done it. Alex. Leave me-Take off his chains, and use him well. Are we then so much alike?-Alexander to a robber?Let me reflect. DR. AIKIN. INTEMPERANCE. *At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.' Oh! take the maddening bowl away; Remove the poisonous cup! My soul is sick-its burning ray Hath drunk my spirit up: The United States Speaker. 25 Take take it from my loathing lip, Ere madness fires my brain; Take-take it hence, nor let me sip Its liquid death again. Oh! dash it on the thirsty earth, For I will drink no more: It cannot cheer the heart with mirth That grief hath wounded sore; For serpents wreath its sparkling brim, And adders lurk below; It hath no soothing charm for him Who sinks oppressed with wo. Say not, "Behold its ruddy hue, Oh, press it to thy lips!" It is more deadly than the dew That from the Upas drips: It is more poisonous than the stream Which deadly nightshade laves; Its joys are transient as the beam That lights its ruddy waves. Say not, "It hath a powerful spell To sooth the soul of care;" Say not, "it calms the bosom's swell And drives away despair:" Art thou its votary? ask thy soul- Thy soul in misery deep- Yea, ask thy conscience, if the bowl Can give eternal sleep! Then, hence! away, thou deadly foe- I scorn thy base control: Away, away!—I fear thy blow, Thou palsy of the soul! Henceforth I drink no more of thee, Thou bane of Adam's race, But to a heavenly fountain flee, And drink the DEWS of GRACE. с 1 26 The United States Speaker. ADDRESS TO MY BIRD. DEAR little bird, don't make this piteous cry, My heart will break to hear thee thus complain; Gladly, dear little bird, I'd let thee fly If that were likely to relieve thy pain. Sad was the boy who climbed the tree so high, And took thee bare and shivering from thy nest; But no, dear little bird, it was not There's more of soft compassion in my breast. But when I saw thee, gasping wide for breath, Without one feather on thy callow skin, I begged the cruel boy to spare thy death, Paid for thy little life, and took thee in. Fondly I fed thee, with the tenderest care, And filled thy gaping beak with nicest food; Gave thee new bread and butter from my share, And then with chick-weed green thy dwelling strewed. Soon downy feathers drest thy naked wing, Smoothed by thy little beak with beauish care; And many a summer's evening would'st thou sing, And hop from perch to perch with merry air. But if I now should loose thy prison door, And let thee out into the world so wide; Unused to such a wondrous place before, Thou'dst want some friendly shelter where to hide. Thy brother birds would peck thy little eyes, And fight the stranger from their woods away; Fierce hawks would chase thee trembling thro' the skies, Or crouching pussy mark thee for her prey. Sad, on the lonely black-thorn, wouldst thou sit, Thy mournful song unpitied and unheard; And when the wintry wind and driving sleet, Came sweeping o'er, they'd kill my pretty bird. Then do not pine, my favourite, to be free, Plume up thy wings and clear that sullen eye; I would not take thee from thy native tree, But now, 'twould kill thee soon to let thee fly The United States Speaker. 27 DOUGLAS'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. My name is Norval. On the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike lord; And heaven soon granted what my sire denied. This moon, which rose last night, round as my shield, Had not yet filled her horns, when by her light, A band of fierce barbarians from the hills, Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled For safety and for succour. I alone, With bended bow and quiver full of arrows, Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd The road he took; then hasted to my friends, Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, I met advancing. The pursuit I led, Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumbered foe. We fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn, An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief, Who wore that day the arms which now I wear. Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard That our good king had summon'd his bold peers, To lead their warriors to the Carron side, I left my father's house and took with me A chosen servant to conduct my steps- Yon trembling coward who forsook his master. Journeying with this intent I pass'd these towers, And, heaven directed, came this day to do The happy deed, that gilds my humble name. CARELESS MATILDA. AGAIN, Matilda, is your work astray, Your thimble gone! your scissors, where are they? Your needles, pins, your thread, and tapes all lost- Your housewife here, and there your work bag tost. 28 The United States Speaker. Fie, fie, my child! indeed this will not do, Your hair uncomb'd, the frock in tatters too: I'm now resolved no more delays to grant, This day I'll send you to your stern old aunt. In vain Matilda wept, repented, prayed, In vain a promise of amendment made. Arriv'd at Austere Hall, Matilda sighed, By Lady Rigid when severely eyed": "You read and write, and work well, as I'm told, Are gentle, kind, good natured, far from bold; But very careless, negligent and wild: When you leave me you'll be a different child. The little girl next morn a favour asks. "I wish to take a walk,"-"Go learn your tasks," The lady harsh replies, "nor cry nor whine, Your room you leave not till you're call'd to dìne.' As thus Matilda sat, o'erwhelmed with shame, A dame appeared, Disorder was her name; Her hair and dress neglected, soiled her face, She squinted, leered, and hobbled in her pace. "Here, child," she said, "my mistress sends you this, A bag of silks-a flower not worked amiss- A polyanthus bright and wondrous gay, You'll copy it by noon she bade me say. Disorder grinned; then shuffling, walked away. Entangled were the silks of every hue, و, Confused and mixed were shades of pink, green, blue; She took the thread, compared it with the flower, "To finish this is not within my power. Well sorted silks had Lady Rigid sent, I might have worked if such was her intent.” She sighed, and melted into sobs and tears, She hears a noise-and at the door appears A pretty maiden, clean, well dressed and neat; Her voice was soft, her looks sedate, yet sweet: "My name is Order; do not cry my love; Attend to me, and thus you may improve.' She took the silks, and drew out shade by shade, In sep'rate skeins each hue with care she laid; Then smiling kindly left the little maid. CC The United States Speaker. 29 38 Matilda now resumes her sweet employ, And sees the flower complete-how great her joy: She leaves the room-"I've done my task," she cries; The lady looked with disbelieving eyes, But soon her harshness changed to glad surprise. "Why this is well! a very pretty flower, Worked clean, exact, and done within the hour. And now amuse yourself, ride, walk, or play.” Thus passed Matilda this much dreaded day. At all her tasks Disorder would attend, At all her tasks still Order stood her friend. With tears and sighs her studies oft began, These into smiles were changed by Order's plan: No longer Lady Rigid seemed severe, Her looks the negligent alone need fear. And now the day, the wished for day is come, When young Matilda's suffered to go home; "You quit me, child, but oft to mind recall, The time you spent with me at Austere Hall. And now, my dear, I'll give you one of these, Your servant she will be-take which you please. From me, Disorder asked, old friend, why start? Matilda clasped sweet Order to her heart, My dearest girl, she said, we'll never part. THE DISAPPOINTMENT. In tears to her mother poor Harriet came, Let us listen to hear what she says; "Oh see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain, We cannot go out in the chaise. All the week have I longed for the journey you know. And fancied the minutes were hours, And now that I am dressed, and all ready to go, O see, dear mamma, how it pours. I'm sorry my dear, her good mother replied, The rain wont permit us to go, And I'm sorry to see for the sake of a ride, That you cry and distress yourself so. c 2 30 The United States Speaker. These slight disappointments and crosses you hate, Are sent you your mind to prepare; That you may with courage and fortitude wait More serious distresses to bear. Oh think not, my child, as you grow up in life, ► That pleasures unceasing will flow; Disappointment, and trouble, and sorrow, and strife, Will follow wherever you go. Tho' now the bright prospect seems opening fair, And hope paints a scene of delight, Too soon you will see it all vanish in air, And leave you to darkness and night. Ah then, my dear girl, when these sorrows appear, And troubles flow in like a tide, You'll wonder that ever you wasted a tear On merely the loss of a ride. But tho' this world's pleasures are fading and vain, Religion is lasting and true; Real pleasure and joy in her paths you may gain, Nor will disappointment ensue. CASSIUS'S SPEECH. HONOUR is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life: but for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as myself. I was born free as Cæsar; so were you: We both have fed as well; and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he; For once upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with his shores, Cæsar says to me, "Dar'st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And bade him follow: so indeed he did. The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it The United States Speaker. 81 With lusty sinews; throwing it aside, And stemming it with hearts of controversy. But ere we could reach 'he point propos'd, Cæsar cry'd, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink. ' I, as Eneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear; so, from the waves of Tiber, Did I the tired Cæsar; and this man Is now become a god; and Cassius is ` A wretched creature, and must bend his body If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him I did mark How he did shake; 'tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their colour fly; And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, Did lose its lustre; I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romanş Mark him and write his speeches in their books, "Alas!" it cried: "Give me some drink, Titinius;" As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper, should So get the start of the majestic world, And bear the palm alone. Brutus and Cæsar! What should be in that Cæsar? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together; yours is as fair a name : Sound them; it doth become the mouth as well: Weigh them; it is as heavy: conjure with 'em: Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar. Now in the name of all the gods at once, Upon what meats doth this our Cæsar feed, That he has grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd; Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was fam'd with more than with one man? That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? When could they say, 'till now, that talk'd of Rome, Oh! You and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd Th' infernal spirit, to keep him state in Rome, As easily as a king. र 32 The United States Speaker. 噼 ​TRUE CHARITY REQUIRES A SACRIFICE. Mrs. Orson, Harriet, her daughter. Har. Mamma, mamma, give me leave to send a dollar to the poor blind woman. Mrs. Ors. Most willingly, your sisters have asked the same permission. Emilia gives three dollars and Agatha two; but I tell you beforehand, that each of us in giving has made a sacrifice. I have made a sacrifice of a pic- ture, Emilia of a morocco thread-case, and Agatha of a new hat. I hope, Harriet, you have the same reason. Har. But, mamma, I have no sacrifice to make; I do not want any thing. Mrs. Ors. I think you proposed yesterday to buy a pretty locket we saw at one of the stores. Har. That is true, indeed. But I have two dollars, and the locket was only nine shillings; if I give away one dollar, I shall have another left, and Emilia will lend me three shillings more, so that I can still buy it. Mrs. Ors. What, have recourse to borrowing for a trifle, which you can easily do without! Besides you must never run in debt, but when it is absolutely neces- sary. If you have not a good heart, I cannot give it to you; but it is possible for me to teach you to reason justly. If in doing a good action, we retrench nothing from our common expense, we only commit a folly; if we borrow from one hand to give to another, we dis- order our finances, and usurp the appellation of benevo- lent, for there is no virtue without reason. Act con- sistently, which is all that I have any right to expect from you; buy the locket, or help the poor woman; but never expect to unite the pleasure of gratifying all your whims with the happiness of being useful to the unfor- tunate; that is impossible. Har. Since 1 must choose, surely I shall not hesitate; I give up the locket with all my heart. Mrs. Ors. In that case you have merit in what you do, since it will exercise your self-denial. Without that, where would be the merit?· Har. My dear mamma, I am sensible of that; and ! ર The United States Speaker. 33 every time I regret the want of the locket, I will think of the blind woman and I shall regret it no longer. Mrs. Ors. And you may even say, "If I had not been compassionate, I should have had a locket, which now I do not care for; instead of which, I have the remem- brance of a good action, an honest poor woman blesses me, and mamma loves me the better." Har. Oh, mamma! from this instant I think no longer of the locket, I assure you; and I see that what I at first thought a sacrifice is, on the whole, a gain. 3 Mrs. Ors. It is so of every sacrifice which virtue re- quires; they are only difficult before the execution; in proposing them, we consider what they may cost; but in making them, the pride alone which they inspire is a sufficient recompense. I hope, my dear Harriet, you will know a still more pleasing value, that which a feel- ing mind can give.-Countess de Genlis. SOLILOQUY OF DICK THE APPRENTICE. Thus far we run before the wind-An apothe cary!—Make an apothecary of me!What, cramp my genius over a pestle and mortar; or mew me up in a shop, with an alligator stuffed, and a beggarly account of empty boxes! To be culling simples, and constantly adding to the bills of mortality! No! No! It will be much better to be pasted up in capitals, THE PART OF ROMEO BY A YOUNG GENTLEMAN, WHO NEVER APPEARED ON ANY STAGE BEFORE! My ambition fires at the thought. But hold; may'nt I run some chance of failing in my attempt; Hissed-pelted-laughed at-not admitted into the green room;- that will never do;-down, busy devil, down, down; try it again-loved by the women-envied by the men-applauded by the pit, clap- ped by the gallery, admired by the boxes. "Dear colonel, is'nt he a charming creature? My lord, don't you like him of all things?-Makes love like an angel! -What an eye he has!--Fine legs!-I shall certainly go to his benefit.", Celestial sounds!—And then I'll get 34 The United States Speaker. in with all the painters, and have myself put up in every print-shop in the character of Macbeth! "This is a sorry sight." [Stands in an attitude.] In the character of Richard, "Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds!" This will do rarely. And then I have a chance of getting well married-O glorious thought! I will enjoy it, though but in fancy. But what's o'clock? It must be almost nine. I'll away at once; this is club night- the spouters are all met-little think they I'm in town- off I go; they'll be surprised to see me. * SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF DOUGLAS. Enter ANNA. FORGIVE the rashness of your Anna's love: Urged by affection, I have thus presum'd To interrupt your solitary thoughts; And warn you of the hours that you neglect, And lose in sadness. Lady R. So to lose my hours Is all the use I wish to make of time. Anna. To blame thee, lady, suits not with my state; But sure I am, since death first prey'd on man, Never did sister thus a brother mourn. What had your sorrows been if you had lost, In early youth, the husband of your heart? Lady R. Oh! Anna. Have I distress'd thee with officious love, And ill-timed mention of your brother's fate? Forgive me lady; humble though I am, The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune: So fervently I love you, that to dry These piteous tears, I'd throw my life away. Lady R. What power directed thy unconscious tongu To speak as thou hast done? to name Anna. I know not ; But since my words have made my mistress tremble, The United States Speaker. 33 ་ I will speak so no more; but silent mix My tears with hers. Lady R. No, thou shalt not be silent. I'll trust thy faithful love, and thou shalt be Henceforth the instructed partner of my woes. But what avails it? can thy feeble pity Roll back the flood of never ebbing time? Compel the earth and ocean to give up Their dead alive? Anna. What means my noble mistress? Lady R. Did thou not ask what had my sorrows been, If I in early youth had lost a husband?- In the cold bosom of the earth is lodged, Mangled with wounds, the husband of my youth; And in some cavern of the ocean lies My child and his.- Anna. Oh! lady, most revered! The tale wrapt up in your amazing words Deign to unfold- Lady R. Alas! an ancient feud, Hereditary evil, was the source Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed, That my brave brother should in battle save The life of Douglas' son, our house's foe: The youthful warriors vowed eternal friendship. To see the vaunted sister of his friend Impatient Douglas to Balermo came, Under a borrow'd name-my heart he gain'd; Nor did I long refuse the hand he begg'd; My brother's presence authorized our marriage. Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings of down, Had o'er us flown, when my lov'd lord was call'd To fight his father's battles; and with him, In spite of all my tears, did Malcolm go. Scarce were they gone, when my stern sire was told That the false stranger was Lord Douglas' son: Frantic with rage, the baron drew his sword, + And question'd me. Alone, forsaken, faint, Kneeling beneath his sword, faltering, I took An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would Wed one of Douglas' name. SINCERITY, THOU FIRST OF VIRTUES, LET NO MORTAL LEAVE 36 The United States Speaker. } THY ONWARD PATH, ALTHOUGH THE EARTH SHOULD GAPE AND FROM THE GULF BELOW DESTRUCTION CRY TO TAKE DISSIMULATION'S WINDING WAY. Anna. Alas! how few of women's fearful kind Durst own a truth so hardy! Lady R. The first truth Is easiest to avow. This moral learn, This precious moral, from my tragic tale.- In a few days the dreadful tidings came That Douglas and my brother both were slain. My lord! my life! my husband!-Mighty heaven! What had I done to merit such affliction? Anna. My dearest lady! Many a tale of tears I've listen'd to; but never did I hear A tale so sad as this. Lady R. In the first days 1 Of my distracting grief, I found myself- As women wish to be who love their lords. But who durst tell my father? The good priest Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient tutor, With his loved Malcolm in the battle fell: They two alone were privy to the marriage. On silence and concealment I resolv'd, Till time should make my father's fortune mine. That very night on which my son was born, My nurse, the only confidant I had, Set out with him to reach her sister's house; But nurse nor infant have I ever seen Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour. Anna. Not seen nor heard of? then perhaps he lives. Lady R. No. It was dark Desember; wind and Rain had beat all night. Across the Carron lay The destined road; and in its swelling flood My faithful servant perished with my child. Oh, hapless son of a most hapless sire! "But they are both at rest; and I alone Dwell in this land of wo, condemn'd to walk, Like a guilt-troubled ghost, my painful rounds :") Anna. The hand that spins the even thread of life May smooth the length that's yet to come of yours. Lady R. Not in this world; I have consider'd well Its various evils and on whom they fall. 嘻 ​! The United States Speaker. 37 + Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself? And sweet affection prove the spring of wo. Oh! had I died when my loved husband fell! Had some good angel ope'd to me the book Of providence and let me read my life, My heart had broke, when I beheld the sum Of ills, which one by one, I have endured. R. weeping. Exit Lady Anna. That Power, whose ministers good angels are, Hath shut the book in mercy to mankind. Oh, happiness! where art thou to be found? I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, Though grac'd with grandeur and in wealth array'd;' Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue dwell, Else had this gentle lady miss'd thee not. HOME X * EDWARD AND WARWICK. Edw. Let me have no intruders; above all, Keep Warwick from my sight- Enter WARWICK. War. Behold him here; No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask My lord of Suffolk's leave-there was a time When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain Admission here. Edw. There was a time, perhaps, When Warwick more desir'd and more- deserv'd it War. Never; I've been a foolish faithful slave; All my best years, the morning of my life, Hath been devoted to your service: what Are now the fruits? Disgrace and infamy; My spotless name, which never yet the breath Of calumny had tainted, made the mock For foreign fools to carp at: but 'tis fit Who trust in princes, should be thus rewarded. Edw. I thought, my lord, I had full well repaid Your services with honours, wealth, and pow'r D 3 38 the The United States Speaker Unlimited: thy all directing hand Guided in secret every latent wheel 1 Öf government, and mov'd the whole machine: Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward Stood like a cipher in the great account. War. Who gave that cipher worth, and seated thee On England's throne? Thy undistinguish'd name Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang, And moulder'd in oblivion, had not Warwick Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore, And stamp'd it with a diadem. Thou knowest This wretched country, doom'd, perhaps, like Rome, To fall by its own self-destroying hand, Tost for so many years in the rough sea Of civil discord, but for me had perish'd. In that distressful hour I seiz'd the helm, Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and steer'd Your shatter'd vessel safe into the harbour. You may despise, perhaps, that useless aid Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth, He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe. Edw. Know too, reproach for bencfits receiv'd Pays every debt and cancels obligation. War. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty, A thrifty saving knowledge: when the debt Grows burthensome, and cannot be discharg'd, A sponge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing. Edw. When you have counted o'er the numerous train Of mighty gifts your bounty lavish'd on me, You may remember next the injuries Which I have done you; let me know them all, And I will make you ample satisfaction. War. Thou canst not; thou hast, robbed me of a jewel It is not in thy power to restore: I was the first, shall future annals say, That broke the sacred bond of public trust And mutual confidence; ambassadors, In after times, mere instruments, perhaps, Of venial statesmen, shall recall my name To witness, that they want not an example, And plead my guilt, to sanctify their own. Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves The United States Speaker. 39 That haunt your court, could none be found but Warwick, To be the shameless herald of a lie? Edw. And would'st thou turn the vile reproach on me? If I have broke my faith, and stain'd the name Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels That urg'd me to it, and extorted from me A cold consent to what my heart abhorr'd. War. I have been abused, insulted, and betray'd; My injured honour cries aloud for vengeance, Her wounds will never close! Edw. These gusts of passion, Will but inflame them; if I have been right Inform'd, my lord, besides these dang'rous scars Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds As deep, tho' not so fatal; such perhaps As none but fair Elizabeth can cure. War. Elizabeth! Edw. Nay, start not, I have cause To wonder most: I little thought indeed When Warwick told me I might learn to love, He was himself so able to instruct me; But I've discover'd all. War. And so have I: Too well I know thy breach of friendship there, Thy fruitless, base endeavours to supplant me. Edw. I scorn it, sir-Elizabeth hath charms, And I have equal right with you to admire them: Nor see I aught so godlike in the form, So all commanding in the name of Warwick, That he alone should revel in the charms Of beauty, and monopolize perfection. I knew not of your love. War. 'Tis false! You knew it all, and meanly took occasion, Whilst I was busied in the noble office Your grace thought fit to honour me withal, To tamper with a weak, unguarded woman, To bribe her passions high, and basely steal A treasure which your kingdom could not purchase. Edw. How know you that? But be it as it may, I had a right, nor will I tamely yield My claim to happiness, the privilege 40 The United States Speaker. To choose the partner of my throne and bed; It is a branch of my prerogative. War. Prerogative! What's that? the boast of tyrants; A borrow'd jewel, glitt'ring in the crown With specious lustre, lent but to betray. You had it, Sir, and hold it—from the people. Edw. And therefore do I prize it; I would guard Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine: But when proud faction, and her rebel crew, Insult their sovereign, trample on his laws, And bid defiance to his pow'r, the people, In justice to themselves, will then defend His cause, and vindicate the rights they gave. War. Go to your darling people, then; for soon, If I mistake not, 'twill be needful; try Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause, If I forbid them. Edw. Is it so, my lord; Then mark my words: I've been your slave too long, And you have ruled me with a rod of iron; But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy master, And will be so the king who delegates His pow'r to other's hands, but ill deserves The crown he wears. War. Look well then to your own; It sits but loosely on your head; for know, The man who injur'd Warwick, never pass'd Unpunish'd yet. Edw. Nor he who threaten'd Edward- 2 You may repent it, Sir,my guards there——————seize This traitor, and convey him to the tower, There let him learn obedience. 1 TURNIP TOPS. WHILE yet the white frost sparkles over the ground, And daylight just peeps from the misty blue sky, In yonder green fields with my basket I'm found; Come buy my sweet turnip tops,-turnip tops buy. The United States Speaker. 41 } 1 Sadly cold are my fingers, all drench'd with the dew, For the sun has scarce risen the meadows to dry, And my feet have got wet with a hole in my shoe, Come haste then, and buy my sweet turnip tops, buy While you are asleep with your bed curtains drawn 'On pillows of down, in your chamber so high, I trip with the first rosy beam of the morn To cull the green tops,-come, my turnip tops buy. Then, with a few half pence or pence I can earn, A loaf for my poor mother's breakfast I'll buy; And to-morrow again, little Ann shall return With turnip tops green and fresh gathered, to cr™. CLARENCE'S DREAM. Clarence and Brakenbury. Brak. WHY looks your grace so heavily to-day? Clar. O, I have passed a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days; So full of dismal terror was the time. The Brak. What was your dream, my lord, I pray you tell me? Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tow'r And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Glo'ster; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England, And cîted up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befall'n us. As we pass'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Glo'ster stumbled, and in falling Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. D 2 42 The United States Speaker. Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in my ears! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! I thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon: Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels; : Some lay in dead men's skulls and in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death. To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony? Clar. No, no; my dream was lengthen'd after life; O then began the tempest of my soul. Iass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grira ferryman which poets write Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did grect my stranger-soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who cried aloud-"What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?” And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud- "Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury; Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!" With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling wak'd; and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell: Such terrible impression made my dream. 1 The United States Speaker. 43 Brak. I marvel not, my lord, that it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. Clar. Ah! Brakenbury, I have done those things That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou will be aveng'd on my misdeeds; Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: O spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, Brakenbury, stay by me; My soul is heavy and I fain would sleep. SHAKSPEARE $ DIALOGUE ON COWARDICE AND KNAVERY. 4 Characters Hector,-An officer cashiered for cowardice, Hamburgh,--A fraudulent bankrupt. Simon,-A pawn broker. Trusty,-In disguise, acquainted with all. [Sitting together; some with segars.] Scene A Tavern. Enter LANDlord. Landlord. Gentlemen, you all come different ways; and I s'pose are strangers; but may be, you'd like to cut and come again upon a roast turkey with good trim- mings. Trusty. With all my heart. I'd play knife and fork even with a cut throat over such a supper: and I dare say, you will find none of us cowards or bankrupts in that business. Up start HECTOR, HAMBURGH, and SIMON. All three. [to Trusty.] Do you call me names, Sir? Trusty. Gentlemen, I meant no personalities. Hector. [Puts his hand to his sword.] But you called më a coward, you rascal. 44 The United States Speaker. Hamb. [Takes off his coat.] You called me a bankrupt, you knave. Simon. [Doubles his fist.] You called me cut throat, you villain. Trusty. I told you all, I meant no personalities; but [to Hector] pray what are you? Hector. A soldier, to your sorrow. Fear and tremble. Trusty. [To Hamburgh.] Pray what are you? Hamb. A merchant. Trusty. [To Simon.] And what are you? Simon. A banker. Trusty. Then if you are such as soldiers, merchants, and bankers ought to be, I could not mean you; otherwise, you may take the words, cut throat, bankrupt, and coward, and divide them among you. And as to knave, rascal, and villain, I return them to the right owners. Hector. Gentlemen, stand by. I'll fight for you all. [Draws and turns to Trusty.] I challenge you to fight me. Land. Poh! challenge him to eat with you; the supper's waiting. Hector, [To Landlord.] Don't interfere, sir: here's serious work; blood will be spilt. Tristy. Well, spill your own then: I have no notion of having my veins pricked. Hector. Choose your mode of fighting instantly, or fall beneath this sword, which has drank the blood of thou- sands. Trusty. Well, if I must fight, my mode will be to use that sword five minutes upon your body; then you shall use it upon me as long, and so we will take turns. Hector. You inflame my choler. Trusty. Then unpin your collar. Hector. I shall burst with rage. Trusty. Then we shall have one less at table. Hector. [Brandishes his sword.] Are you prepared for your exi Trusty. I [Exit. Hector. Now is gone to arm himself with panoply, to meet this valorous sword. Guard me, ye powers! who, in the day of battle, 'mid clashing swords and all the under of my father Mars, have been my shield and The United States Speaker. 45 buckler. Now I am ready for him; why does he not return? Land He's gone to supper. This is an eating house, not a fighting house. Sheath your sword. till Hector. [Sheaths.] There, sword, smother thy rage. some dauntless adversary shall call thee out: then seek his heart and make report of victory. Interval five minutes. [Exeunt omnes. Enter TRUSTY and LANDLORD. Lund. I take that officer-looking man to be Colonel Home, one of the bravest men in the army. Trusty. Colonel Home and he are very different cha- racters. That wretch was but an ensign, and was cashier- ed for cowardice. Land. Is that possible? Why, he told me himself that he had alone surprised a whole regiment and cut them in pieces; and that all the army stood in awe of him. Trusty. Well, you may depend on what I tell you: and the one that sits next to him is a bankrupt, who has been guilty of every shameful practice to defraud his creditors; and the other is a base pawnbroker, who has got all the property of this bankrupt in his hands for concealment. Land. You surprise me! Why, that bankrupt, as you call him, was just now telling the other, how he was afraid the late storms at sea might affect his shipping; and the other was offering to insure them. Enter HECTOR, HAMBURGH, and SIMON. Hector. [To Trusty.] Since my wrath is a little abated, I am persuaded you meant no offence; but look ye, sir, if any man was seriously to dispute my courage, you see my sword! Trusty. I see it. Hector. And don't you fear it? Trusty. No; nor its owner. [Hector offers to draw. Forbear, or "I will tell a tale will make it blush." [Hector sneaks off Hamb. [To Trusty.] I am not disposed'sir, to believe 46 The United States Speaker. that you meant me by any expression you made, as to coward and cut throat: they certainly don't belong to me. And as to bankrupt, the four winds can give the lie to such a charge. Trusty. They could give but windy testimony in your favour. Hamb. Then I appeal to this worthy gentleman, [Speaking of Simon,] and an honester man lives not on earth, if I have not thousands in his hands. Simon. [Aside to Hamb.] You had better leave it to the four winds. Hamb. [Loud and hastily.] Have I not monies of a great amount in your hands? Siman. Did you not take an oath, a few days since, that you had not, directly nor indirectly, five pounds on earth? Hamb. I had not on earth; but it was then in your coffers, and you know it. Simon. If your oath that you had no property can't be relied on, why should your word be taken that you have? Hamb. But I ask you, have you not my property in your hands? Simon. Not a farthing. You are a bankrupt for thou- sands, and the four winds may tell of that. Hamb. O knavery! Simon. O perjury! Trusty. You are perfectly welcome to use the words I just now tossed out to you; and it appears to me, they are a very proper currency between you. Hamb. O that I had the money out of that wretch's hands to give to my honest creditors! Simon. O that I had the character, which I have lost by my connexion with you! Trusty. I am sorry for the depravity of you both. It has led you to deceive honest men, and to betray each other. You have now learned the value cf reputation and peace of mind, by the loss of them. Let your future. days be days of atonement. Let them be devoted to nonesty and fair dealing; and ever remember that in- tegrity is the only road to desirable wealth, and that the path of virtue is alone the path of peace. The United States Speaker. 47 LIBERTY AND SLAVERY CONTRASTED. DISGUISE thyself as thou wilt, still SLAVERY! Still thou art a bitter draught; and though thousands in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. It is thou, LIBERTY, thrice sweet and gracious goddess, whom all in public or in private wor- ship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till nature herself shall change-no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into iron with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gracious heaven! grant me but health, thou great bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion; and shower down thy mitres, if it seems good unto thy divine provi- dence, upon those heads which are aching for them- Pursuing these ideas, I sat down close by my table, and leaning my head upon my hand I began to figure to myself the miseries of confinement. was in a right frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imagination. I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow creatures born to no inheritance but slavery; but finding, however affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it nearer me, and that the multitude of sad groups in it did but distract me- -I took a single captive, and having first shut him up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door to take his pictuře.- I beheld his body half wasted away with long expec- tation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it was which arises from ope deferred. Upon looking nearer I saw him pale and feverish; in thirty years the Testern breeze had not once fanned his blood-he had no sun, no moon, in all that time- nor had the voi friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice. His children- -But here my heart began to bleed-and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait. He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the furthest corner of his dungeon, which was alter- nately his chair and bed: a little calendar of small sticks .48 The United States taker. were laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etching another day of nrisery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it down-shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction. heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle-He gave a deep sigh-I saw the iron. enter into his soul-I burst into tears I could not sustain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn. STERNE. SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF CATO. Cato, Lucius, and Sempronius. Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in council; Cæsar's approach has summon'd us together, And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. How shall we treat this bold, aspiring man? Success still follows him, and backs his crimes: Pharsalia gave him Rome. Egypt has since Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cæsar's; Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands. Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree What course to take. Our foc advances on us, And envies us even Lybia's sultry deserts. Fathers, pronounce your thoughts; are they still fix'd To hold it out, and fight it to the last? Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and wrought By time and ill success to a submission? Sempronius, speak. Sempronius. My voice is still for war. Gods! Can a Roman senate long debate, Which of the two to choose, slavery or death! No-let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe, break through the thick array The United States Speaker. } Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him. Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. Rise, Fathers, rise; 'tis Rome demands your help: Rise and revenge her slaughtered citizens, Or share their fate. The corpse of half her senate Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we Sit here deliberating in cold debates, If we shall sacrifice our lives to honour, Or wear them out in servitude and chains. Rouse up, for shame! Our brothers of Pharsalia Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, To battle! Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd among us. Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason. True fortitude is seen in great exploits That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides- All else is tow'ring frenzy and distraction. Are not the lives of those who draw the sword In Rome's defence intrusted to our care? Should we thus lead them to the field of slaughter, Might not the impartial world with reason say, We lavish'd at our death the blood of thousands, To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious? Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion. Lucius. My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'd on peace. Already have our quarrels fill'd the world With widows and with orphans: Scythia mourns Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome: 'Tis time to sheath the sword and spare mankind. 'Tis not Cæsar, but the gods, my fathers! The gods declare against us, and repel Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle (Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair) Were to refuse the awards of Providence, And not to rest in heaven's determination. Already have we shown our love t› Rome; Now let us show submission to the gods. We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves, E 50 The United States Speaker. But free the commonwealth. When this end fails, Arms have no further use. Our country's cause, That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands, And bids us not delight in Roman blood Unprofitably shed. What men could do, Is done already. Heaven and earth will witness, If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. Cato. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident; Immod'rate valour swells into a fault; And fear, admitted into public councils, Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both. Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs Are grown thus desp'rate: we have bulwarks round us: Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil In Afric's heats, and season'd to the sun: Numidia's spacious kingdom lie's behind us, Ready to rise at its young prince's call. While there is hope, do not distrust the gods; But wait at least till Cæsar's near approach, Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late To sue for chains and own a conqueror. Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time? No, let us draw our terms of freedom out In its full length, and spin it to the last; So shall we gain still one day's liberty: And let me perish, but in Cato's judgment, A day, an hour of virtuous liberty Is worth a whole eternity of bondage. SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF DOUGLAS. Enter ANNA. finna. Thy vassals, Grief, great nature's order break And change the noontide to the midnight hour. Whilst Lady Randolph sleeps, I will walk forth, And taste the air that breathes on yonder bank. Sweet may her slumbers be! ye ministers Of gracious heaven, who love the human race, Angels and seraphs, who delight in goodness, 1 The United States Speaker. 51 Forsake your skies, and to her couch descend! There from her fancy chase the dismal forms That haunt her waking; her sad spirit charm With images celestial; such as please The blest above upon their golden beds. Enter SERVANT. Serv. One of the vile assassins is secured. We found the villain lurking in the wood: With dreadful imprecations he denies All knowledge of the crime; but this is not His first essay. These jewels were conceal'd In the most secret places of his garment; Belike the spoils of some that he has murder'd. Anna. Let me look on them. Ha! here's a heart, The chosen crest of Douglas' valiant name! These are no vulgar jewels. Guard the wretch. [Exit Anna. Enter SERVANTS with the PRISONER. Pris. I know no more than does the child unborn, Of what you charge me with. 1st. Serv. You say so, Sir! But torture soon shall make you speak the truth. Behold the lady of Lord Randolph comes! Prepare yourself to meet her just revenge. Enter LADY RANDOLPH and Anna. Anna. Summon your utmost fortitude before You speak with him. Your dignity, your fame, Are now at stake. Lady R. Thou shalt behold me, with a desperate heart Hear how my infant perish'd. See, he kneels. [The prisoner kneels. Pris. Heaven bless that countenance so sweet and mild! A judge like thee makes innocence more bold. O save me, lady, from these cruel men, Who have attack'd and seized me; who accuse Me of intended murder! as I hope For mercy at the judgment-seat of Heaven, The tender lamb that never nipt the grass, Is not more innocent than I of murder. 82 The United States Speaker. Lady R. Of this man's guilt what proof can ye pro- duce? 1st. Serv. We found him lurking in the hollow glen. When view'd and call'd upon, amazed he fled. We overtook him, and inquired from whence And what he was; he said he came from far, And was upon his journey to the camp. Not satisfied with this, we search'd his clothes, And found these jewels, whose rich value plead Most powerfully against him. Hard he seems, And old in villany. Permit us try His stubbornness against the torture's force. Pris. O gentle lady! by your lord's dear life! Which these weak hands did ne'er assail; And by your children's welfare, spare my age! Let not the iron tear my ancient joints, And my gray hairs bring to the grave with pain. Lady R. Account for these, thine own they cannot beş For these, I say: be steadfast to the truth; Detected falsehood is most certain death. [Anna removes the servants and returns Pris. Alas! I'm sore beset: let never man, For sake of lucre, sin against his soul! Eternal justice is in this most just! I guiltless now, must former guilt reveal. Lady R. Oh! Anna, hear! once more I charge thee, speak The truth direct: for these to me foretel And certify a part of thy narration; With which if the remainder tallies not, An instant and a dreadful death abides thee. Pris. Then, thus adjured, I'll speak to you as just As if you were the minister of heaven, Sent down to search the secret sins of men. Some eighteen years ago, I rented land Of brave Sir Malcolm, then Balermo's lord; But falling to decay, his servants seiz'd All that I had, and then turned me and-mine Four helpless infants, and their weeping mother, Out to the mercy of the winter winds. A little hovel by the river's side Received us; there hard labour, and the skill The United States Speaker. 53 In fishing, which was formerly my sport, Supported life. Whilst thus we poorly lived, One stormy night, as I remember well, The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof: Red came the river down, and loud and oft The angry spirit of the water shriek'd. At the dead hour of night was heard the cry Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran To where the circling eddy of a pool, Beneath the ford, used oft to bring within My reach whatever floating thing the stream * Had caught. The voice was ceased; the person lost; But looking sad and earnest on the waters, By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and round A basket: soon I drew it to the bank, And nested curious there an infant lay. Lady R. Was he alive? Pris. He was. Lady R. Inhuman that thou art! How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests spared! Pris. I'm not so inhuman. Lady R. Didst thou not? Anna. My noble mistress, you are moved too much: This man has not the aspect of stern murder; Let him go on, and you, I hope, will hear Good tidings of your kinsman's long lost child. Pris. The needy man who has known better days, One whom distress has spited at the world, Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon To do such deeds, as make the prosperous men Lift up their hands and wonder who could do them. And such a man was I; a man declined, Who saw no end of black adversity: Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not Have touched that infant with a hand of harm. Lady R. Ha! dost thou say so? then perhaps he lives? Pris. Not many days ago he was alive. Lady R. Oh! heavenly powers! did he then die so lately? Pris. I did not say he died: I hope he lives. Not many days ago these eyes béheld Him, flourishing in youth, and health, and beauty, Lady R. Where is he now? E 2 54 The United States Speaker. Pris. Alas! I know not where. Lady R. Oh! fate, I fear thee still. Thou riddler, speak Direct and clear; else I will search thy soul. Anna. Permit me, ever honour'd: keen impatience, Though hard to be restrain'd, defeats itself. Lady R. Pursue thy story with a faithful tongue, To the last hour that thou didst keep the child. Pris. Fear not my faith, though I must speak my shame. Within the cradle where the infant lay, Was stow'd a mighty store of gold and jewels; Tempted by which, we did resolve to hide From all the world this wonderful event, And like a peasant breed the noble child. That none might mark the change of our estate, We left the country, travelled to the north, Bought flocks and herds, and gradually brought forth Our secret wealth. But God's all-seeing eye Beheld our avarice and smote us sore. For, one by one, all our own children died, And he, the stranger, sole remain'd the heir Of what, indeed, was his. Fain then would I, Who with a father's fondness loved the boy, Have trusted him, now in the dawn of youth, With his own secret: but my anxious wife, Foreboding evil, never would consent. Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and beauty; And, as we oft observed, he bore himself, Not as the offspring of our cottage blood; For nature will break out: mild with the mild, But with the forward he was fierce as fire, And night and day he talk'd of war and arms. I set myself against this warlike bent; But all in vain: for when a desperate band Of savage robbers from the mountains came Lady R. Eternal providence! what is thy name? Pris. My name is Norval: and my name he bears. Lady R. Tis he! 'tis he himself! it is my son! Oh! sovereign mercy! Anna. Just are your transports: ne'er was woman's heart Proved with such fierce extremes. The United States Speaker. 55 Pris. If I, amidst astonishment and fear, Have of your words and gestures rightly judged, Thou art the daughter of my ancient master; The child I rescued from the flood is thine, Lady R. With thee dissimulation now were vain. I am indeed the daughter of Sir Malcolm; The child thou rescuedst from the flood is mine. Pris. Blest be the hour that made me a poor man! · My poverty hath saved my master's house! Lady R. Thy words surprise me: sure thou deɔt not feign! The tear that stands in thine eyes: such love from thoe Sir Malcolm's house deserv'd not, if aright "Thou told'st the story of thy own distress. Pris. Sir Malcolm of our baronis was the flower; The safest friend, the best and kindest master: But ah! he knew not of my sad estate. After that battle, where his gallant son, Your own brave brother, fell, the good old lord Grew desperate and reckless of the world; And never, as he erst was wont, went forth To overlook the conduct of his servants. By them I was thrust out, and them I blame: May heaven so judge me, as I judged my master! And God so love me as I love his race! Lady R. His race shall yet reward thee. Remember'st thou a little lonely hut, That like a holy hermitage appears Among the cliffs of Carron? Pris. I remember The cottage of the cliffs. Lady R. 'Tis that I mean: There dwells a man, of venerable age, Who in my father's service spent his youth: Tell him I sent thee, and with him remain, Till I shail call upon thee to declare, Before the king and nobles, what thou now To me hast told. No more but this, and thon Shalt live in honour all thy future days: Thy son so long, shall call thee father still, And all the land shall bless the man who saved The son of Douglas and Sir Malcolm's heir. 56 The United States Speaker. 1 • Remember well my words if thou shouldst meet Him whom thou call'st thy son, still call him so, And mention nothing of his noble father. Pris. Fear not that I should mar so fair an harvest, By putting in my sickle ere 'tis ripe. Why did I leave my home and ancient dame, To find the youth, to tell him all I knew, And make him wear these jewels in his arms; Which might, I thought, be challenged, and so bring To light the secret of his noble birth. [Lady Randolph goes towards the servants. Lady R. This man is not th' assassin you suspected, Tho' chance combined some likelihoods against him. He is the faithful bearer of the jewels. To their right owner, whom in haste he seeks. "Tis meet that you should put him on his way, Since your mistaken zeal hath dragged him hither. [Exeunt stranger and servants. My faithful Anna, dost thou share my joy? I know thou dost. Unparalleled event! Reaching from heaven to earth, Jehovah's arm Snatched from the waves, and brings to me my son! Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father, Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks For such a gift. Anna. With wary caution you must bear yourself In public, lest your tenderness break forth, And in observers stir conjectures strange: For, if a cherub in the shape of woman Should walk this world, yet defamation would, Like a vile cur, bark at the angel's train. To-day the baron started at your tears. Lady R. He did so, Anna; well thy mistress knows, If the least circumstance, mote of offence, Should touch the baron's. eye, his sight would be With jealousy disordered. But the more It does behove me instant to declare The birth of Douglas, and assert his rights This night I purpose with my son to meet, Reveal the secret, and consult with Him; For wise he is, or my fond judgment errs. As he does now, so looked his noble father, The United States Speaker. 57 Array'd in nature's ease: his mien, his speech, Were sweetly simple, and full oft deceived Those trivial mortals, who seem always wise. But when the matter matched his mighty mind; Up rose the hero : on his piercing eye Sat observation: on each glance of thought Decision followed, as the thunderbolt Pursues the flash. [Exeunt LORD "LLIN's daughter. A CHIEFTAIN to the highlands bound, Cries, "boatmen, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound, To row us o'er the ferry." "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water!"- Oh I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?" Out spoke the hardy highland wight- "I'll go, my chief-I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright; But for your winsome lady: "And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." 58 The United States Speaker. * .? By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking ;* And in the scowl of heav'n each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer.- "Oh haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, The stormy sea before her,- When oh! too strong for human hand, The tempest gather'd o'er her.- And still they rowed amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing: Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, His wrath was chang'd to wailing.- For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade His child he did discover: One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, Across this stormy water: "And I'll forgive your highland chief, My daughter! oh my daughter!"- "Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing:- The waters wild went o'er his child- And he was left lamenting. • The evil spirit of the waters. : The United States Speaker. 59 THE THREE WARNINGS. THE tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground: 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages, That love of life increas'd with years So much, that in our latter stages, When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages, The greatest love of life appears. This great affection to believe, Which all confess, but few perceive, If old assertions can't prevail, Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale. When sports went round, and all were gay, On neighbour Dobson's wedding-day, Death called aside the jocund groom With him into another room; And looking grave-" You must," says he, "Quit your sweet bride, and come with me. "With you! and quit my Susan's side! With you!" the hapless husband cried; "Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard! Besides, in truth, I'm not prepar'd: My thoughts on other matters go; This is my wedding-day you know.” What more he urg'd I have not heard, His reasons could not well be stronger; So death the poor delinquent spar'd, And left to live a little longer. Yet calling up a serious look, His hour-glass trembled while he spoke- "Neighbour," he said, "Farewell. No more Shall death disturb your mirthful hour: And farther, to avoid all blame Of cruelty upon my name, To give you time for preparation, And fit you for your future station, Three several warnings you shall have, Before you're summon'd to the grave. Willing for once I'll quit my prey, And grant a kind reprieve, 60 The United States Speaker. In hopes you'll have no more to s"; But, when I come again this way, Well pleas'd the world will leave." To these conditions both consented, And parted perfectly contented. What next the hero of our tale befell, How long he liv'd, how wise, how well, How roundly he pursued his course, And smok'd his pipe, and strok'd his horse, The willing muse shall tell: He chaffer'd then, he bought, he sold, Nor once perceiv'd his growing old, Nor thought of death as near; His friends not false, his wife no shrew, Many his gains, his children few, He pass'd his hours in peace. But while he view'd his wealth increase, While thus along life's dusty road The beaten track content he trod, Old time, whose haste no mortal spares, Uncall'd, unheeded, unawares, Brought on his eightieth year. And now, one night, in musing mood As all alone he sate, Th' unwelcome messenger of fate Once more before him stood. Half kill'd with anger and surprise, "So soon return'd!" old Dobson cries. "So soon d'ye call it?" death replies: Surely, my friend, you're but in jest! Since I was here before Tis six-and-thirty years at least, And you are now fourscore." "So much the worse," the clown rejoin'd; "To spare the aged would be kind: However, see your search be legal; And your authority-is't regal? Else you are come on a fool's errand, With but a secretary's warrant, Besides, you promised me Three Warnings, Which I have look'd for nights and morningst But for that loss of time and ease, The United States Speaker. 61 I can recover damages." "I know," cries death, "that, at the best, I seldom am a welcome guest; But don't be captious, friend, at least: I little thought you'd still be able To stump about your farm and stable; Your years have run to a great length; I wish you joy, tho', of your strength!" "Hold," says the farmer, "not so fast! I have been lame these four years past." "And no great wonder," death replies: "However, you still keep your eyes, And sure, to see one's loves and friends, For legs and arms would make amends." "Perhaps," says Dobson," so it might, But latterly I've lost my sight." "This is a shocking tale, 'tis true; But still there's comfort left for you: Each strives your sadness to amuse; I warrant you hear all the news." "There's none," cries he;" and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." "Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoin'd, "These are unjustifiable yearnings; If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, You've had your three sufficient warnings. So come along, no more we'll part;" He said, and touched him with his dart. And now old Dobson turning pale, Yields to his fate-so ends my tale. THRALE. 1 PRIULI AND JAFFIER. Priuli. No more-I'll hear no more; Begone, and leave me. Jaffier. Not hear me? By my sufferings but you shall! My lord, my lord! I'm not that abject wretch You think me. Patience! Where's the distance throws Me back so far, but I may boldly speak In right, though proud oppression will not hear me? Pri. Have you not wronged me? F The United States Speaker. Jaff. Could my nature e'er Have brook'd injustice or the doing wrong, I need not now thus low have bent myself, To gain a hearing from a cruel father. Wrong'd you? Pri. Yes, wrong'd me. In the nicest point, The honour of my house, you've done me wrong When you first came home from travel, With such hopes as made you look'd on, By all men's eyes a youth of expectation, Pleas'd with your seeming virtue, I receiv'd you; Courted and sought to raise you to your merits! My house, my table, nay, my fortune too, My very self was yours; you might have used me To your best service; like an open friend I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine: When, in requital of my best endeavours, You treacherously practis'd to undo me; Seduc'd the weakness of my age's darling, My only child, and stole her from my bosom. Jaff. 'Tis to me you owe her; 1 Childless you had been else, and in the grave Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of. You may remember, scarce five years are past, Since, in your brigantine, you sail'd to see The Adriatic wedded by our duke; And I was with you. Your unskilful pilot Dash'd us upon a rock; when to your boat You made for safety; entered first yourself; Th' affrighted Bélvidera, following next, As she stood trembling on the vessel's side, Was by a wave wash'd off into the deep; When, instantly, I plung'd into the sea, And, buffeting the billows to her rescue, Redeem'd her life with half the loss of mine; Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her, And with the other dash'd the saucy waves, That throng'd and press'd to rob me of my prize. I brought her; gave her to your despairing arms; Indeed, you thank'd me; but a nobler gratitude Rose in her soul; for from that hour she lov❜d me, "Till, for her life, she paid me with herself. 1 The United States Speaker. 03 Pri. You stole her from me : like a thief, you stole her At the dead of night; that cursed hour you chose To rifle me of all my heart held dear. May all your joys in her prove false as mine; May continual discord make Your days and nights bitter and grievous still: May the hard hand of a vexatious need Oppress and grind you; till, at last, you find The curse of disobedience all your portion. Jaff. Half of your curse you have bestow'd in vain: Pri. No more. Juff. Yes, all; and then-adieu forever. There's not a wretch that lives on common charity But's happier than I: for I have known The luscious sweets of plenty; every night Have slept with soft content about my head, And never wak'd but to a joyful morning; Yet now must fall; like a füll ear of corn, Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripening. Pri. Home and be humble, study to retrench; Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall, Those pageants of thy folly; Reduce the glitt'ring trappings of thy wife, To humble weeds, fit for thy little state: Then to some suburb cottage both retire: Drudge to feed loathsome life. Home, home, I say. Jaff. Yes, if my heart would let me- [Exit. This proud, this swelling heart-home would I go, But that my doors are hateful to my eyes, Fill'd and stopped up with gaping creditors. I've now not fifty ducats in the world: Yet still I am in love, and pleas'd with ruin. Oh, Belvidera! Oh! she is my wife- And we will bear our wayward fate together- But ne'er know comfort more. 64 The United States Speaker. * THE CHATTERBOX. FROM morning till night it was Lucy's delight, To chatter and talk without stopping; There was not a day but she rattled away, Like water for ever a dropping! As soon as she rose she put on her clothes. 'Twas vain to endeavour to still her; or once did she lack to continue her clack, Till again she laid down on her pillow. You'll think now perhaps that there would have been gaps, If she had not been wonderful clever; That her sense was so great, and so witty her pate, That it would be forthcoming for ever. But that's quite absurd, for have you not heard, That much tongue and few brains, are connected? That they are supposed to think least who talk most And their wisdom is always suspected? While Lucy was young, if she'd bridled her tongue, With a little good sense and exertion, Who knows but she might now have been our delight, Instead of our jest and aversion. CECILIA AND HENRIETTA. Cecilia. What is the matter with my dear Henrietta? Who is it that has already afflicted that kind heart, which I am now compelled to afflict for myself? Henrietta. No, madam, not afflicted for you! it would be strange if I was, while I think as I now do. Cec. I am glad you are not, for was it possible I would give you nothing but pleasure and joy. Hen. Ah, madam, why will you say so, when you don't care what becomes of me! When you are going to cast me off! and when you will soon be too happy to think of me more. The United States Speaker. 65 Cec. If I am never happy till then, sad indeed will be my life! no, my gentlest friend, you will always have your share in my heart: and to me would always have been the welcomest guest in my house, but for those unhappy circumstances which make our separating in- evitable. Hen. Yet you suffered me, madam, to hear from any body that you were married and going away; and all the common servants in the house knew it before me. Cec. I am amazed! How and which way can they have heard it? Hen. The man that went to Mr. Eggleston brought the first news of it, for he said all the servants there talked of nothing else, and that their master was to come and take possession here next Thursday. Cec. Yet you envy me, tho' I am forced to leave my house? tho' I am not provided with any other! and though he for whom I relinquish it is far off, without the means of protecting me, or the power of returning home. Hen. But you are married to him, madam! Cec. True, my love, but I am also parted from him. Hen. O how differently do the great think from the little. Was I married-and so married, I should want neither house, nor fine clothes, nor riches, nor any thing; I should not care where I lived.-Every place would be a paradise to me. Cec. O Henrietta! Should I ever repine at my situation, I will call to mind this heroic declaration of yours, and blush for my own weakness. MONSIEUR TONSON. THERE liv'd, as fame reports, in days of yore, At least some fifty years ago, or more, A pleasant wight in town, yclep'd Toм KING; A fellow that was clever at a joke; Expert in all the arts to tease and smoke, In short, for strokes of humour quite the thing. ▼ 2 66 The United States Speaker. To many a jovial club Tom King was known, With whom his active wit unrivall'd shone- Choice spirit, grave free-mason, buck, and blood, Would crowd his stories and bon mots to hear; And none a disappointment e'er could fear, Tom's humour flow'd in such a copious flood. To him a frolic was a high delight- A frolic he would hunt for day and night, Careless how prudence on the sport might frown: If e'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view, At once o'er hedge and ditch away Tom flew; Nor left the game till he had run it down. One night, our hero, rambling with a friend, Near fam'd St. Giles' chanc'd his course to bend, Just by that spot, the Seven Dials height: 'Twas silence all around, clear was the coast; The watch, as usual, dozing on his post; And scarce a lamp display'd a twinkling light. Around this place there liv'd the numerous clans Of honest, plodding, foreign artizans, Known at that time by name of refugees- The rod of persecution from their home Compell'd the inoffensive race to roam; And here they lighted, like a swarm of bees. Well! our two friends were saunt'ring thro' the street, In hopes some food for humour soon to meet When in a window near a light they view: And, though a dim and melancholy ray, It seem'd the prologue to some merry play; So towards the gloomy dome our hero drew. Straight at the door Tom gave a thundering knock— The time, we may suppose, near two o'clock: I'll ask, says King, if Thompson lodges here.- Thompson! cries t'other; who the plague is he? I know not, King replies; but want to see What kind of animal will now appear. After some little time a Frenchman came- One hand display'd a rush-light's trembling flame, The United States Speaker. 67 The other held the thing they call CULOTTE ; An old strip'd woollen night-cap grac'd his head, A tatter'd waistcoat o'er one shoulder spread,- Scarce half awake, he heav'd a yawning note. Though thus untimely rous'd, he courteous smil'd; And thus addressed our wag in accents mild, Bending his head politely to his knee- Pray, Sare, vat vaunt you, dat you come so late? I beg your pardon, Sare, to make you vait; Pray tell me, Sare, what your commands vid me? Sir, replied King, I merely sought to know, As by your house I chanced to-night to go- But really I've disturb'd your sleep, I fear- I say, I thought that you, perhaps, could tell, Among the folks who in this street do dwell, If there's a Mr. Thompson lodges here? The shivering Frenchman, though not pleased to find The business of this unimportant kind, Too simple to suspect 'twas meant in jeer, Shrugged out a sigh that thus his rest should break, And with unalter'd courtesy he spake― No Sare, no Monsieur Tonson lodges here. + Our wag begg'd pardon, and towards home he sped, While the poor Frenchman crawl'd again to bed: But King resolv'd not thus to drop the jest: So the next night, with more of whim than grace, Again he made a visit to the place, To break once more the poor old Frenchman's rest. He knock'd-but waited longer than before; No footstep seem'd approaching to the door; Our Frenchman lay in such a sleep profound. King, with the knocker, thundered then again, Firm on his post determined to remain; And oft indeed, he made the door resound. At last King hears him o'er the passage creep, Wondering what fiend again disturbed his sleep. The wag salutes him with a civil leer; Thus drawling out to heighten the surprise, While the poor Frenchman rubb'd his heavy eyes-- Is there a Mr. Thompson lodges here? + 68 The United States Speaker. To A The Frenchman falter'd with a kind of fright- Vy, Sare, I'm sure I tell you, Sare, last night! And here he laboured with a sigh sincere No Monsieur Tonson in the varld I know · No Monsieur Tonson here-I tell you so: Indeed, Sare, dere no Monsieur Tonson here! Some more excuses tender'd, off King goes; And the old Frenchman sought once more repose The rogue next night pursued his old career, "Twas long indeed before the man came nigh. And then he utter'd in a piteous cry- Sare, pon my soul, no Monsieur Tonson here. Our sportive wight his usual visit paid, And the next night came forth a prattling maid; Whose tongue indeed than any jack went faster. Anxious she strove his errand to inquire: He said, 'twas vain her pretty tongue to tire; He should not stir till he had seen her master. The damsel then began, in doleful state, The Frenchman's broken slumbers to relate: And begg'd he'd call at proper time of day. King told her she must fetch her master down, A chaise was ready-he was leaving town, But first had much of deep concern to say. Thus urg'd, she went the snoring man to call; And long indeed was she obliged to bawl, Ere she could rouse the torpid lump of clay. At last he wakes-he rises and he swears; But scarcely had he totter'd down the stairs, When King attacks him in his usual way. The Frenchman now perceiv'd 'twas all in vain To this tormentor mildly to complain, And straight in rage began his crest to rear. Sare, vat de mischief make you treat me so? Sare, I inform you, Sare, three nights ago; In truth, I say, no Monsieur Tonson here! True as the night, King went; and heard a strife Between the harassed Frenchman and his wife, The United States Speaker. 69 Which should descend to chase the fiend away. At length, to join their forces they agree, And straight impetuously they turn the key, Prepar'd with mutual fury for the fray: Our hero with the firmness of a rock, Collected to receive the mighty shock, Utt'ring the old inquiry, calmly stood. The name of Thompson rais'd the storm so high, He deem'd it then the safest plan to fly, With-well, I'll call when you're in gentler mood: In short, our hero, with the same intent, Full many a night to plague the Frenchman went. So fond of mischief was this wicked wit! They throw out water, for the watch they call! But King expecting, still deceives them all- Monsieur, at last, was forc'd his house to quit. It happen'd that our wag, about this time, On some fair prospect sought the eastern clime, Six ling'ring years bore there his tedious lot; At length content amid his rip'ning store, He treads again on Britain's happy shore, And his long absence is at once forgot. To London, with impatient hope, he flies; And the same night, as former freaks arise, He fain must stroll, his well known haunts to trace- Ah! here's the scene of frequent mirth, he said; My poor old Frenchman, I suppose, is dead. Egad! I'll knock and see who holds his place. With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar; And, while he eager eyes the op'ning door, Lo! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal? Why e'en our little Frenchman! strange to say, He took his old abode that very day- Capricious turn of Fortune's sportive wheel! Without one thought of the relentless foe, Who fiend-like haunted him six years ago, Just in his former trim he now appears; The waistcoat and the nightcap seem'd the same; With rush-light, as before, he creeping came, And King's detested voice astonish'd hears. 1 70 The United States Speaker. As if some hideous spectre struck his sight, His senses seem'd bewilder'd with affright; His face indeed bespoke a heart full sore: Then starting, he exclaim'd, in rueful strain- Begar! here's Monsieur Tonson come again! Away he ran-and ne'er was heard of more. } AN ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. O THOυ! whose balance does the mountains weigh; Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey; Whose breath can turn those watery worlds to flame, That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame; Earth's meanest son, all trembling prostrate falls, And on the boundless of thy goodness calls. O! give the winds all past offence to sweep. To scatter wide or bury in the deep. Thy pow'r, my weakness, may I ever see, And wholly dedicate my soul to thee. Reign o'er my will; my passions ebb and flow At thy command, nor human motive know! If anger boil, let anger be my praise, And sin the graceful indignation raise. My love be warm to succour the distress'd, And lift the burden from the soul oppress'd. O may my understanding ever read This glorious volume which thy wisdom made! May sea, and land, and earth, and heav'n be join'd, To bring the eternal Author to my mind! When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll, May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul! When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine, Adore, my heart, the majesty divine! Grant I may ever at the morning ray, Open with prayer the consecrated day; Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise, And with the mounting sun ascend the skies; As that advances, let my zeal improve, And glow with ardour of consummate love; The United States Speaker. 71 Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun My endless worship shall be still begun. And oh! permit the gloom of solemn night, To sacred thought may forcibly invite. When this world's shut, and awful planets rise, Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies; Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight, And show all nature in a milder light; How ev'ry boist'rous thought in calm subsides! How the smooth'd spirit into goodness glides! O how divine! to tread the milky way, To the bright palace of the lord of day; His court admire, or for his favour sue, Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew; Pleas'd to look down, and see the world asleep; While I long vigils to its founder keep! Canst thou not shake the centre? Oh control, Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul! Thou, who canst still the raging of the flood, Restrain the various tumults of my blood, Teach me, with equal firmness, to sustain Alluring pleasure, and assaulting pain. O may I pant for thee in each desire! And with strong faith foment the holy fire! Stretch out my soul in hope, and grasp the prize, Which in eternity's deep bosom lies! At the great day of recompense behold, Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold, Then wafted upward to the blissful seat! From age to age my grateful song repeat; My light, my life, my God, my Saviour see, And rival angels in the praise of thee! YOUNG. THE HINDOO'S COMPLAINT. Supposed to be spoken by one left to die on the banks of the river Ganges. DESPAIRING, I languish and die! My heart heaves a sorrowful moan; $12 The United States Speaker. The soft flowing Ganges rolls by, But hears not the long, the last groan. Oh! where shall I seek for repose? Where find the sweet haven of rest? Eternity soon will disclose. The misery begun in this breast. Bewildered and vain were my days, On, folly was founded my hope; Now death the stern mandate obeys, And strikes down the worm-eaten prop. Ye hardened spectators of wo, ? Who know not a sigh or a tear; But a tear and a sigh you will know, When lowly like me you lie here, Oh! listen the tale is for you, My orisons daily were paid, While yet hung the bright drops of dew, To the sun in his glory array'd. Then through the deep jungle I trod, (There sleep the huge serpents by day) There I culled from their darkest abode The sweet-offering flowers of the spray. With eager devotion, my hands Consigned the weak babe to the flood; I burst through humanity's bands To satisfy bloodthirsty gods. My weakness did all things for them, Whose power can do nothing for me; Oh! who will the hurricane stem? Oh! whither shall wretchedness flee? My father at work in the glade, The trees of the Sunderbunds felled; There an infant I carelessly strayed, And the parrot's gay plumage beheld. I saw the wild tiger asleep, 1 * In the shade where the rank hemlock grows; Had he seen me, one swift glancing leap Would have blasted the bud of my woes. But I lived to despair and to die; I lived-but in madness to rave: 瑟 ​73 The United States Speaker. Oh! better a babe low to lie, The grim tiger's bowels my grave. Then my sorrows had surely been less; But now (my heart aches at the thought) I go to an unknown abyss! I die-but my spirit will not. ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. FATHER of light, exhaustless source of good! Supreme, eternal, self-existent God! Before the beamy sun dispens'd a ray, Flam'd in the azure vault, and gave the day, Before the glimmering moon with borrowed light, Shone queen amid the silver host of night, High in the heavens, thou reign'st superior Lord, By suppliant angels worshipped and ador'd. With the celestial choir then let me join, In cheerful praises to the power divine. To sing thy praise, do thou, O God! inspire A mortal breast with more than mortal fire. In dreadful majesty thou sitt'st enthron'd With light encircled and with glory crown'd: Through all infinitude extends thy reign, For thee nor heav'n, nor heaven of heavens contain; But though thy throne is fixed above the sky, Thy omnipresence fills immensity. Saints rob'd in white, to thee their anthems bring, And radiant martyrs hallelujahs sing: Heaven's universal host their voices raise In one eternal concert to thy praise; And round thy awful throne, with one accord, Sing, holy, holy, holy is the Lord. At thy creative voice, from ancient night, Sprang smiling beauty, and yon worlds of light; Thou spak'st-the planetary chorus roll'd, Stupendous worlds! unmeasured and untold! Let there be light, said God-light instant shone, And from the orient burst the golden sun: G 1 74 The United States Speaker. Heaven's gazing hierarchs, with glad surprise, Saw the first morn invest the recent skies, And straight the exulting troops thy throne surround, With thousand, thousand harps of rapt'rous sound; Thrones, powers, dominions (ever shining trains!) Shouted thy praises in triumphant strains; Great are thy works, they sing, and all around, Great are thy works, the echoing heav'ns resound. Th' effulgent sun unsufferably bright, Is but a ray of thy o'erflowing light. The tempest is thy breath; the thunder hurl'd Tremendous roars thy vengeance o'er the world; Thou bow'st the heav'ns, the smoky mountains nod, Rocks fall to dust, and nature owns her God! Pale tyrants shrink, the atheist stands aghast, And impious kings in horror breathe their last. To this great God alternately I'd pay, The evening anthem and the morning lay. BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. Cassius. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this; You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letter (praying on his side, Because I knew the man) was slighted of. Brutus. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its comment. Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm, To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers. Cas. I an itching palm! You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. - Cas. Chastisement! The United States Speaker. 75 Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember. Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers: shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes! And sell the mighty space of our large honours, For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog and bay the moon, Than such a Roman. Cas. Brutus, bay not me: I'll not endure it. You forget yourself To hedge me in: I am a soldier, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions. Bru. Go to! You are not, Cassius. Cas. I am. Bru. I say you are not. Cas. Urge me no more: I shall forget myself: Have mind upon your health: Tempt me no farther. Bru. Away, slight man! Cas. Is't possible! Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? Cas. Must I endure all this? Bru. All this! Ay, more. Fret till your proud heart breaks: Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humour? You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish. Cas. Is it come to this? Bru. You say you are a better soldier; Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For my own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus; 76 The United States Speaker. 7 I said an elder soldier, not a better. Did I say better? Bru. If you did, I care not. Cas. When Cæsar liv'd he durst not thus have mov’d me. Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him Cas. I durst not? Bru. No! Cas. What! durst not tempt him? Bru. For your life you durst not. Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love. I may do that I shall be sorry for. Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants, their vile trash, By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions; Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him in pieces. Cas. I denied you not. Bru. You did. Cas. I did not; he was but a fool That brought my answer back. heart. Brutus hath riv'd my A friend should bear a friend's infirmities; But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not. Still you practise them on me. Cas. You love me not. Bru. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they did appear As huge as high Olympus. The United States Speaker. 77 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come! Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is a weary of the world- Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd, Set in a note book, learn'd and conn'd by rote To cast into my teeth. There is my dagger, And here my naked breast-within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold; If that thou need'st a Roman's, take it forth : I that denied thee gold will give my heart. Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'st him better Than ever thou lov'st Cassius. Bru. Sheath your dagger. Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius! you are yoked with a lamb, That carries anger as the flint bears fire; Who much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Cas. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirthand laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him? Bru. When I spoke that I was ill-temper'd too. Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. Bru. And my heart too. [Embracing. Cas. O Brutus! Bru. What's the matter? { Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When the rash humour which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful? Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth, When you are over earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. e, 78 The United States Speaker. EPILOGUE-SPOKEN BY TWO YOUNG ladies. Enter FIRSt Lady. LADIES! To-night our unexperienc'd train Your favour courted: did we court in vain? Like Hamlet's ghost just rising from the dead, "With all our imperfections on our head," Unlectur'd in the deep theatric art, To rouse the feelings of the pitying heart, Unus'd to acting, and untaught to feign The fancied pleasure, and the mimic pain, You'll wonder how we ventur'd into view, And to say truth-I wonder at it too; Yet think not fill'd with insolence we come; Conscious demerit still would keep us dumb----- Enter SECOND LADY. Child! we must quit these visionary scenes, And end our follies when we end our teens; These bagatelles we must relinquish now, And good matronic gentlewomen grow: Fancy no more on airy wings shall rise, We now must scold the maids, and make the pies; Verse is a folly-we must get above it, And yet, I know not how it is-I love it. Though, should we still the rhyming trade pursue, The men will shun us--and the women too: The men, poor souls! of scholars are afraid, We should not, did they govern, learn to read; At least in no abstruser volume look, Than the learn'd records—of a cookery book. The ladies too, their well-meant censure give, "What!-does she write? A slattern as I live.- I wish she'd leave her books and mend her clothes ; I thank my stars I know not verse from prose: How well soe'er these learned ladies write, They seldom act the virtues they recite; No useful qualities adorn their lives; They make sad mothers and still sadder wives." First Lady. I grant this satire just, in former days, When Sapphos and Corinnas tun'd their lays: The United States Speaker. 7 But in our chaster times 'tis no offence, When female virtue joins with female sense; When moral Carter breathes the strain divine, And Aikin's life flows faultless as her line; When all accomplished Montague can spread Fresh gather'd laurels round her Shakspeare's head; When wit and worth in polish'd Brookes unite, And fair Macaulay claims a Livy's right. Thus far, to clear her from the sin of rhyme, Our author bade me trespass on your time, To show, that if she dare aspire to letters, She only sins in common with her betters: She bids me add-though learning's cause I plead, One virtuous sentiment, one generous deed, Affords more genuine transport to the heart, Than genius, wit, or science can impart; For these shall flourish, fearless of decay, When wit shall fail and science fade away. HANNAH MORE. SCENES FROM PIZARRO. PIZARRO present-Enter GOMEZ." Piz. How now Gomez, what bring'st thou? Gom. On yander hill, among the palm trees, we have surprised an old Peruvian. Escape by flight he could not, and we seized him unresisting. Piz. Drag him before us. (Gomez leads in Orozembo.) What art thou, stranger? Oro. First tell me who is the captain of this band of rabbers. Piz. Ha! Gom. Madman! Tear out his tongue, or else- Oro. Thou wilt hear some truth. Gom. Shall I plunge this into his heart? (Showing his dagger.) Oro. (To Pizarro.) Does your army boast many such heroes as this? Piz. Audacious. This insolence has sealed thy doom, 80 The United States Speaker. Die thou shalt, gray headed ruffian. what thou knowest. But first confess Oro. I know that which thou has just assured me of, that I shall die. Piz. Less audacity might have preserved thy life. Oro. My life is a withered tree, not worth preserving. Piz. Hear me, old man. Even now we march against the Peruvian army. We know there is a secret path that leads to your strong holds amongst the rocks. Guide us to that, and name thy reward. thy wish- Oro. Ha, ha, ha! Piz. Dost thou despise my offer? If wealth be * Oro. Yes, thee and thy offer! Wealth! I have the wealth of two dear gallant sons. I have stored in heaven, the riches which repay good actions here; and still my chiefest treasure do I wear about me. Piz. What is that? Inform me. Oro. I will, for thou can'st never tear it from me. An unsullied conscience. Piz. I believe there is no other Peruvian who dares speak as thou dost. Oro. Would I could believe that there is no other Spaniard who dares act as thou dost. Gam. Obdurate pagan, how numerous is your army? Oro. Count the leaves of the forest. Gom. Which is the weakest part of your camp? Oro. It is fortified on all sides by justice, Gom. Where have you concealed your wives and children? . In the hearts of their husbands and fathers. Knowest thou Alonzo? Oro. Know him! Alonzo! Our nation's benefactor, the guardian angel of Peru! Piz. By what has he merited that title? Oro. By not resembling thee. Piz. Who is this Rolla, joined with Alonzo in com- mand? Oro. I will answer that, for I love to speak the hero's name. Rolla, the kinsman of the king, is the idol of our army. In war, a tiger; in peace, a lamb. Cora was→ The United States Speaker 812 once betrothed to him, but finding she preferred Alonzo, he resigned his claim for Cora's happiness. Piz. Romantic savage! I shall meet this Rolla soon. Oro. Thou hadst better not! the terrors of his noble eye would strike thee dead. Gom. Silence, or tremble! Oro. Beardless robber! I never yet have learned to tremble before man-Why before thee, thou less than man? Gom. Another word, audacious heathen, and I strike! Oro. Strike! Christian! then boast among thy fellows, I too have murdered a Peruvian. Speech of Rolla to the Peruvian soldiers, before the battle. My brave associates, partners of my toil, my feelings and my fame! Can Rolla's words add vigour to the vir- tuous energies which fire your souls? No, you have viewed as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives, which in a war like this, can animate their minds, and ours. They by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder and extended rule; we, for our country, our altars and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate. We serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom we adore. Wherever they move in anger, desolation marks their progress! Wher- ever they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friend- ship. They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error! Yes, they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride. They offer us their protection! Yes, such pro- tection as vultures give to lambs. They call on us to barter all we have inherited and now possess for the desperate chance of something better which they pro. mise. Be our plain answer this: The throne we honour is the people's choice, the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy, the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity and love with all mankind, and 82 The United States Speaker. die with hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your in- vaders this, and tell them too, we seek no change; and least of all, such change as they would bring us. (ROLLA present-CORA enters and falls at his feet.) Cora. Give me my husband, give my child his father. Rolla turns away his head.] Where is Alonzo? Say, Rolla, does he live? Rolla. He lives in my heart. Cora. O-torture me not thus! Speak out, is my child fatherless? Rol. Dearest Cora, do not thus dash aside the little hope that still remains. Cora. Then there still is hope. Speak to me, Rolla, you are a friend of truth. Rol. Alonzo has not been found. Cora. Not found! what mean you? will not you, Rolla, tell the truth? Oh! let me not hear the thunder rolling at a distance; let the bolt fall and crush my brain at once. Say not he is not found; say at once that he is dead. Rol. Then should I say falsely. Alonzo is taken pri- soner. Cora. Prisoner, and by the Spaniards! Pizarro's pri- soner! Then is he dead indeed. O my child, my boy! hast thou still a father? Rol. Cora, can thy child be fatherless while Rolla lives? Cora. Will he not soon want a mother too? For can'st thou think I will survive Alonzo's loss? Rol. Yes, for his child's sake! yes, as thou didst love Alonzo, Cora, listen to Alonzo's friend. Cora. You bid me listen to the world. All were Alonzo's friends. Rol. His parting words Cora. His parting words! what were they? Speak! Rol. Consigned to me two precious trusts, his blessing to his son, and a last request to thee. Cora. His last request! O name it! Rol. If I fall, said he, promise to take my Cora for thy wife; be thou a father to my child. I pledged my The United States Speaker. 89 1 T word to him, and we parted. Observe me, Cora. I repeat this only as my faith to do so was given to Alonzo. For myself, I neither cherish claim, nor hope. Cora. Ha! does my reason fail me; or what is this horrid light that presses on my brain? O Alonzo! It may be thou hast fallen a victim to thy guileless heart. Hadst thou been silent, hadst thou not made a fatal legacy of thy wretched wife———— Rol. Cora! what hateful suspicion has possessed thy' mind? Cora. Yes, yes, 'tis clear! his spirit was ensnared; he was led to the fatal spot, where mortal valour could not front a host of murderers. He fell in vain did he ex- claim for help to Rolla. At a distance you looked on and smiled. You could have saved him, could-but did not. Rol. Can I have deserved this! Cora, rather bid me strike this sword into my heart. Cora. No! live! live for love! for that love thou seekest! whose blossoms are to shoot from the bleeding grave of thy betrayed and slaughtered friend. But thou hast borne to me the last words of my Alonzo. Now hear mine. Sooner would I link me to the pallid corpse of any wretch that perished with Alonzo, than call his living murderer husband! Rol. Yet call me what I am-thy friend-protector. Cora. Away! I have no protector but my God. With my infant in my arms will I hasten to the field of slaugh- ter. There with these hands will I turn over every mangled body to find Alonzo. With fearful cries I will shriek out his name 'till my veins snap! If the smallest spark of life remains he will know the voice of Cora, open for a moment his unshrouded eyes, and bless me with one look. A wretched mother bearing a poor orphan in her arms, has nature's passport through the world. [Exit. Rol. Could I have merited one breath of these re- proaches, Cora, I should be the wretch I think I was not formed to be. But she shall feel and be convinced that she has wronged me. [Exit. 84 The United States Speaker. (DOOR OF THE PRISON IN WHICH ALONZO IS CONFined. A SENTINEL WALKING.) Enter ALONZO, from the door. Alonzo. For the last time, I have beheld the shadowed ocean close upon the light. For the last time, through my cleft dungeon's roof, I now behold the quivering lustre of the stars. For the last time, O sun, I shall behold thy rising, then comes my death, and in the morning of my day I fall-O no, Alonzo, date not the life which thou hast run, by the mean reck'ning of hours and days which thou hast breath'd. A life spent wer- thily should be measured by a nobler line-by deeds, not years. Then wouldst thou murmur not, but bless the providence, which in so short a span, made thee the instrument of wide and spreading blessings to the hapless and oppressed! Tho' sinking in decrepid age, he pre- maturely falls, whose memory recalls no benefit conferred by him on man. They only have lived long who have lived virtuously. But, even now, thin streaks of glim- mering light steal on the darkness of the east; if so, my life is but one hour more. I will not watch the coming dawn, but, in the darkness of my cell, I'll seek from heaven a blessing on my wife and child. Sentinel. Who's there? Speak! [Enters the cavern. Enter ROLLA, disguised as a monk. Rol. Inform me, friend, is Alonzo, the Peruvian, con- fined in this dungeon? Sent. He is. Rol. I must speak with him. Sent. You must not. 1 Rol. He is my friend. Sent. Not if he were your brother. Rol. What is to be his fate? Sent. He dies at sunrise. Rol. Ha! then I am come in time. Sent. Just to witness his death. Rol. [Advancing towards the door.] Soldier-I must speak with him. f G The United States Speaker. 485 Sent. [Pushing him back with his gun.] Back! back! it is impossible. Rol. I do intreat you but for one moment. Sent. You intreat in vain-my orders are most strict. Rol. Look on this wedge of massy gold! Look on these precious gems. In thine hand they will be wealth for thee and thine, beyond thy hope or wish. Take them, they are thine. Let me but pass one moment with Alonzo. Sent. Away! Wouldst thou corrupt me? Me, an old Castilian!—I know my duty better. Rol. Soldier! hast thou a wife? Sent. I have. Rol. Hast thou children? Sent. Four, honest, lovely boys. Rol. Where didst thou leave them? Sent. In my native village, in the very cot where I was born. Rol. Dost thou love thy wife and children? Sent. Do I love them! God knows my heart,-I do. Rol. Soldier! Imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in a strange land-what would be thy last request? Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children. Rol. What if that comrade was at thy prison door, and should there be told thy fellow soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children, or his wretched wife, what wouldst thou think of him who thus could drive thy comrade from the door? Sent. How! Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child; and I am come but to receive for her, and for her poor babe, the last bless- ing of my friend. Sent. Go in. Rol. [Calls.] Alonzo! Alonzo! [Exit sentinel. Enter ALONZO, speaking as he comes in. Alon. How! Is my hour elapsed? Well, I am ready. Rol. Alonzo,- know me! Alon. Rolla! Heavens! how didst thou pass the guard? H 86 The United States Speaker. Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words. This disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle. It has gained me entrance to thy dungeon, now take it thou and fly. Alon. And Rolla- Rol. Will remain here in thy place. Alon. And die for me! No! Rather eternal tortures rack me. Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's; and thy arm may soon deliver me from prison. Or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted tree in the desert; nothing lives beneath my shelter. Thou art a husband and a father; the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant depend upon thy life. Go! go! Alonzo, not to save thyself, but Cora, and thy child. Alon. Urge me not thus, my friend-I am prepared to lie in peace. { Rol. To die in peace! devoting her you've sworn to live for, to madness, misery and death! Alon. Merciful heavens! Rol. If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo-now mark me well. Thou know'st that Rolla never pledged his word and shrunk from its fulfilment. And here I say, if thou art proudly obstinate, thou shalt have the desperate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side. Alon. O Rolla! you distract me! Wear you the robe, and though dreadful the necessity, we will strike down the guard, and force our passage. Rol. What! the soldier on duty here? 1 Alon. Yes, else seeing two, the alarm will be instant death. ** Rol. For my nation's safety, I would not harm him. That soldier, mark me, is a man! All are not men that wear the human form. He refused my prayers, refused my gold, denying to admit-'till his own feelings briber him. I will not risk a hair of that man's head, to save my heart-strings from consuming fire. But haste! A moment's further pause, and all is lost. Alon. Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from honour and from right. The United States Speaker. 87 Rol. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his friend. [Throwing the friar's garment over his shoulders. There! conceal thy face-Now God be with thee. Exeunt. $ DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SCHOOLMASTER, AND SCHOOL COMMITTEE. Scene, A Public House, in the town of Enter SCHOOLMASTER, with a pack on his back. Schoolmaster. How fare you, landlord? what have you got that's good to drink? Landlord. I have gin, West India, genuine New Eng- land, whiskey, and cider brandy. Schoolm. Make us a stiff mug of sling. Put in a gill and a half of your New England; and sweeten it well with lasses. Land. It shall be done, sir, to your liking. Schoolm. Do you know of any vacancy in a school in your part of the country, landlord? Land. There is a vacancy in our district; and I expect the parson, with our three school-committee men will be at my house directly, to consult upon matters relative to the school. Schoolm. Well, here's the lad that will serve them as cheap as any man in America; and I believe I may ven- ture to say as well too: for I profess no small share of skill in that business. I have kept school eleven winters, and have often had matter of fifty scholars at a time. I have teach'd à child its letters in a day, and to read in the psalter in a fortnight: and I always feel very much ashamed, if I use more than one quire of paper in larnin a boy to write as well as his master. As for government, I'll turn my back to no man. I never flog my scholars; for that monstrous doctrine of whippin children, which has been so long preached and practised by our rigid and superstitious forefathers, I have long since exploded. I have a rare knack of flattering them into their duty. And this, according to a celebrated doctor at Philadel- 88 The United States Speaker. phia, whose works I have heard of, though I never read them, is the grand criterion of school government. It is, landlord, it is the very philosopher's stone. I am told, likewise, that this same great doctor does not believe that Solomon and others really meant licken, in the proper sense of the word when they talked so much about using the rod, &c. He supposes that they meant con- fining them in dungeons; starving them for three or four days at a time; and then giving them a portion of tatromattucks, and such kinds of mild punishment. And, zounds, landlord, I believe he's above half right. Land. [Giving the cup to the master.] Master what may I call your name, sir, if I may be so bold? Schoolm. Ignoramus, at your service, sir. Land. Master Ignoramus, I am glad to see you. You are the very man we wish for. Our committee won't hesitate a moment to employ you, when they become acquainted with your talents. Your sentiments on go- vernment I know will suit our people to a nicety. Our last master was a tyrant of a fellow, and very extrava- gant in his price. He grew so important the latter part of his time, that he had the effrontery to demand ten dollars a month and his board. And he might truly be said to rule with a rod of iron; for he kept an ironwood cudgel in his school, four feet long; and it was enough to chill one's blood to hear the shrieks of the little inno- cents, which were caused by his barbarity. I have heard my wife say, that Sue Gossip told her, that she has seen the marks of his lashes on the back of her neighbour Rymple's son Darling, for twelve hours after the drub- bing. At least, the boy told her with his own mouth, that they might be seen, if they would only take the trouble to strip his shirt off. And, besides, Master Ig- noramus, he was the most niggardly of all the human race. I don't suppose that my bar room was one dollar the richer for him, in the course of the whole time which he tarried with us. While the young people of the town were recreating themselves, and taking a sociable glass, of an evening, at my house, the stupid blockhead was eternally in his chamber, poring over his musty books. But finally he did the job for himself, and I am rejoiced. The wretch had the dacity to box little Sammy Puney's The United States Speaker. 89 ears at such an intolerable rate, that his parents rear the poor child will be an idiot all the days of his life. And all this, for nothing more, than, partly by design, and partly through mere accident, he happened to spit in his master's face. The child being nephew to the 'squire, you may well suppose that the whole neighbourhood was soon in an uproar. The indignation of the mother, father, aunts, uncles, cousins, and indeed the whole circle of acquaintance, was roused; and the poor fellow was hooted out of town in less than twenty-four hours. : Schoolm. [Drinking off his liquor.] This is a rare dose. Believe me, landlord, I have not tasted a drop before, since six o'clock this morning. Enter PARSON and COMMITTEE MEN. Your humble sarvent, gentlemen. I understand you are in want of a schoolmaster. Parson. Yes, sir; that is the occasion of our present meeting. We have been so unfortunate as to lose one good man; and we should be very glad to find another. 1st Committee Man. Pray don't say unfortunate, parson. I think we may consider ourselves as very fortunate, in having rid the town of an extravagant coxcomb, who was draining us of all the money we could earn, to fill his purse, and rig himself out with fine clothes. 2nd Com. Ten dollars a month, and board, for a man whose task is so easy, is no small sum. 3d Com. I am bold to affirm, that we can procure a better man for half the money. Schoolm. That I believe, friend; for, though I esteem myself as good as the best; that is to say, in the com- mon way; yet I never ax'd but five dollars a month in all my life. Par. For my own part, whatever these gentlemen's opinion may be, I must tell you, that I am much less concerned about the wages we are to give, than I am about the character and abilities of the man with whom we intrust the education of our children. I had much rather you had said you had received forty dollars a month, than five. 1st Com. Dear sir, you are beside yourself. You will H 2 90 The United States Speaker. R encourage the man to rise in his price; whereas I was in hopes he would have fallen at least one dollar. Par. Before we talk any further about the price, it is necessary that we examine the gentleman, in order to satisfy ourselves of his capability to serve us. Friend, will you be so obliging as to inform us where you re- ceived your education, and what your pretensions are, with respect to your profession? Schoolm. Law, Sir! I never went to college in my life. Par. I did not ask you whether you had been to col- lege or not. We wish to know what education you have had; and whether your abilities are such, as that you can do yourself honour in taking the charge of a com- mon English school. Schoolm. Gentlemen, I will give you a short history of my life. From seven to fifteen years of age, I went to school perhaps as much as one year. In which time, I went through Dilworth's Spelling Book, the Psalter, the New Testament; and could read the newspaper without spelling more than half the words. By this time, feeling a little above the common level, I enlisted a soldier in the army, where I continued for six years; and made-such proficiency in the military art, that I was frequently talked of for a corporal. I had likewise larn'd to write considerably, and to cipher as fur as division. The multiplication table I had at my tongue's end, and have not forgot it to this day. At length, receiving a severe flogging for nothing at all, I am not ashamed to own that I deserted, and went into one of the back set- tlements, and offered myself as a teacher. I was imme- diately employed in that service; and, though I am obliged to say it myself, I do assure you I soon became very famous. Since that time, which is eleven years, I have followed the business constantly; at least, every winter; for in the summer, it is not customary in the towns in general, to continue a man's school. One thing I would not forget to mention; and that is, I have tra- velled about the country so much, and been in the army so long, (which is allowed to be the best school in the world) that I consider myself as being thoroughly ac- quainted with mankind. You will not be insensible, The United States Speaker. 91 gentlemen, what great importance this last acquisition is, to one who has the care of youth. 3d Com. I admire his conversation. I imagine, by this time, you have ciphered clear through, have you not, sir? Schoolm. Why, as to that, I have gone so fur, that I thought I could see through. I can tell how many minutes old my great-grandfather was when his first son was born; how many barley corns it would take to measure round the world; and how old the world will be at the end of six thousand years from the creation. 1st Com. It is very strange! You must have studied hard, to learn all these things, and that without a master too. Schoolm. Indeed, I have, sir: and if I had time, I could tell you things stranger still. Par. Can you tell in what part of the world you were born; whether in the torrid, frigid, or temperate zone? Schoolm. I was not born in the zoon, sir, nor in any other of the West India Islands; but I was born in New England, in the state of New Jersey, and commonwealth of the United States of America, Par. Do you know how many parts of speech there are in the English language? Schoolm. How many speeches! Why as many as there are "stars in the sky, leaves on the trees, or sands on the sea shore." 1st Com. Please to let me ask him a question, parson. How many commandments are there Schoolm. Ten, sir; and I knew them all before I went into the army. 2nd Com. Can you tell when the moon changes, by the almanac? Schoolm. No! but I'll warrant you, I could soon tell by ciphering. 3d Com. How many varses are there in the 119th Psalm? Schoolm. Ah! excuse me there, if you please, sir; I never meddle with psalmody or metaphysics. Par. Will you tell me, my friend, what is the differ- ence between the circumference and the diameter of the globe? # 1 92 The United States Speaker. Schoolm. There you are too hard for me again. 1 never larn'd the rule of circumstance nor geometry. I'll tell you what, gentlemen, I make no pretensions to mi- nister larnin, lawyer larnin, or doctor larnin; but put me upon your clear schoolmaster larnin, and there I am even with you. 1st Com. I am satisfied with the gentleman. He has missed but one question, and that was such a metatisti- cal one, that it would have puzzled a Jesuit himself to have answered it. Gentlemen, shall the master with- draw a few minutes, for our further consultation? [Exit Master. 2nd Com. I am much pleased with the stranger. He appears to be a man of wonderful parts; and I shall cheerfully agree to employ him. 3d Com. For my part, I don't think we shall find a cheaper master; and I move for engaging him at once. Par. Gentlemen, how long will you be blind to your own interest? I can say with you, that I am perfectly satisfied that the man is, in his profession, emphatically what he calls himself by name, an ignoramus; and totally incapable of instructing our children. You know not who he is, or what he is; whether he be a thief, a liar, or a drunkard. The very terms, on which he offers himself, ought to operate as a sufficient objection against him. I am sensible that my vote will now be of no avail, since you are all agreed. I have been for years striving to procure a man of abilities and morals, suitable for the employment; and such a one I had obtained; but, alas! we were unworthy of him. We aspersed his cha- racter; invented a multitude of falsehoods; magnified every trifling error in his conduct; and even converted his virtues into vices. We refused to give him that pecuniary reward which his services demanded; and he, knowing his own worth, and our unworthiness, has left us for ever. 1st Com. Come, come, parson, it is easy for salary men to talk of liberality, and to vote away money which they never earned; but it won't do. The new master, I dare engage, will do as well or better than the old one. Landlord, call him in for his answer. Par. I protest against your proceedings, and withdraw The United States Speaker. 93 myself forever from the committee. But I must tell you, your children will reap the bitter consequences of such injudicious measures. It has always been surprising to me, that people in general are more willing to pay their money for any thing else, than for "the one thing needful," that is, for the education of their children. Their taylor must be a workman, their carpenter, a work- man, their hair dresser, a workman; their hostler, a workman; but the instructer of their children must- work cheap! [Exit parson. * Re-enter SCHOOLMASTER. Com. We have agreed to employ you, sir; and nave only to recommend to you, not to follow the steps of your predecessor. This is an This is an "age of reason;" and we do not imagine our children so stupid, as to need the rod to quicken their ideas, or so vicious, as to re- quire a moral lesson from the ferula. Be gentle and accommodating, and you have nothing to fear. Land. I'll answer for him. He's as generous and merry a lad as I've had in my house this many a day. { FALSE ALARMS. LITTLE Mary one day most loudly did call- "Mamma! O mamma, pray come here! A fall I have had-Oh, a very sad fall Mamma ran in haste and in fear; >> Then Mary jump'd up, and she laughed in great glee, And cried, "Why how fast you can run; No harm has befallen, I assure you, to me, My screaming was only in fun." Her mother was busy at work the next day, She heard from without a loud cry; "The big dog has got me! O help me! O pray! He tears me-he bites me—I die!” Mamma, all in terror, quick to the court flew, And there little Mary she found; Who laughing, said, "Madam, pray how do you do?" And courtesied quite down to the ground. 94 The United States Speaker. That night little Mary when long gone to bed, Shrill cries, and loud shriekings were heard; "I'm on fire, O mamma! come up or I'm dead!" Mamma şhe believed not a word. Sleep, sleep, naughty child, she called out from below, How often have I been deceived! You're telling a story, you very well know; Go to sleep, for you can't be believed. Yet still the child screamed-now the house filled with smoke; That fire is above, Jane declares: Alas! Mary's words they soon found were no joke When every one hastened up stairs. All burnt and all seamed was her once pretty face, And terribly marked are her arms, Her features all scarred, leave a lasting disgrace, For giving mamma false alarms. SCENE FROM THE POOR GENTLEMAN. Sir Robert Bramble and Humphrey Dobbins.' Sir R. I'LL tell you what, Humphrey Dobbins, there is not a syllable of sense in all you have been saying. But I suppose you will maintain there is. Hum. Yes. Sir R. Yes! is that the way you talk to me, you old boar? What's my name? Hum. Robert Bramble. Sir R. An't I a baronet? Sir Robert Bramble, of Blackberry Hall, in the County of Kent? 'Tis time you should know it, for you have been my clumsy, two-fisted valet these thirty years; can you deny that? Hum. Hem! Sir R. Hem! what do you mean by hem? Open that rusty door of your mouth and make your ugly voice walk out of it. Why don't you answer my question? Hum. Because if I contradict you, I shall tell a lie, and when I agree with you, you are sure to fall out. The United States Speaker. 95 $ Sir R. Humphrey Dobbins, I have been so long en- deavouring to beat a few brains into your pate, that all your hair has tumbled off before my point is carried. Hum. What then? Our parson says my head is an emblem of both our honours. Sir R. Aye; because honours, like your head, are apt to be empty. Hum. No; but if a servant has grown bald under his master's nose, it looks as if there was honesty on one side, and regard for it on the other. Sir R. Why to be sure, old Humphrey, you are as honest as a -pshaw! the parson means to palaver us; but to return to my position.. I tell you I don't like your flat contradiction. Hum. Yes, you do. Sir R. I tell you I don't. I only love to hear men's arguments. I hate their flummery. Hum. What do you call flummery? Sir R. Flattery, blockhead! a dish too often served up by paltry poor men to paltry rich ones. Hum. I never serve it up to you. Sir R. No, you give me a dish of a different descrip- tion. Hum. Hem! what is it? Sir R. Sour crout, you old crab. Hum. I have held you a stout tug at argument this many a year. སྨཱ་ Sir R. And yet I could never teach you a syllogism. Now mind, when a poor man assents to what a rich man says, I suspect he means to flatter him; now I am rich and hate flattery. Ergo-when a poor man subscribes to my opinion, I hate him. Hum. That's wrong. Sir R. Very well-negatur-now prove it. Hum. Put the case then, I am a poor man. Sir R. You an't, you scoundrel. You know you shall never want while I have a shilling. Hum. Well then I am a poor-I must be a poor man now, or I shall never get on. Sir R. Well, get on, be a poor man. Hum. I am a poor man, and I argue with you, and convince you you are wrong; then you call yourself a K 96 The United States Speaker. blockhead, and I am of your opinion! now that's no flattery. Sir R. Why no; but when a man's of the same opi- nion with me, he puts an end to the argument, and that puts an end to the conversation, and so I hate him for that. But where's my nephew, Frederic? Hum. Been out these two hours. } Sir R. An undutiful cub! only arrived from Russia last night, and though I told him to stay at home till I rose, he's scampering over the fields like a Calmuc Tartar. Hum. He's a fine fellow. Sir R. He has a touch of our family. Don't you think he's a little like me, Humphrey? Hum. No, not a bit; you are as ugly an old man as ever I clapt my eyes on. Sir R. Now that's plaguy impudent, but there's no flattery in it, and it keeps up the independence of argu- ment. His father, my brother Job, is of as tame a spirit- Humphrey, you remember my brother Job? Hum. Yes, you drove him to Russia five-and-twenty years ago. Sir R. I did not drive him. Hum. Yes you did. You would never let him be at peace in the way of argument. Sir R. At peace! zounds, he would never go to war. Hum. He had the merit to be calm. Sir R. So has a duck pond. He received my argu- ments with his mouth open, like a poor box gaping for half pence, and good or bad he swallowed them all with- out any resistance. We could'nt disagree, and so we parted. Hum. And the poor, meek gentleman went to Russia for a quiet life. Sir R. A quiet life! why he married the moment he got there, tacked himself to the shrew relict of a Russian merchant, and continued a speculation with her in furs, flax, potashes, tallow, linen and leather; what's the con- sequence? thirteen months ago he broke. Hum. Poor soul, his wife should have followed the business for him. Sir R. I fancy she did follow it, for she died just as he broke, and now this madcap, Frederic, is sent over to * The United States Speaker. 97 me for protection. Poor Job, now he is in distress I must not neglect his son. Hum. Here comes his son; that's Mr. Frederic. Enter FREDEric. Fred. O my dear uncle, good morning! your park is nothing but beauty. Sir R. Who bid you caper over my beauty? I told you to stay in doors till I got up. Fred. So you did, but I entirely forgot it. Sir R. And pray what made you forget it? Fred. The sun. Sir R. The sun! he's mad! you mean the moon, I be- lieve. Fred. O my dear uncle, you don't know the effect of a fine spring morning, upon a fellow just arrived from Russia. The day looked bright, trees budding, birds singing, the park was so gay, that I took a leap out of your old balcony, made your deer fly before me like the wind, and chased them all around the park to get an appetite for breakfast, while you were snoring in bed, uncle. Sir R. Oh, Oh! So the effect of English sunshine upon a Russian, is to make him jump out of a balcony and worry my deer. Fred. I confess it had that influence upon me. Sir R. You had better be influenced by a rich old uncle, unless you think the sun likely to leave you a fat legacy. Fred. I hate legacies. Sir R. Sir, that's mighty singular. They are pretty solid tokens at least. Fred. Very melancholy tokens, uncle; they are post- humous despatches affection sends to gratitude to in- form us we have lost a gracious friend. Sir R. How charmingly the dog argues! Fred. But I own my spirits ran away with me this morning. I will obey you better in future; for they tell me you are a very worthy, good sort of old gentleman. Sir R. Now who had the familiar impudence to tell you that. Fred. Old rusty, there. i 98 The United States Speaker. 1 Sir R. Why, Humphrey, you didn't? - Hum. Yes, but I did though. Fred. Yes, he did, and on that score I shall be anxious to show you obedience, for 'tis as meritorious to attempt sharing a good man's heart, as it is paltry to have designs upon a rich man's money. A noble nature aims its at- tentions full breast high, uncle; a mean mind levels its dirty assiduities at the pocket. Sir R. [Shaking him by the hand.] Jump out of every window I have in the house, hunt my deer into high fevers, my fine fellow. Ay hang it! this is spunk and plain speaking. Give me a man who is always plump- ing his dissent to my doctrines smack in my teeth. Fred. I disagree with you there, uncle. Hum. So do I. Fred. You, you forward puppy! If you were not so old, I'd knock you down. Sir R. I'll knock you down if you do. I wont have my servants thumped into dumb flattery; I wont let you teach them to make silence a toad eater. Hum. Come, you're ruffled. Let's go to the business of the morning. Sir R. Hang the business of the morning. Don't you see we are engaged in discussion. I hate the business of the morning. Hum. No you don't. Sir R. Why don't I? Hum. Because it's charity. Sir R. Pshaw, hang it. Well, we must not neglect the business; if there be any distresses in the parish, read the morning list, Humphrey. Hum. [Reading.] Jonathan Haggans, of Muck Mead, is put in prison. Sir R. Why, it was but last week, Gripe, the attorney, received two cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds. Hum. And charged a hundred and ten for his trouble; so seized the cottages for part of his bill, and threw Jonathan into jail for the remainder. Sir R. A harpy! I must relieve the poor fellow's dis- tress. Fred. And I must kick his attorney. Hum. The curate's horse is dead. 1 The United States Speaker. 99 Sir R. Pshaw! there's no distress in that. Hum. Yes, there is, to a man that must go twenty miles every Sunday to preach three sermons, for thirty pounds a year. Sir R. Why wont Punmonk, the vicar, give him an- ather nag? Hum. Because 'tis cheaper to get another curate ready mounted. Sir R. What's the name of the black pad I purchased last Tuesday at Tunbridge? Hum. Beelzebub. Sir R. Send Beelzebub to the curate, and tell him to work him as long as he lives. Fred. And if you have a tumble-down-tit, send him to the vicar, and give him a chance of breaking his neck. Sir R. What else? Hum. Somewhat out of the common-there's one Lieutenant Worthington, a disabled officer, and a wi- dower, come to lodge at farmer Harrowby's in the vil- lage; he's plaguy poor, indeed, it seems; but more proud than poor, and more honest than proud. Fred. That sounds like a noble character. Sir R. And so he sends to me for assistance. Hum. He'd see you hang'd first; Harrowby says, he'd sooner die than ask any man for a shilling!-there's his daughter, and his dead wife's aunt, and an old corporal that has serv'd in the wars with him-he keeps them all upon half pay. Sir R. Starves them all, I am afraid, Humphrey! Fred. [Going.] Uncle, good morning. Sir R. Where, you rogue, are you running now? Fred. To talk to Lieutenant Worthington. Sir R. And what may you be going to say to him? Fred. I can't tell till I encounter him; and then, uncle, when I have an old gentleman by the hand, who is dis- abled in his country's service, and struggling to support his motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful ser- vant in honourable indigence, impulse will supply me with words to express my sentiments. [Hurrying away.] Sir R. Stop, you rogue, I must be before you in this business. 100 The United States Speaker. Fred. That depends upon who can run fastest; so start fair, uncle, and here goes. [Runs off. Sir R. Stop; why Frederick-a jackanapes—to take my department out of my hands. I'll disinherit the dog for his assurance. Hum. No, you wont. Sir R. Wont I? hang me if I-But we'll argue that point as we go. Come along, Humphrey. SCENE FROM SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. MR. HASTINGS-YOUNG MARLOW-MISS NEVILLE, and MISS HARDCASTLE, as returning from walking, a bonnet, &c. Hast. [Introducing them.] Miss Hardcastle, Mr. Mar- low. I'm proud of bringing two persons of such merit together, they only want to know to esteem each other. Miss Hard. [Aside.] Now for meeting my modest gen- tleman with a demure face, and quite in his own manner. [After a pause in which he appears very uneasy and discon- certed.] I'm glad of your safe arrival, sir.—I'm told you had some accidents by the way. Mar. Only a few, madam. Yes, we had some. -Yes, madam, a good many accidents, but should be sorry- madam-or rather glad of any accidents that are so agreeably concluded. Hem! Hast. [To him.] you never spoke better in your whole life. Keep it up, and I'll insure you the victory. Miss Hard. I'm afraid you flatter, sir. You that have seen so much of the finest company, can find little en- tertainment in an obscure corner of the country. Mar. [Gathering courage.] I have lived, indeed, in the world, madam: but I have kept very little company. I have been but an observer upon life, madam, while others were enjoying it. Miss Nev. But that, I am told, is the way to enjoy it at last. Hast. [To him.] Cicero never spoke better. Once more, and you are confirmed in assurance forever. The United States Speaker. 10 Mar. [To him.] Hem! stand by me then, and when I'm down, throw in a word or two to set me up again. Miss Hard. An observer, like you, upon life, were, I fear, disagreeably employed, since you must have had much more to censure than approve. Mar. Pardon me, madam." I was always willing to be amused. The folly of most people is rather an object of mirth than uneasiness. Hast. [To him.] Bravo, bravo. Never spoke so well in your whole life. Well, Miss Hardcastle, I see that you and Mr. Marlow are going to be very good com- pany. I believe our being here will but embarrass the interview. Mar. Not in the least, Mr. Hastings. We like your company of all things. [To him.] Zounds! George, sure you won't go? how can you leave us? Hast. Our presence will but spoil conversation, so we'll retire to the next room. [To him.] You don't con- sider, man, that we are to manage a little tete-a-tete of [Exeunt. our own. Miss Hard. [After a pause.] But you have not been entirely an observer, I presume, sir; the ladies, I should hope, have employed some part of your addresses. Mar. [Relapsing into timidity.] Pardon me, madam- I-I-I-as yet have studied-only-to-deserve them. Miss Hard. And that, some say, is the very worst way to obtain them. Mar. Perhaps so, madam. But I love to converse only with the more grave and sensible part of the sex- but I'm afraid I grow tiresome. Miss Hard. Not at all, sir; there is nothing I like so much as grave conversation myself; I could hear it for ever. Indeed I have been often surprised how a man of sentiment could ever admire those light airy pleasures, where nothing reaches the heart. Mar. It's a disease of the mind, madam. In the variety of tastes there must be some who, wanting a relish-for-um—a—um. Miss Hard. I understand you, sir. There must be some who, wanting a relish for refined pleasures, pre- tend to despise what they are incapable of tasting. I 2 102 The United States Speaker. Mar. My meaning, madam; but infinitely better ex- pressed. And I can't help observing-a- Miss Hard. [Aside.] Who could ever suppose this fellow impudent upon some occasions. [To him.] You were going to observe, sir Mar. I was observing, madam-I protest, madam, I forgot what I was going to observe. Miss Hard. [Aside.] I vow and so do I. [To him.] You were observing, sir, that in this age of hypocrisy, some- thing about hypocrisy, sir. Mar. Yes, madam. In this age of hypocrisy there are few who upon strict inquiry do not-a-a Miss Hard. I understand you perfectly, sir. Mar. [Aside.] Egad! and that's more than I do my- self. Miss Hard. You mean that in this hypocritical age there are few who do not condemn in public what they practise in private, and think they pay every debt to virtue when they praise it. Mar. True, madam; those who have most virtue in their mouths, have least of it in their bosoms. But I'm sure I tire you, madam. Miss Hard. Not in the least, sir; there's something so agreeable and spirited in your manner, such life and force-pray, sir, go on. Mar. Yes, madam, I was saying-that there are some occasions-when a total want of courage, madam, de- stroys all the-and puts us-upon a-a- Miss Hard. I agree with you entirely; a want of cou- rage upon some occasions assumes the appearance of ignorance, and betrays us when we most want to excel. I beg you'll proceed. Mar. Yes, madam. Morally speaking, madam,-but I see Miss Neville expecting us in the next room. I would not intrude for the world. Miss Hard. I protest, sir, I never was more agreeably entertained in all my life. Pray go on. Mar. Yes, madam, I was-but she beckons us to join her. Madam, shall I do myself the honour to attend you? Miss Hard. Well then, I'll follow. Sherer Hummmets Bo The United States Speaker. 103 Mar. [Aside.] This pretty smooth dialogue has done for me. Exit. Miss Hard. Ha, ha, ha! was there ever such a sober sentimental interview? I'm certain he scarce looked in my face the whole time. Yet the fellow, but for his un- accountable bashfulness, is pretty well too. He has good sense, but then so buried in his fears, that it fa- tigues one more than ignorance. If I could teach him a little confidence, it would be doing somebody that I know of a piece of service. But who is that somebody- that is a question I can scarce answer. [Exit. GOLDSMITH. THE QUACK DOCTOR. Scene-An Inn. Enter HOSTESS, followed by Lampedo. Host. Nay, nay, another fortnight. Lamp. It can't be; The man's as well as I am :-have some mercy! He has been here almost three weeks already. Host. Well then a week. Lamp. We may a week detain him. [Enter BALTHAZAR behind, in his night-gown, with a drawn sword.] You talk now like a reasonable hostess, That sometimes has a reckoning with her conscience. Host. He still believes he has an inward bruise. Lamp. I would to heaven he had! or that he'd slipt His shoulder blade, or broke a leg or two, Not that I bear his person any malice, Or lux'd an arm, or even sprain'd his ankle! Host. Ay, broken any thing except his neck. Lamp. However for a week I'll manage him, Though he has the constitution of a horse- A farrier should prescribe for him! Balt. A farrier! [Aside.] Lamp. To-morrow we phlebotomize again; 104 The United States Speaker. Next day my new-invented patent draught: I've tried it on a dog. Then I have some pills prepared. On Thursday we throw in the bark; on Friday- Balt. [Coming forward.] Well, sir, on Friday? what on Friday? come, Proceed- Lamp. Discovered! Host. Mercy, noble sir! [They fall on their knees.] Lamp. We crave your mercy. Balt. On your knees, 'tis well; Pray; for your time is short. Host. Nay, do not kill us! Balt. You have been tried, condemned, and only wait. For execution. Which shall I begin with? Lamp. The lady, by all means, sir! Balt. Come, prepare. [To the hostess.] Host. Have pity on the weakness of my sex : Balt. Tell me, thou quaking mountain of gross flesh, Tell me, and in a breath, how many poisons- If you attempt it-[To Lampedo who is endeavouring to make of you have cooked up for me. Host. None, as I hope for mercy! Balt. Is not thy wine a poison? Host. No, indeed, sir! Tis not, I own, of the first quality; But Balt. What? Host. I always give short measure, sir, And ease my conscience that way. Balt. Ease your conscience, I'll ease your conscience for you! Host. Mercy, sir! Balt. Rise, if thou canst, and hear me. Host. Your commands, sir? Balt. If in five minutes all things are prepared For my departure, you may yet survive. Host. It shall be done in less. Balt. Away, thou lump-fish! [Exit hostess. Lamp. So now comes my turn! 'tis all over with me! There's dagger, rope, and ratsbane in his looks! Balt. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man! Thou thing that hast no shadow in the sun! The United States Speaker. 105 Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born Of Death and Famine! thou anatomy Of a starv'd pilchard!- Lamp. I do confess my leanness. And therefore spare me. I am spare, Man, you know, must live! Balt. Yes; but he must die, too. Lamp. For my patients' sake! Balt. I'll send you to the major part of them. The window, sir, is open;-come, prepare. Lamp. Pray, consider! I may hurt some one in the street. Balt. Why then I'll rattle thee to pieces in a dice box, Or grind thee in a coffee mill to powder: For thou must sup with Pluto;-so, make ready! Whilst I with this good small sword for a lancet, Let thy starv'd spirit out—for blood thou hast none- And nail thee to the wall, where thou shalt look Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him. Lamp. Consider my poor wife! Balt. Thy wife! Lamp. My wife, sir. } Balt. Hast thou dar'd to think of matrimony, too? Lamp. I have a wide and three angelic babes, Who, by those looks, are well nigh fatherless! Balt. Well, well, your wife and children shall plead for you. Come, come, the pills! where are the pills? produce them. Lamp. Here is the box. Balt. Were it Pandora's, and each single pill Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. Lamp. What, all? Balt. Ay, all; and quickly too:-come, sir, begin! That's well;-another. Lamp. One's a dose! Balt. Proceed, sir! Lamp. What will become of me? I do beseech you, let me have some drink, Some cooling liquid, sir, to wash them down! Balt. Oh, yes-produce the phial. Lamp. Mercy on me. f 106 The United States Speaker. Balt. Come sir, your new invented patent draught: You've tried it on a dog; so there is no danger. Lamp. If you have any mercy, think of me. May I entreat to make my will first? Balt. No: you have nought but physic to bequeath; And that no one will take, though you should leave it. Lamp. Just to step home and see my wife and children? Balt. No, sir. Lamp. Let me go home and set my shop to rights, And, like immortal Cæsar, die with decency!- Balt. Away, and thank thy lucky stars I have not Bray'd thee in thine own mortar, or expos'd thee For a large specimen of the lizard genus. Lamp. Would I were one! for they can feed on air. Balt. Home, sir, and be more honest! Lamp. If I am not, I'll be more wise at least! [Exit. [Exit. HARLEQUIN EPILOGUE. HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense; I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience, My pride forbids it ever should be said, My heels eclips'd the honours of my head; That I found humour in a piebald vest, Or ever thought that jumping was a jest. [Takes off his mask. Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth? Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth; In thy black aspect ev'ry passion sleeps, The joy that dimples, and the wo that weeps. How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood, Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued! Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses, Whose only plot it is to break our noses; Whilst from below the trap-door dæmons rise, And from above the dangling deities: And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew? May rosin'd lightning blast me if I do! The United States Speaker. 107 No-I will act, I'll vindicate the stage: Shakspeare himself shall feel my tragic rage. Off! off! vile trappings, a new passion reigns! The madd'ning monarch revels in my veins. Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme: Give me another horse! bind up my wounds!-soft- 'twas but a dream. Aye, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retréating; If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. 'Twas thus that Esop's stag, a creature blameless; Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood, And cavill'd at his image in the flood. "The deuce confound," he cries, "these drumstick shanks; They neither have my gratitude nor thanks: They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead! But for a head-yes, yes, I have a head. How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow! My horns! I'm told horns are the fashion now.” Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd to his view, Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew. Hoicks! hark forward! came thundering from behind, He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind: He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways; He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze. At length, his silly head, so prized before, Is taught his former folly to deplore; Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free, And at one bound he saves himself like me. [Taking a jump through the stage-door. JAFFIER AND PIERRE. Jaff. You stir not; I must be heard, I must have leave to speak. Thou hast disgrac'd me, Pierre, by a vile blow: Had not a dagger done thee nobler justice? But use me as thou wilt, thou canst not wrong me, For I am fall'n beneath the basest injuries: 108 th The United States Speaker. Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy, With pity and with charity behold me; Shut not thy heart against a friend's repentance; But, as there dwells a godlike nature in thee, Listen with mildness to my supplications. Pier. What whining monk art thou? what holy cheat, That would'st encroach upon my credulous ears, And cant'st thus vilely? hence! I know thee not. Jaff. Not know me, Pierre! Pier. No, I know thee not; who art thou? ! Jaff. Jaffier, thy friend, thy once lov'd valued friend! Tho' now deserv'dly scorn'd, and us'd most hardly. Pier. Thou Jaffier! thou my once lov'd, valued friend! 'Tis false; the man so call'd my friend, Was generous, honest, faithful, just and valiant, Noble in mind, and in his person lovely, Dear to my eyes, and tender to my heart: But thou a wretched, base, false, worthless coward, Poor even in soul, and loathsome in thy aspect: All eyes must shun thee, and all hearts detest thee, Prithee avoid, nor longer cling thus round me, Like something baneful, that my nature's chill'd at. Jaff. I have not wrong'd thee, by these tears I have not, But still am honest, true, and hope too, valiant; My mind is still full of thee, therefore still noble. Let not thy eyes then shun me, nor thy heart Detest me utterly: Oh! look upon me, Look back and see my sad, sincere submission! How my heart swells, as e'en 'twould burst my bosom ; Fond of its jail, and labouring to be at thee; What shall I do? what say to make thee hear me? Pier. Hast thou not wrong'd me? dar'st thou call thyself That once lov'd valued friend of mine, And say thou hast not wrong'd me? Whence these chains? Whence the vile death which I may meet this moment? Whence this dishonour, but from thee, thou false one! Jaff. All's true; yet grant one thing, and I've done asking. Pier. What's that? Jaff. To take thy life on such conditions The United States Speaker. 109 The council have propos'd: thou and thy friend May yet live long, and to be better treated. Pier. Life! ask my life! confess! record myself A villain, for the privilege to breathe, And carry up and down this cursed city A discontented and repining spirit, Burdensome to itself, a few years longer- To lose it, may be at last, in a lewd quarrel * For some new friend, treacherous and false as thou art! No, this vile world and I have long been jangling, And cannot part on better terms than now, When only men like thee are fit to live in't. Jaff. By all that's just Pier. Swear by some other powers, For thou hast broken that sacred oath too lately. Jaff. Then by that place I merit, I'll not leave thee, Till to thyself at least thou'rt reconcil'd, However thy resentment deal with me. Pier. Not leave me! Jaff. No; thou shalt not force me from thee. Use me reproachfully, and like a slave; Tread on me, buffet me, heap wrongs on wrongs On my poor head; I'll bear it all with patience, I'll weary out thy most friendly cruelty; Lie at thy feet and kiss 'em, tho' they spurn me, Till wounded by my sufferings thou relent, And raise me to thy arms with dear forgiveness! Pier. Art thou not- Jaff. What? Pier. A traitor? Jaff. Yes. Pier. A villain? Jaff. Granted. Pier. A coward, a most scandalous coward, Spiritless, void of honour-one who has sold Thy everlasting fame for shameless lie? Jaff. All, all, and more, much more, my faults are numberless. Pier. And would'st thou have me live on terms like thine; Base as thou art false- K 110 The United States Speaker. Jaff. No; 'tis to me that's granted: The safety of thy life was all I aim'd at, In recompense for faith and trust so broken. Pier. I scorn it more, because preserv❜d by thee: And as when my foolish heart took pity On thy misfortunes, sought thee in thy miseries, Reliev'd thy wants, and rais'd thee from thy state Of wretchedness, in which thy fate had plung'd thee, To rank thee in my list of noble friends: All I receiv'd in surety for thy truth, Were unregarded oaths, and this, this dagger, Given with a worthless pledge thou since hast stolen: So I restore it back to thee again; Swearing by all those powers which thou hast violated, Never from this cursed hour to hold communion, Friendship, or interest with thee, tho' our years Were to exceed those limited the world. Take it-farewell, for now I owe thee nothing. Jaff. Say, wilt thou live then? Pier. For my life, dispose of it Just as thou wilt, because 'tis what I'm tired with. Jaff. O Pierre! Pier. No more. Jaff. My eyes wont lose the sight of thee, But languish after thine, and ache with gazing. Pier. Leave me. thee from me; Nay, then thus, thus I throw And evils great as is thy falsehood, catch thee. [VENICE PRESERVED THE TURKISH LADY. 'Twas the hour when rites unholy Call'd each Paynim voice to prayer, And the star that faded slowly, Left to dews the freshened air. The United States Speaker. 111 Day her sultry fires had wasted, Calm and sweet the moonlight rose; Even a captive's spirit tasted Half oblivion of his woes. Then 'twas from Emir's palace Came an eastern lady bright; She, in spite of tyrants jealous, Saw and loy'd an English knight. "Tell me, captive, why in anguish Foes have dragg'd thee here to dwell, Where poor Christians as they languish Hear no sound of Sabbath bell?” ""Twas on Transylvania's Bannat When the crescent shone afar, Like a pale disastrous planet O'er the purple tide of war- "In that day of desolation, Lady, I was captive made; Bleeding for my Christian nation By the walls of high Belgrade." "Captive! could the brightest jewel From my turban set thee free?". "( "Lady, no!-the gift were cruel, Ransom'd, yet if reft of thee. 66 'Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee Christian climes should we behold?". "Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee Were thy ransom paid in gold!" Now in Heaven's blue expansion Rose the midnight star to view, When to quit her father's mansion, Thrice she wept and bade adieu! "Fly we then, while none discover! Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!" Soon at Rhodes the British lover Clasp'd his blooming eastern bride 112 THE VOICE OF NATURE. [Altered from the play.] Characters. Alphonso-King of Sicily. Rinaldo-His brother. Child. Alzira-Countess of Bertoldo. Isabella-Her attendant. Lilla. Bendetta-Her friend and nurse. Guards, &c. Enter LILLA and BENDETta. Lilla.. I must retire, Bendetta. The shock my feelings have sustained, has overpowered a feeble frame exhaust- ed with fatigue. But I have seen Rinaldo, I have seen him take Alzira's hand, and ere to-morrow dawns, he will be her's. O, my Bendetta, I might have saved my- self this pang had not hope whispered me that in his breast there still might lurk one thought of Lilla, which the sight of injured innocence might waken. But 'tis over. Bendetta. Nay, my dear child, do not despair. It watched the prince, and when his eye caught your's, he dropped Alzira's hand and stood in agony, until she hur- ried him away with the procession. 'Twas then you fainted. But his eyes as often as I caught a glimpse of them amongst the crowd, were looking back for you. Besides, Rinaldo's servant has assured me that he does Sot love Alzira. Let us hope- Lilla. We must retire, some one approaches. Heaven grant that your conjectures be not groundless. [Exeunt. Enter, KING and RINALDO. King. Whence is it, my Rinaldo, that to-day, when I have given to Sicily a queen, and all around is full of gratulation, you alone are silent. Neither my nuptials nor Alzira's charms give joy to you; nay, she herself has marked your coldness Rinaldo. I will hide nothing from the king, my bro ther. Know then, that in the palace garden as we passed, The United States Speaker. 113 I saw a female in whose fate my honour is concerned, for whom my heart still cherishes ideas of the tenderest regard. King. Who and what is she? Rinaldo. Her name is Lilla, a peasant of the province of Bagaria, residing with an aged dame who was her nurse in infancy. One day, when hunting in the neigh- bourhood, I saw the lovely girl upon a rivulet's bank gathering flowers. Charmed, I returned oft to visit her, and gained her artless heart, which basely I betrayed. Soon after this, you called me to your court, and occu- pied by cares of government, with which I was entrusted, I could not return, though my heart oft reminded me of Lilla. She became a mother, and I learnt with griet that her child died on its birth day. King. What did you to repair these wrongs? Rinaldo. I would have loaded her with presents, but though often urged, she accepted nothing. King. Noble girl! and such is the being thou hast crushed! riches! presents! to pay for stolen affections, lost self-approbation, peace of mind, and tarnished fame! Rinaldo. I feel my fault! King. She rejected with disdain your presents, for she knew she had paid the highest price for your affection. Such is the victim you seduced. O Rinaldo! until now I thought you without stain. Rinaldo. Let my confession, my sincere contrition, my abhorrence of the crime, and wish to make amends, plead for me. And do you, my king, assist me to wipe out this stain upon my honour. Who can conceive the tor- ment of my soul, when unexpectedly my eyes met Lilla's when as I held the hand of Alzira the pledge of union, Lilla, the injured Lilla, turned and disappeared. King. Yet Alzira- Rinaldo. I cannot think of a union with her but with horror! King. Her honour is concerned, perhaps her heart. After proceeding almost to the altar ་ Rinaldo Torment on torment! Pardon me, my lord, it was compliance with your wishes only, that first led me seriously to think upon Alzira. King. I knew not that you were previously engaged. K 2 114 The United States Speaker. Besides you sought Alzira's company, and seemed to love the beauteous widow. Rinaldo True, her beauty blinded me at first; but ere my unexpected meeting with fair Lilla, I had observed traits in Alzira's character, which gave me little satis- faction. She has more of rash ambition than of tender- ness. Nay, the most refined feelings of our nature are strangers to her heart. Her lovely child, who is the admiration of us all, she views with cold indifference, whilst I feel for him an attachment stronger far than reason can account for. I never see him but I say, such had been Lilla's boy, had he but lived. King. You are a living proof that crime goes not un punished. Happy indeed if here your torments end. You ought to fear the judge supreme will one day call you to account for every tear her eyes of innocence have wept. Rinaldo. Spare me, my lord. Rather point out the way I may regain my peace than add unto my torments. King. The way of virtue is the way of peace. I will consider how I best can extricate you from this labyrinth of crimes. In the mean time I will delay your marriage till to-morrow. And believe from this embarrassment that real honour only can exist with virtue and sincerity, and that the elevation which our birth or fortune gives should make us watch more closely over our actions, and more closely scrutinize the purity of our intentions. Exit. Rinaldo. Yes, I'm the stain of knighthood. I have plunged a dagger in that breast of innocence which duty bid me shield. Unhappy Lilla! What could have brought her from her loved retreat. Was it once more to meet her base betrayer; once more to contemplate the cause of all her woes. Enter ALZIRA, LILLA, BENDETTA, and CHILD. Rinaldo. What noise disturbs? Lilla! Alzira! Lilla. Heavens! Rinaldo! Alzira. Prince, can you give credit to me when I they wish to rob me of my son? Rinaldo. [To Lilla.] What! do you lay claim say Alzira. Think, prince Rinaldo, think of their unparal- The United States Speaker.. 115 leled audacity. This woman dares assert my child is her's, stolen from her, she says, when sleeping. I pray, my lord, the guards be ordered to drive out this woman from the palace. Lilla. Nay, if I am proved guilty of attempting to de- prive a mother of her child, I merit death. Rinaldo. [Aside.] Can it be that I shall know such happiness! To Lilla.] Say you that boy is yours? Lilla. Yes, he is my son. He is the fruit- -he is the son of one dear to my heart; but whom I cannot name. Rinaldo. And do you accuse lady Alzira? Lilla. I accuse no one. Her child died, and mine by fraud was substituted in its place; whether without her knowledge or by her orders, I cannot determine. Rinaldo. Can it be possible! have you any proofs? Bendetta. Yes, we have proof sufficient. All we ask is audience of the king; but that the lady fears. Rinaldo. The lady fears! Alzira. I admire with what complaisance the prince Rinaldo condescends to question these vile women. But I suspect a motive little to his honour. I remarked this morning the impression which the sight of this girl made upon him. Rinaldo. Madam, the question now concerns her misery. She must be heard. She claims her sovereign's justice, and it is my duty to bring her before him. Alzira. What! is the honour of Alzira to be questioned upon the bare assertion of an unknown woman? What! believe that of me, which nothing but the most unques- tioned proof ought to fix upon the meanest wretch that lives. Is it Rinaldo speaks? Rinaldo. Why should we refuse to hear this woman? Is it because she is without protection? You, madam, stand supported by your riches, and the honoured name of your illustrious lord. She is without support, and shall she therefore not be heard? No, madam, you know better what is due your character. Shall it be said Alzira feared to answer the complaint of a poor cottager? Enter a SERVANT. Servant. My lord, the king, having heard of the dis 116 The United States Speaker. pute which has arisen about the child of lady Alzira, wishes to hear the case himself. 'Tis also his request that all repair forthwith to the audience chamber. Lilla. Heaven be praised. Rinaldo. [To Alzira.] Madam, you hear our sovereign's will, your presence will be absolutely necessary. Alzira. Our sovereign's will shall be obeyed. I will appear and triumph in the full confusion which shall soon overwhelm the wretched object of your fond pro- [Exeunt. tection. Enter the KING and RINaldo. King. I hope, Rinaldo, we shall now soon know whether Alzira does or does not deserve your hand. Rinaldo. O my lord, speak not of lady Alzira; the mother of the boy alone can be my bride. King. And if Alzira prove the mother- Rinaldo. Alzira! no, the woman who loves not her child can be no mother. King. You are too hasty in condemning her. What other information have you gained? Rinaldo. None, my lord. King. And without proof, merely upon presumption, because your wishes are for Lilla, must Alzira be de- nounced as guilty! O my brother, it is not by feelings or affections, or partialities, that we must judge of hu- man actions. I could wish that Lilla might restore unto his father's arms a son, but let us dread the thought of forcing from a mother's arms her child; here error would be crime. But it is time to hear them. Let them be introduced; [calling to attendants] and as to you, bro- ther, that your feelings may not now mislead you, I command on your part perfect silence. [ALZIRA enters with a haughty air. LILLA enters followed by BENDETTA. She bows before the KING, and modestly retires.] King. Lilla, you claim as your child, one whom Alzira, the widow of the Lord Bertoldo, claims as her's. Speak, tell us who you are, and with what proofs you urge your claim. Lilla. In this august presence, humbly, yet firmly, I The United States Speaker. attest that being who reads every heart, that my lips shall only utterance give to truth. My lord, I am the daughter of Count Gradina, who was killed while fight- ing for his country. Rinaldo. The daughter of Gradina! · Lilla. Condemned to poverty by the cruel fate of war, I passed my days in tranquil solitude upon the banks of the Bagaria in good Bendetta's cottage. There I was contented, and should have been still, had not love- give me leave, great king, to omit the days which passed until the period when it pleased heaven to make me mother of a living child. 'Twas on that memorable night, four years ago, when Etna shook our island to its centre. I clasped my boy with transport to my bo- som; no apprehensions for his life once entering in my thoughts, for health bloomed on his cheek. Judge then of my surprise to find next morning in his place another child, cold, pale, and lifeless. Vain were my tears, no one could clear the mystery, the dead child passed for mine. It was not until yesterday I learned a scene far different passed at the same time in the chamber of Alzira, who with her noble lord then dwelt near our poor cottage. King. Was your child born at that period, my lady? Alzira. Yes, my lord, he was. Lilla. Feeble was he born, and scarcely living. A servant of the name of Hospard, who knew us well, left. lord Bertoldo's mansion suddenly, but reappeared before the morning dawned, when its light presented to the astonished family a child in perfect health and strength. O, great king, if this strange concurrence of events does not convince you, yield some credit to the feelings of a mother's heart which cannot be deceived. Every feature, every mark upon her child, though imperceptible to other eyes, is stamped indelibly upon her heart. Two marks were placed by nature on my son. When yester- day I met the reputed child of Alzira, my heart was moved. I examined his features, saw the signs, the light burst on me, and my heart cried out, this is your son. King. Were the marks of which you speak, observed by any other at the time? 118 The United States Speaker. Bendetta. Yes, my lord, I noted them both at his birth, and now. King. You are- Lilla. She is my benefactor, friend and mother. King. Did any other person note them? Lilla. No, my lord. King. And where is Hospard? Bendetta. Dead, my lord. But what proofs are want- ing now? The children born at the same time, Hospard's departure from his home, his intimacy at our house- besides, my lord, how easy 'tis to enter the habitations of the poor which want not locks or bars to fasten them. King. Lady Alzira, was the birth and situation of your child as they relate? Alzira. They were, my lord. 'Tis true my son was nearly lifeless, but my servant Hospard, skilled in plants and herbs, fled for them to the neighbouring fields, and found such whose healing virtue saved the child. What is there wonderful in this? And what is it to me whether or not a child was stolen from some obscure and wretch- ed hovel on the banks of the Bagaria? But what proofs are there of such a circumstance? Who can swear the child found dead in yonder woman's cradle was not her own? Was it proof against disease and death? You only have her word and that of her accomplice. And who saw the marks? Why truly these same women! It is strange that when all Sicily can testify my undisputed title to the child, you seriously attend to a complaint so absurd and ridiculous. Lilla. Madam, the more my claim is extraordinary, the more should it appear that one so humble, so unfor- tunate, would never dare appeal thus to her sovereign, without conviction the most perfect that her cause was Just. Alzira. Your suppositions should at least bear marks of probability. Lilla. And is it then improbable that you should be so deeply interested in presenting to your lord a living son, when 'tis well known that that event alone could save you from divorce. But were you ignorant of the crime which may have been performed by some kind friend, yet even then the voice of nature, never silent in a The United States Speaker. 119 mother's heart, should have informed you that you had no part in any child you did not love. Alzira. And who has said I never loved my son? Lilla. All those who know you. Alzira. My lord, since for proof abuse is substituted, I pray you to pronounce the sentence. King. Since 'tis a doubtful case, and I may wrong a mother, I could wish that, one of you would yield her claim; and here I promise to exert my utmost power to make her recompense. Lilla. O, my lord, the treasures of your kingdom would not pay me for the sacrifice. Alzira. Give up to her! no, rather let him perish! King. Perish! [Reflecting a moment.] I have it. Bring in the child. [The child is brought in by the guards.] Alzira, your words have determined me. 'Tis better far to weep upon the tomb of a beloved child, than see it living in a rival's power. [Enter executioner with his sleeves rolled up and a sword drawn.] Take the child and sever him in two, then give each mother half. [The executioner seizes the boy.] Lilla. No, great king! You surely cannot mean it. King. Take him from my presence and execute my orders. Child. O, don't hurt me! [They are leading him off.] Lilla. O stop! stop! let him live! Let Alzira have him, only let him live! [Prostrates herself before the king.] King. Nature has spoken. She is the mother. Give the child to Lilla. The voice of nature cannot err. [Lilla embraces the child.] Rinaldo. Daughter of Gradina, my injured Lilla, you are not alone in this joy. Come, my boy, come to a father's arms. [Embracing him.] Alzira. What do I hear! Rinaldo! Rinaldo. Yes, he is my son, his mother is my wife. Alzira. My lord [kneels to the king] your wisdom has exposed my crime, and some unseen resistless power compels me to confess that I have sinned against the voice of nature, and have betrayed my heart by calling myself mother, and consenting to the death of him Ï called my child. 120 The United States Speaker. King. Alzira, for this frank confession, I will not pro- nounce that sentence on you which your crime deserves. Retire then from Palermo. And may heaven assist you to repent and live to virtue. вид BATTLE OF Linden. ON Linden when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neigh'd, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, Then rush'd the steed to battle driv❜n, And louder than the bolts of heav'n, Far flash'd the red artillery. And redder yet those fires shall glow, On Linden's hills of blood-stain'd snow, And darker yet shall be the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens-on ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave! And charge with all thy chivalry! $ 鸡 ​The United States Speaker. Ah! few shall part were many meet! The snow shall be their winding sheet, And every turf beneath their feet, Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.* 121 t TIMOTHY AND MRS. FIDGET. • Mrs. F. 'Tis no such thing, Mr. Timothy, give me leave to know the private concerns of a family that I have lived with before you were born. Tim. If that's the case they have no private concerns by this time; they are pretty public now. Mrs. F. Jackanapes! does it follow that because I sometimes indulge you with my communications, I tell them to all the world? Tim. No, it does not follow, it generally goes before. You retail your knowledge every week day in small paragraphs, and on Sunday you rush forth yourself fresh from the press, a walking journal of weekly communi- cation. Mrs. F. Well, am I not right there, monkey?. It is the moral duty of a Christian to instruct the ignorant, and open the minds. of the uninformed. Tim. Yes, but you are not content with opening their minds, but open their mouths too, and set them a prat- ing for a week to come. Mrs. F. It requires but little pains, however, to set you a prating. Such a tongue! mercy on me! gibble, gabble, prittle, prattle, for ever and ever. Tim. There's a plumper for you! When I came to live in this house, I never opened my lips for the first quarter. The thing was impossible; your eternal clatter almost starved as well as stunned me; I could put no- thing either in or out of my mouth; I was compelled to eat my victuals at midnight, for until you were as fast as a church, I was forced to be silent as a grave. Mrs. F. Why sirrah, jackanapes, monkey, his honour • The above poem has been variously printed in different editions; the editor has chosen the reading he considers most spirited and elegant. I + 122 The United States Speaker. has suffered your impertinent freedoms till you are be- come quite master of the house, and now I suppose you want to be mistress too. Tim. So do you; and therefore we quarrel. Two of a trade you know- Mrs. F. But your master shall know of your insolence. Tim. Let him, he likes it; he says himself I am an odd fish, a thornback, I suppose, or I should not be able to deal with an old maid. Mrs. F. Old maid, impudence! have I lived to this day to be called an old maid at last? Pretty well, indeed! It is my own fault that I have no husband. Tim. If you had one, he'd be the most envied mortal in England. Mrs. F. Why, fellow, why? 1 Tim. Because there is not such another woman in the kingdom. Mrs. F. Silence, fellow! You have certainly mistaken my character. If I know any thing of myself, I never talk more than is necessary, and as for curiosity, nobody has less, or interferes in her neighbour's affairs so sel- dom as I do. Tim. No one has accused you of curiosity, but now we are on the subject, I suppose you have heard the report that is about the country. Mrs. F. Report of what, 'pray? Tim. I am sorry for poor Miss Twist. Mrs. F. Miss Twist! what of her? Tim. Upon my word I ought not to have mentioned her name. Pray don't say a word about Miss Twist, only I thought it might concern her. Mrs. F. What might concern her? Tim. The report. Mrs. F. What report. Tim. Why that Robert is going to marry Miss Man deville. Mrs. F. Miss Mandeville! Miss Mandeville! Tim. Why yes, Miss Mandeville. But pray don't tell the Twists. Mrs. F. Not I, I would not tell them for the world. Tim. No, pray don't tell them, I quite dread their hearing it; it would be cruel and unkind to acquaint The United States Speaker. 123 them with it at all abruptly, for I am confident they ex- pected him to marry Miss Twist. Mrs. F. Indeed they were sure of it. No indeed I would not have them told of it for the world. [Putting on her bonnet.] Tim. But pray remember not to say a word about it to the Twists. Mrs. F. O not for the world! Good morning, Mr. Timothy. [Exit. Tim. So with all her want of curiosity, she has packed off to the Twists to tell them the news, not a word of which is true. So much for gossiping, so much for curiosity, so much for never interfering in the affairs of her neighbours! HUNKS AND BLITHE. Blithe. How now, Mr. Hunks, have you settled the controversy with Mr. Baxter? Hunks. Yes, to a fraction, upon condition that he would pay me six per cent. upon all his notes and bonds, from the date until they were discharged. Blither Then it seems you have brought him to your own terms. Hunks. Indeed I have! I would settle with him upon no other. Men now-a-days think it a dreadful hardship to pay a little interest; and will quibble a thousand ways to fool a body out of his just property. But I have grown too old to be cheated in that manner. I take care to secure the interest as well as the principal. And to prevent any difficulty, I take new notes every year, and carefully exact interest upon interest, and add it to the principal. Blithe. You don't exact interest upon interest! this looks a little like extortion. Hunks. Extortion! I have already lost more than five hundred pounds by a number of rascally bankrupts. I wont trust a farthing of my money without interest upon interest. તુ མ 124. The United States Speaker. Blithe. I see I must humour his foible, there's no other way to deal with him.-[Aside. Hunks. There's no security in men's obligations, in these times, and if I've a sum of money in the hands of those we call good chaps, I'm more plagued to get it. than 'tis all worth. They would be glad to turn me off with mere rubbish, if they could. I'd rather keep my money in my own chest than let it out for such small interest as I have for it. Blithe. There's something, I confess, in your observa- tions. We never know when we are secure unless we have our property in our chests or in lands. Hunks. That's true-I'd rather have my property in lands at three per cent. than in the hands of the best man in this town at six-it is a fact. Lands will grow higher when the wars are over. Blithe. You're entirely right. I believe if I'd as much money as you, I should be of the same mind. Hunks. That's a good disposition. We must all learn to take care of ourselves these hard times. But I wonder how it happens that your disposition is so different from your son's-he's extremely wild and profuse-I should think it was not possible for you, with all your prudence and dexterity, to get money as fast, as he would spend it. Blithe. Oh! he's young and airy; we must make allowances for such things; we used to do so ourselves when we were young men. Hunks. No, you are mistaken; I never wore a neck- cloth nor a pair of shoe buckles, on a week day, in my life. But this is now become necessary among the lowest ranks of people. Blithe. You have been very singular; there are few men in our age that have been so frugal and saving as you have. But we must all endeavour to conform our- selves a little to the customs of the times. My son is not more extravagant than other young people of his age. He loves to drink a glass of wine sometimes, with his companions, and to appear pretty gayly drest; but this is only what is natural and customary for every one. I understand he has formed some connexion with your eldest daughter, and I should be fond of the alliance, if I could gain your approbation in the matter. The United States Speaker. 125 Hunks. The customs of the times will undo us all- there's no living in this prodigal age. The young people must have their bottles, their tavern dinners, and dice, while the old ones are made perfect drudges to support their luxury. Blithe. Our families, sir, without doubt, would be very happy in such a connexion, if you would grant your consent. Hunks. I lose all patience when I see the young beaux and fops, strutting about the streets in their laced coats and ruffled shirts, and a thousand other extravagant ar- ticles of expense. Blithe. Sir, I should be very glad if you would turn your attention to the question I proposed. Hunks. There's one half of these coxcombical spend- thrifts that can't pay their taxes, and yet they are con- stantly running in debt, and their prodigality must be supported by poor, honest, labouring men. Blithe. This is insufferable; I'm vexed at the old fel- low's impertinence.-[Aside. Hunks. The world has got to a strange pass, a very strange pass indeed; there's no distinguishing a poor man from a rich one, but only by his extravagant dress, and supercilious behaviour. Blithe. I abhor to see a man all mouth and no ears. Hunks. All mouth and no ears! Do you mean to insult me to my face? Blithe. I ask your pardon sir; but I have been talking to you this hour, and you have paid me no attention. Hunks. Well, and what is this mighty affair upon which you want my opinion. Blithe. It is something you have paid very little atten tion to it seems; I am willing to be heard in my turn as well as you. I was telling you that my son had entered into a treaty of marriage with your eldest daughter, and I desire your consent in the matter., Hunks. A treaty of marriage! why did'nt she ask my Aberty before she attempted any such thing! A treaty of marriage! I wont hear a word of it! Blithe. The young couple are very fond of each other, and may perhaps be ruined if you cross their inclinations. Hunks. Then let them be ruined, I'll have my daugh 126 The United States Speaker. ter to know she shall make no treaties without my con- sent. Blithe. She's of the same mind; that's what she wants now, Hunks. But you say the treaty is already made; how- . ever, I'll make it over again. Blithe. Well, sir, the stronger the better. Hunks. But I mean to make it void. Blithe. I want no trifling in the matter; the subject is not of a trifling nature. I expect you will give me a direct answer one way or the other. Hunks. If that's what you desire, I can tell you at once, I have two very strong objections against the pro- posal; one is, I dislike your son; and the other is, I have determined upon another match for my daughter. Blithe. Why do you dislike my son, pray? Hunks. O he's like the rest of mankind, running on in this extravagant way of living. My estate was earned- too hard to be trifled away in such a manner. Blithe. Extravagant! I'm sure he is very far from de- serving that character. 'Tis true, he appears genteel and fashionable among people, but he's in good business, and above board, and that's sufficient for any man. Hunks. 'Tis fashionable, I suppose, to powder and curl at the barber's an hour or two before he visits his mistress. To pay sixpence or eightpence for brushing his boots; to drink a glass of wine at every tavern; to dine upon fowls drest in the richest manner; and he must dirty two or three ruffled shirts in the journey. This is your genteel, fashionable way, is it? Blithe. Indeed, sir, it is a matter of importance to ap- pear decently at such a time if ever. Would you have him to go as you used to do, upon the same business, dressed in a long ill-shapen coat, a greasy pair of breeches, and a flapped hat; with your oats in one side of your saddle bags, and your dinner in the other? This would make an odd appearance in the present age. Hunks. A fig for the appearance, so long as I gained my point, and saved my money, and consequently my credit. The coat you mention is the same I have on 'Tis not so very long as you would represent it to be Measuring the skirts by one leg.] See, it comes now. The United States Speaker. 127 * jast below the calf. This is the coat that my father was married in, and I after him. It has been in the fashion five times since it was new, and never was altered, and 'tis a pretty good coat yet. Blithe. You've a wonderful faculty of saving your money and credit, and keeping in the fashion at the same time. I suppose you mean by saving your credit, that money and credit are inseparably connected. Hunks. Yes, that they are; he that has the one need not fear the loss of the other. For this reason, I can't consent to your son's proposal; he is too much of a spendthrift to merit my approbation. Blithe. If you call him a spendthrift for his generosity, I desire he may never merit your approbation. A repu- tation that's gained by saving money in the manner you have mentioned, is at best but a despicable character. Hunks. Do you mean to call my character despicable? Blithe. We wont quarrel about the name, since you are so well contented with the thing. Hunks. You're welcome to your opinion; I would not give a fiddlestick's end for your good or ill will; my ideas of reputation are entirely different from yours or your son's, which are just the same; for I find you justify him in all his conduct. But as I have determined upon another match for my daughter, I shan't trouble myself about his behaviour. Blithe. But perhaps your proposed match will be equally disagreeable. Hunks. No, I've no apprehension of that. He's a person of a fine genius, and an excellent character. Blithe. Sir, I desire to know who this person is, that has such a genius and character, and is so agreeable to, your taste. Hunks. 'Tis my young cousin Griffin. He's heir to a great estate you know. He discovered a surprising genius almost as soon as he was born. When he was a very child, he made him a box, with one small hole in it, into which he could just crowd his money, and could not get it out again, without breaking his box; by which means he made a continual addition till he filled it, and—. Blithe. Enough! enough! I've a sufficient idea of his. 128 The United States Speaker. character without hearing another word. But are you sure you shall obtain this excellent match for your daughter? Hunks. Oh, I'm certain on't, I assure you, and my atmost wishes are gratified with the prospect, He has a large patrimony, lying between two excellent farms of mine, which are at least worth two thousand pounds. These I've given to my daughter; and have ordered her uncle to take the deeds into his own hands, and deliver them to her on the day of her marriage. Blithe. Then it seems you've almost accomplished the business. But have you got the consent of the young gentleman in the affair? Hunks. His consent! what need I care about his con- sent? so long as I've his father's, that is sufficient for my purpose. Blithe. Then you intend to force the young couple to marry if they are unwilling? Hunks. Those two thousand pounds will soon give them a disposition, I'll warrant you. Blithe. Your schemes, I confess, are artfully concerted; but I must tell you, for your mortification, that the young gentleman is already married. Hunks. What do you say! already married! it can't be! I don't believe a syllable on't! Blithe. Every syllable is true, whether you believe it or not. I received a letter this day from his father; if you wont believe me, you may read it. [Gives him the letter.] There's the account in the postscript. [Points to it. Hunks reads-[I had almost forgot to tell you, that last Thursday my son was married to Miss Clary Brentford, and that all parties are very happy in the connexion.] Con- fusion! [Throws down the letter.] What does this mean! married to Clary Brentford! This is exactly one of cousin Tom's villanous tricks. He promised me that his son should marry my daughter, upon condition that I would give her those two farms; but I can't imagine from what stupid motives he has altered his mind. Blithe. Disappointment is the common lot of all men; even our surest expectations are subject to misfortune. Hunks. Disappointment! this comes from a quartec The United States Speaker. 129 from which I least expected one. But there's the deeds, I'll take care to secure them again; 'tis a good hit that I did not give them to the young rogue beforehand. Blithe. That was well thought of; you keep a good look out, I see, though you cannot avoid some disap- pointments. I see nothing in the way now, to hinder my son's proceedings; you will easily grant your con- sent, now you are cut off from your former expectation. Hunks. I can't see into this crooked affair. I'm heartily vexed at it. What could induce that old villain to de- ceive me in this manner? I fear this was some scheme of my daughter's to prevent the effect of my design. If this is her plan, if she sets so light by two thousand pounds, she shall soon know what it is to want it, I'll promise her. Blithe. If you had bestowed your gift, without cross- ing her inclinations, she would have accepted it very thankfully. Hunks. O, I don't doubt it in the least; that would have been a pretty story indeed! but since she insists upon gratifying a foolish fancy, she may follow her own inclination and take the consequence of it; I'll keep the favours I meant to bestow on her, for those that know how to prize them, and that merit them by a becoming gratitude. Blithe. But you wont reject her, destitute of a patri- mony and a father's blessing. Hunks. Not one farthing shall she ever receive from my hand. Your son may take her, but her person is barely all that I'll give him; he has seduced her to dis- obey her father, and he shall feel the effects of it. Blithe. You're somewhat ruffled, I perceive, but I hope you'll recall those rash resolutions in your cooler mo- ments. Hunks. No, never, I give you my word, and that's as fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians. Blithe. But look ye, sir, here's another circumstance to be attended to; my son has the deeds already in his own hands. Hunks. Deeds! what deeds! those I gave to my bro ther? Blithe. Yes, the very same. 180 The United States Speaker. Hunks. What a composition of villany and witchcraft is here! What, my deeds given up to your son? Blithe. Yes; your brother thought that my son had an undoubted title to them now, since his cousin was married, and so he gave them up the next day. Hunks. This is intolerable! I could tear the scalp from my old brainless skull! why had I not more wit than to trust them with him? I'm cheated every way! I can't trust a farthing with the best friend I have upon earth. Blithe. That is very true, 'tis no wonder you can't trust your best friends. The truth of the case is, you have no friend, nor can you expect any so long as you make an idol of yourself, and feast your sordid avaricious appetite upon the misfortunes of mankind. You take every possible advantage by the present calamities, to gratify your own selfish disposition. So long as this is the case, depend upon it you will be an object of univer- sal detestation. There is no one on earth who would not rejoice to see how you're brought in. Your daughter now has got a good inheritance, and an agreeable part- ner, which you were in duty bound to grant her; but, instead of that, you were then doing your utmost to de- prive her of every enjoyment in life. [Hunks puts his hand to his breast.] I don't wonder your conscience smites you for your villany. Don't you see how justly you have been cheated into your duty? Hunks. I'll go this moment to an attorney, and get a warrant; I'll put the villain in jail before an hour is at an end. Oh, my deeds! my farms! what shall I do for my farms! Blithe. Give yourself no farther trouble about them, there's no evidence in the case; you must be sensible, therefore, an action can't lie. I would advise you to rest contented, and learn from disappointments, not to place such an exorbitant value upon wealth. In the mean time I should be very glad of your company at the wedding. My son and his wife would be very happy to see you. Hunks. The dragon fly away with you, and your son, and your son's wife. O my farms! what shall I do for my farms! } 131 SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF TAMERLANE. Enter OMAR and TAMERlane. Omar. Honour and fame Forever wait the emperors may our prophet Give him ten thousand days of life, And every day like this. The captive sultan, Fierce in his bonds, and at his fate repining, Attends your sacred will. Tamerlane. Let him approach. [Bowing [Enter BAJAZET and other TURKISH PRISONERS in chains, with a guard.] When I survey the ruins of this field, The wild destruction, which thy fierce ambition Has dealt among mankind: (so many widows And helpless orphans has thy battle made, That half our eastern world this day are mourners :) Well may I, in behalf of heaven and earth, Demand from thee atonement for this wrong. Baj. Make thy demand of those that own thy power, Know I am still beyond it; and though fortune Has stript me of the train and pomp of greatness, That outside of a king, yet still my soul, Fix'd high, and on itself alone dependant, Is ever free and royal; and even now, As at the head of battle, does defy thee. I know what power the chance of war has given, And dare thee to the use on't. This vile speeching, This after game of words, is what most irks me; Spare that, and for the rest 'tis equal all, Be it as it may. Tam. Well was it for the world, When, on their borders, neighbouring princes met, Frequent in friendly parle, by cool debates. Preventing wasteful war; such should our meeting Have been, hadst thou but held in just regard The sanctity of leagues so often sworn to. Canst thou believe thy prophet, or what's more, That Power Supreme, which made thee and thy prophet, Will with impunity, let pass that breach Of sacred faith given to the royal Greek? 132 The United States Speaker. Baj. Thou pedant talker! ha! art thou a king Possess'd of sacred power. Heaven's darling attribute, And dost thou prate of leagues, and oaths, and prophets! I hate the Greek, (perdition on his name!) As I do thee, and would have met you both, As death does human nature, for destruction. Tam. Causeless to hate, is not of human kind: The savage brute that haunts in woods remote And desert wilds, tears not the fearful traveller, If hunger, or some injury, provoke not. Baj. Can a king want a cause, when empire bids Go on? What is he born for but ambition? It is his hunger, 'tis his call of nature, The noble appetite which will be satisfied, And, like the food of gods, makes him immortal. Tam. Henceforth I will not wonder we were foes, Since souls that differ so by nature, hate, And strong antipathy forbids their union. Baj. The noble fire that warms me does indeed Transcend thy coldness. I am pleased we differ, Nor think alike. Tam. No: for I think like man, Thou like a monster, from whose baleful presence Nature starts back; and though she fix'd her stamp On thy rough mass, and mark'd thee for a man, Now, conscious of her error, she disclaims thee, As form'd for her destruction. 'Tis true, I am a king, as thou hast been; Honour and glory too have been my aim; But though I dare face death, and all the dangers Which furious war wears in its bloody front, Yet would I choose to fix my name by peace, By justice and by mercy; and to raise My trophies on the blessings of mankind: Nor would I buy the empire of the world With ruin of the people whom I sway, Or forfeit of my honour. Baj. Prophet, I thank thee. Confusion! couldst thou rob me of my glory To dress up this tame king, this preaching dervise! Unfit for war, thou shouldst have lived secure In lazy peace, and with debating senates The United States Speaker. 133 Shared a precarious sceptre; sat tamely still, And let bold factions canton out thy power, And wrangle for the spoils they robb'd thee of; Whilst I, (O blast the power that stops my ardour,) Would, like a tempest rush amidst the nations, Be greatly terrible, and deal, like Allah, My angry thunder on the frighted world. Tam. The world! 'twould be too little for thy pride; Thou would'st scale heav'n. Baj. I would. Away! my soul Disdains thy conference.* Tam. Thou vain, rash thing, That, with gigantic insolence, has dar'd To lift thy wretched self above the stars, And mate with power Almighty, thou art fall'n! Baj. 'Tis false! I am not fall'n from aught I have been, At least my soul resolves to keep her state, And scorns to make acquaintance with:ill fortune. Tam. Almost beneath my pity art thou fall'n; Since, while the avenging hand of heav'n is on thee, And presses to the dust thy swelling soul, Fool-hardy, with the stronger thou contendest, To what vast heights had thy tumultuous temper Been hurried, if success had crown'd thy wishes! Say, what had I to expect, if thou hadst conquer'd? Baj. Oh, glorious thought! Ye pow'rs I will enjoy it, Though but in fancy: imagination shall Make room to entertain the vast idea. Oh! had I been master but of yesterday, The world, the world had felt me; and for thee, I had us'd thee as thou art to me, a dog, The object of my scorn and mortal hatred. I would have cag'd thee for the sport of slaves; I would have taught thy neck to know my weight, And mounted from that footstool to the saddle, Till thou hadst begg'd to die; and e'en that mercy I had deny'd thee. Now thou know'st my mind, And question me, no farther. Tam. Well dost thou teach me What justice should exact from thee. Mankind, With one consent cry out for vengeance on thee; M ཏཱཾ, ཡ 134 * The United States Speaker. Loudly they call to cut off this league-breaker, This wild destroyer, from the face of earth. Baj. Do it, and rid thy shaking soul at once Of its worst fear. Tam. Why slept the thunder That should have arm'd the idol deity, And given thee power, ere yester sun was set, To shake the soul of Tamerlane. Had'st thou an arm To make thee fear'd, thou should'st have prov'd it on me, Amidst the sweat and blood of yonder field, When, through the tumult of the war I sought thee, Fenced in with nations. Baj. Oh, blast the stars That fated us to different scenes of slaughter! Oh! could my sword have met thee! Tam. Thou hadst then, As now, been in my power, and held thy life Dependent on my gift. Yes, Bajazet, I bid thee live. So much my soul disdains That thou should'st think I can fear aught but heaven; Nay more, could'st thou forget thy brutal fierceness, And form thyself to manhood, I would bid thee Live, and be still a king, that thou may'st learn What man should be to man This royal tent, with such of thy domestics As can be found, shall wait upon thy service; Nor will I use my fortune to demand Hard terms of peace; but such as thou may'st offer With honour, I with honour may receive. EDWIN AND EMMA. FAR, in the windings of a vale, Fast by a sheltering wood, The safe retreat of health and peace, A humble cottage stood. There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair 'Beneath a mother's eye, Whose only wish on earth was now To see her blest and die. The United States Speaker. 135 The softest blush that nature spreads, Gave colour to her cheek; Such orient colour smiles through heav'n When May's sweet mornings break. Nor let the pride of great ones scorn The charmer of the plains; That sun which bids their diamond blaze, To deck our lily deigns. Long had she fir'd each youth with love, Each maiden with despair; And tho' by all a wonder own'd, Yet knew not she was fair. Till Edwin came, the pride of swairis, A soul that knew no art, And from whose eyes serenely mild, Shone forth the feeling heart. A mutual flame was quickly caught, Was quickly too reveal'd; For neither bosom lodg'd a wish Which virtue keeps conceal'd. What happy hours of heartfelt bliss Did love on both bestow! But bliss too mighty long to last, Where fortune proves a foe. His sister, who like envy form'd, Like her in mischief joy'd, To work them harm, with wicked skill, Each darker art employ'd. The father too, a sordid man, Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the rock From whence his riches grew. Long had he seen their mutual flame, And seen it long unmov'd; Then with a father's frown at last, He sternly disapprov'd. In Edwin's gentle heart a war Of differing passions strove; His heart, which durst not disobey, Yet could not cease to love. 136 The United States Speaker. Denied her sight, he oft behind The spreading hawthorn crept To snatch a glance, to mark the spot Where Emma walk'd and wept. Oft too in Stanemore's wintry waste, Beneath the moonlight shade, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul, The midnight mourner stray'd. His cheeks, where love with beauty glow'd, A deadly pale o'ercast; So fades the fresh rose in its prime, Before the northern blast. The parents now, with late remorse. Hung o'er his dying bed, And wearied heav'n with fruitless pray'rs, And fruitless sorrows shed. 'Tis past, he cried, but if your souls Sweet mercy yet can move, Let these dim eyes once more behold What they must ever love. She came; his cold hand softly touch'd, And bath'd with many a tear; First falling o'er the primrose pale, So morning dews appear. But oh! his sister's jealous care, (A cruel sister she!) Forbad what Emma came to say, My Edwin live for me. Now homeward as she hopeless went, The church yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Her lover's funeral song. Amid the falling gloom of night, Her startling fancy found In ev'ry bush his hovering shade, His groan in every sound. Alone, appall'd, thus had she passed The visionary vale, When lo! the death-bell smote her ear, Sad sounding in the gale. The United States Speaker. 137 Just then she reach'd with trembling steps, Her aged mother's door! He's gone, she cried, and I must see That angel face no more! I feel, I feel, this breaking heart Beat high against my side: From her white arm down sunk her head, She shiver'd, sigh'd and died. MEDDLESOME MATTY. O how one ugly trick has spoiled, The sweetest and the best! Matilda though a pleasant child, One ugly trick possessed, Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities. Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid To peep at what was in it; Or tilt the kettle if you did But turn your back a minute. In vain you told her not to touch, Her trick of meddling grew so much. Her grandmamma went out one day, And by mistake she laid Her spectacles and snuff-box gay, Too near the little maid; Ah! well, thought she, I'll try them on, As soon as grandmamma is gone. Forthwith she placed upon her nose, The glasses, large and wide; And looking round, as I suppose, The snuff-box too she spied; O what a pretty box is this, I'll open it, said little miss. I know that grandmamma would say, Don't meddle with it dear; But then she's far enough away And no one else is near; The it 138 The United States Speaker. 馨 ​Besides, what can there be amiss, In opening such a box as this? So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid; And presently a mighty jerk, The mighty mischief did; For all at once, ah! woful case, The snuff came puffing in her face! Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth and chin, 2 A dismal sight presented; And as the snuff got further in, Sincerely she repented; In vain she ran about for ease, She could do nothing else but sneeze! She dashed the spectacles away, To wipe her tingling eyes; And as in twenty bits they lay, Her grandmamma she spies. Hey day! and what's the matter now? Cried grandmamma with lifted brow. Matilda, smarting with the pain, And tingling still and sore, Made many a promise, to refrain From meddling evermore; And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, She ever since has kept her word. SCENES FROM THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO. SCENE 1. A Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady, Know of your love? Othello. He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask? ago. But for a satisfaction of my thought; No farther harm. Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago? Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted with it. The United States Speaker. 139 Oth. O yes; and went between us very often Iago. Indeed! Oth. Ay, indeed. Is he not honest? Discern'st thou aught from that? Iago. Honest, my lord? Oth. Honest, ay, honest! Iago. My lord-for aught-for aught I know. Oth. What dost thou think of? Iago. Think of, my lord! Oth. Think of, my lord! Why dost thou echo me, As if there was some monster in thy thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something; I heard thee say but now, thou liked'st not that, When Cassio left my wife. What did'st not like? And when I told thee, he was of my counsel, In my whole course of wooing, thou cried'st "Indeed!" And didst contract and purse thy brows together, As if thou then had'st shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. Iago. My lord, you know I love you. Oth. I think thou dost, And as I know thou'rt full of honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: For such things in a false, disloyal knave, Are tricks of custom; but in a man, that's just, They're distillations working from the heart, Which passion cannot rule. Therefore I tell thee Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou think'st him wrong'd, and makʼst his ear A stranger to thy thought. Iago. I do beseech you, From one, that so imperfectly conceits, Your wisdom would not build yourself a trouble Out of my scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet, nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, and wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. Oth. What dost thou mean? Iago. Good name in man, or woman, dear my lord, 140 The United States Speaker. Is the immediate jewel of their souls. Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something-no- thing- Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he who filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches him, But makes me poor indeed. Oth. I'll know thy thoughts. Iago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand : Beware, my lord, beware of jealousy, That ghastly green ey'd monster, which doth make The meat it feeds on. The injur'd husband's happy, Who, certain of his fate, loves not his traitress: But, oh, what cruel minutes tells he o'er, Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves. Oth. O misery! Aside Iago. Poor and content, is rich and rich enough: But wealth unbounded is as poor as winter To him, who ever fears he shall be poor- I doubt, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. Oth. Not a jot. Not a jot. Farewell. If thou dost more perceive, let me know more. [Exit Iago. Why did I marry? this honest fellow, doubtless, Sees, and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. He knows all qualities, with a learn'd spirit Of human dealings-should I prove her faithless, Tho' that her charms were bodied with my heart, I'd rend it into twain, to throw her from me. SCENE II. Iago. [Alone.] I will in Cassio's lodging drop this handkerchief, That he may find it; then persuade the Moor, His wife did give it-trifles light as air, Are to the jealous confirmation strong As proofs from holy writ. This will work mischief, Dangerous conceits are in their nature poisons, Which at the first are scarce found to distaste; But with a little action on the blood, Burn like the mines of sulphur. 'Tis as I said ;- [Othello appears. The United States Speaker. 141 • Look where he comes! Not all the drowsy potions, That e'er calm'd raging anguish to repose, Shall medicine thee to that blessed sleep, Which thou ow'dst the past night. Enter OTHELLO. Oth. Ha! false to me! Does not see IAGO. Iago. How now, noble general? No more of that. Oth. Avaunt! begone! Thou'st set me on the rack. Better unknowing, to be much abus'd Than but to doubt the least. Iago. How, my lord? Oth. What sense had I of her unfaithfulness? I thought not of it; felt no injury; I slept untroubled; I wak'd free and cheerful. O now, farewell forever blessed peace Of mind! Farewell the tranquil breast, The plumed troops, the thunders of the war, The fire of valour, and the pride of triumph. Othello is a wicked woman's mock'ry. Iago. Is't possible, my lord, you should be thus- Oth. Villain! be sure thou prove my love a traitress, [Catching him by the throat.] Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, 'Twere better for thee to have been born a dog, Than answer my wak'd wrath. Iago. Is it come to this; good heav'n defend me! Are you a man? Have you a soul, or sense? I've done. Take my office-wretched fool, That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice! O monstrous world! What times are we fall'n upon? To be direct and honest, is not safe. I thank you for this profit, and henceforth I'll love no friend; since love breeds such offence. Oth. Nay, stay-thou should'st be honest. Iago. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool, That loses what it works for. Oth. In my anguish [Going. I think my wife is honest, and think she is not; I think that thou art just, and that thou art not. I'll have some proof. Her fame that was as fresh 142 The United States Speaker. As Dian's vige, is now begrim'd and black As mine own face. If there be cords or knives, Poison or fire, or suffocating steams, I'll not endure it. Would I were but satisfied. Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion I do repent me that I ever started it. Oth. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. Iago. I do not like the office: But since I'm enter'd in this cause so far, Urg'd on by foolish honesty of friendship, I must go on, or bear the name of slanderer. I lay in the same room with Cassio lately, And being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleep. There is a kind of men, So loose of soul, that in their sleep will mutter All their affairs. One of this kind is Cassio. In sleep I heard him say, "Sweet Desdemona! Let us be wary; let us hide our loves; O cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor.' Oth. O monstrous! I will tear her limb from limb. Iago. Nay, but be calm. This may be nothing yet; She may be honest still. But tell me this, Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand? Oth. I gave her such a one, 'Twas my first gift. Iago. That I knew not. But such a handkerchief (I am sure it was the same) did I to-day See Cassio wipe his beard with. Oth. O that the slave had twenty thousand lives! One is too poor-too weak for my revenge. Iago. Yet be patient, sir. Oth. O blood, blood, blood! Hot, reeking blood shall wash the pois'nous stain, Which fouls mine honour. From this hour, my thoughts Shall ne'er look back, nor ebb to humble love's, 'Till a capacious, and wide revenge, Equal to their gross guilt, swallows them up. Come, go with me apart. I will withdraw To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair sorceress, and her smooth adulterer. From hence thou'rt my lieutenant, Iago. As you will, sir. 143 THE WONDERS OF NATURE. How mighty! how majestic! and how mysterious are nature's works! When the air is calm, where sleep the stormy winds? In what chambers are they reposed, or in what dungeons confined? But when he, "who holds them in his fiat," is pleased to awaken their rage, and throw open their prison doors, then, with irresistible impetuosity, they rush forth, scattering dread, and menacing destruction. The atmosphere is hurled into the most tumultuous confusion. The aereal torrent bursts its way over mountains, seas, and continents. All things feel the dreadful shock. All things tremble before the furious blast. The forest, vexed and torn, groans under the scourge. Her sturdy sons are strained to the very root, and almost sweep the soil they were wont to shade. The stubborn oak, that disdains to bend, is dashed head- long to the ground; and, with shattered arms, with prostrate trunk, blocks up the road. While the flexile reed, that springs up in the marsh, yielding to the gust, (as the meek and pliant temper to injuries, or the re- signed and patient spirit to misfortunes,) eludes the force of the storm, and survives amidst the wide spread havoc. For a moment, the turbulent and outrageous sky seems to be assuaged; but it intermits its wrath, only to in- crease its strength. Soon the sounding squadrons of the air return to the attack, and renew their ravages with redoubled fury. The stately dome rocks amidst the wheeling clouds. The impregnable tower totters on its basis, and threatens to overwhelm whom it was intended to protect. The ragged rocks are rent in pieces; and even the hills, the perpetual hills, on their deep foundations, are scarcely secure. Where now is the place of safety? when the city reels, and houses be- come heaps! Sleep affrighted flies. Diversion is turned into horror. All is uproar in the elements; all is con- sternation among mortals; and nothing but one wide scene of rueful devastation through the land. The ocean swells with tremendous commotions. The ponderous waves are heaved from their capacious 44 The United States Speaker. bed, and almost lay bare the unfathomable deep. Flung into the most rapid agitation, they sweep over the rocks; they lash the lofty cliffs, and toss themselves into the clouds. Navies are rent from their anchors; and, with all their enormous load, are whirled swift as the arrow, wild as the winds, along the vast abyss. Now they climb the rolling mountain; they plough the frightful ridge; and seem to skim the skies. Anon they plunge into the opening gulf; they lose the sight of day; and are lost themselves to every eye. "" How vain is the pilot's art; how impotent the ma- riner's strength! "They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man.' Despair is in every face, and death sits threatening on every surge. But when Omnipotence pleases to command, the storm is hushed to silence; the lightnings lay aside their fiery bolts, and the billows cease to roll. THE MARINER'S DREAM. In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay, His hammock slung loose at the sport of the wind, While watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away And visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind. He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn, While mem'ry stood sideways, half cover'd with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise; Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall, All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of lov❜d ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear, And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The United States Speaker. 145 The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, Joy quickens his pulse, all his hardships seem o'er, A murmur of happiness steals through his rest, "Oh God thou hast blest me, I ask for no more!" Ah! what is that flame which now bursts on his eye! Ah! whence is that sound which now larums his ear! 'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky, 'Tis the crashing of thunders; the groan of the sphere! He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck, Amazement.confronts him with images dire; Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck, The masts fly in splinters, the shrouds are on fire. Like mountains the billows tremendously swell, In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save, Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, And the death angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave. Oh sailor boy! wo to thy dream of delight, In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss! Where now is the picture thy fancy touch'd bright, Thy parents' fond pressure and love's honied kiss? Oh sailor boy! sailor boy, never again • Shall home, love or kindred thy wishes repay, But unwept and unhonour'd down deep in the main, Full many a score fathom thy frame shall decay. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance of thee, Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be, And winds in the midnight of winter, thy dirge; Days, months, years and ages shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll, Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye, Oh sailor boy, sailor boy, peace to thy soul! MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN. WHO is she, poor maniac, whose wildly-fix'd eyes Seems a heart overcharg'd to express?- N 146 The United States Speaker. She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs; She never complains-but her silence implies The composure of settled distress. No aid, no compassion, the maniac will seek, Cold and hunger awake not her care; Thro' the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak On her poor wither'd bosom, half bare, and her cheek Has the deadly pale hue of despair. Yet cheerful and happy (nor distant the day) Poor Mary the maniac has been; The trav❜ller remembers, who journied this way, No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay, As Mary, the maid of the inn. Her cheerful address fill'd the guests with delight, As she welcom'd them in with a smile; Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, And Mary would walk by the abbey at night, When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. She lov'd-and young Richard had settled the day- And she hop'd to be happy for life: But Richard was idle and worthless; and they Who knew him would pity poor Mary, and say, That she was too good for his wife. 'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,' And fast were the windows and door; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, And smoking in silence with tranquil delight, They listen'd to hear the wind roar. "'Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fire side, To hear the wind whistle without.” "A fine night for the abbey," his comrade replied: "Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, Who should wander the ruins about. "I myself, like a school boy, should tremble to hear The hoarse ivy shake over my head; And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear, For this wind might awaken the dead." The United States Speaker. 147 "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, "That Mary would venture there now." "Then wager and lose," with a sneer he replied, "I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, And faint if she saw a white cow. "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" His companion exclaim'd with a smile; "I shall win, for I know she shall venture there now, And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough From the alder that grows in the aisle." With fearless good humour did Mary comply, And the way to the abbey she bent; The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high, And, as hollowly howling, it swept through the sky, She shivered with cold as she went. O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid, Where the abbey rose dim on her sight; Through the gateway she enter'd, she felt not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Howl'd dismally round the old pile; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she pass'd, And arriv'd at the innermost ruin at last, Where the alder tree grew in the aisle. Well pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near, And hastily gather'd the bough; When the sound of a voice, seem'd to rise on her ear- She paus'd, and she listen'd, all eager to hear, And her heart panted fearfully now. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head; She listen'd;-nought else could she hear. The wind ceas'd, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread Of footsteps approaching her near. Behind a white column, half breathless with fear, She crept to conceal herself there; That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear, And between them a corpse did they bear. 148 The United States Speaker. Then Mary could feel her heart blood curdle cold; Again the rough wind hurried by- It blew off the hat of the one, and behold! Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd: She fell and expected to die. "Curse the hat!"-he exclaims-"Nay, come on, and first hide The dead body," his comrade replies. She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, And fast through the abbey she flies. She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, She cast her eyes horribly round: Her limbs could support their faint burden no more; But, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor, Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, For a moment the hat met her view; Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, oh God! what cold horror thrill'd thro' her heart When the name of her Richard she knew! Where the old abbey stands, on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen; Not far from the inn it engages the eye, The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn. SCENES FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. Enter SHYLOCK, SOLARINO, ANTONIO, and the JAILER. Shy. Jailer, look to him:-Tell not me of mercy; This is the fool that lent out money gratis; Jailer, look to him. Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond; I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond. Thou call'dst me dog before thou had'st a cause; But since I am a dog, beware my fangs; The United States Speaker. 149 The duke shall grant me justice.-I do wonder, Thou naughty jailer, that thou art so fond To come abroad with him at his request. Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. Shy. I'll have my bond ;-I will not hear thee speak. I'll have my bond, and therefore speak no more. I'll not be made a dull and soft ey'd fool, To shake the head, relent, and sigh and yield To Christian intercessors. Follow not; I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond. Sola. It is the most impenetrable cur That ever kept with men. Ant. Let him alone; I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers: He seeks my life; his reasons well I know: I oft delivered from his forfeitures Many that have at times made moan to me,, Therefore he hates me. Sola. I hope the duke Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law; For the commodity that strangers have With us in Venice, if it be denied, Will much impeach the justice of the state, Since that the trade and profit of the city, Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go, These griefs and losses have so 'bated me, I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh To-morrow to my bloody creditor.- Well, jailer on Pray God, Bassanio come To see me pay his debt, and then I care not. [Exit. 【Exit. Enter the DUKE, the SENATORS, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, and others. Duke. What, is Antonio here? Ant. Ready, so please your grace. Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer A strong adversary, an inhuman wretch Incapable of pity, void and empty From any dram of mercy. Ant. I have heard Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify Ne 150 The United States Speaker. His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, And that no lawful means can carry me Out of his envy's reach; I do oppose My patience to his fury; and am arm'd To suffer with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his. Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. Sal. He's ready at the door: he comes, my lord. Enter SHYLOCK. Duke. Make room and let him stand before our face. -Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, That thou but leadst this fashion of thy malice To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought, Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; And, where thou now exactest the penalty, Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, Forgive a moiety of the principal; Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, That have of late so huddled on his back, Enough to press a royal merchant down, And pluck commiseration of his state From massy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint; We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose, And by our holy sabbath have I sworn, To have the due and forfeit of my bond: If you deny it, let the danger light Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that; But say it is my humour: Is it answered? What if my house be troubled with a rat, And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned? What, are you answered yet? Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answers. The United States Speaker. 151 * Bass. Do all men kill the thing they do not love? Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew, You may as well go stand upon the beach, And bid the main flood 'bate his usual height; You may as well use question with the wolf, Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; You may as well forbid the mountain pines, To wag their high tops; and to make no noise, When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven; You may as well do any thing most hard, As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) His Jewish heart :-Therefore, I do beseech you, Make no more offers, use no farther means, But, with all brief and plain conveniency, Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them, I would have my bond. Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none. Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? So do I answer you: The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it: If you deny me, fie upon your law! There is no force in the decrees of Venice: I stand for judgment: Answer, shall I have it; Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws. Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario what he writes: And here, I take it, is the doctor come. Give me your hand: came you from old Bellario? Por. I did, my lord. Duke. You are welcome; take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court? Por. I am informed thoroughly of the cause- Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? 152 The United States Speaker. Duke. Antonio, and old Shylock, both stand forth. Por. Is your name Shylock? Shy. Shylock is my name. Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed- [To Ant.] You stand within his danger, do you not? Ant. Ay, so he says. Por. Do you confess the bond? Ant. I do. Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven, Upon the place beneath: It is twice bless'd, It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: "Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes A throned monarch better than his crown: His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above the sceptre's sway, It is an attribute of God himself; An earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice: Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this- That in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: We do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, To mitigate the justice of thy plea. Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. Shy. My deed's upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the courts Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart. If this will not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, The United States Speaker. 153 Wrest once the law to your authority; To do a great right do a little wrong; And curb this cruel monster of his will. Por. It must not be; there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established; 'Twill be recorded for a precedent; And many an error, by the same example, Will rush into the state: it cannot be. Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel! O wise young judge, how do I honour thee! Por. I pray you let me look upon the bond. Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. Por. Shylock, there's twice thy money offer'd thee. Shy. An oath, an oath,-I have an oath in heaven: Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? No, not for Venice. Por. Why this bond is forfeit; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant's heart.-Be merciful; Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor.— It doth appear you are a worthy judge; You know the law; your exposition Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment: There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me; I stay here on my bond. Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court To give the judgment. Por. Why, then, thus it is: You must prepare your bosom for his knife. Shy. O noble judge! O excellent young man! Por. For the intent and purpose of the law, Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due upon the bond. Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge! How much elder art thou than thy look! Por. Therefore lay bare thy bosom. Shy. Ay, his breast: 154 The United States Speaker. So says the bond:-Doth it not, noble judge, Nearest his heart, those are the very words. Por. It is so. The flesh? Are there balance here to weigh Shy. I have them ready. Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to death. Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? Por. It is not so expressed; but what of that? 'Twere good you do so much for charity. Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. Por. Come, merchant have you any thing to say? Ant. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd. Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare ye well! Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you: For herein fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom: It is still her use, To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, * To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, An age of poverty; from which lingering penance Of such a misery doth she cut me off. Shy. We trifle time; I pray thee, pursue sentence. Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine; The court awards it and the law doth give it. Shy. Most rightful judge! Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. Most learned judge!-A sentence; come, prepare. Por. Tarry a little; There is something else.- This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; The words expressly are, a pound of flesh: Then take thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; But, in cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate. Unto the state of Venice. Gra. O upright judge! Mark, Jew, O learned judge! Shy. Is that the law? Por. Thyself shall see the act: For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd, Thou shalt have justice more than thou desir'st. Gra. O learned judge!—Mark, Jew; a learned judge! The United States Speaker. 155 Shy. I take this offer then; pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go. Bass. Here is the money. Por. Soft; The Jew shall have all justice;-soft!-no haste ;- He shall have nothing but the penalty. Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less nor more, But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more, Or less than just a pound, be it but so much As makes it light or heavy, in the substance,. On the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale turn But in the estimation of a hair, Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Gra. A second Daniel! a Daniel, Jew! Now infidel, I have thee on the hip. Por. Why doth the Jew pause?-take thy forfeiture. Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. Bass. I have it ready for thee; here it is. Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court; He shall have merely justice, and his bond. Gra. A Daniel, still say I! a second Daniel!- I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not barely have my principal? Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Shy. Why then! I'll stay no longer question. Por. Tarry, Jew; The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice- If it be prov'd against an alien, That, by direct, or indirect attempts, He seek the life of any citizen, The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, Shall seize on half his goods: the other half Comes to the privy coffer of the state; And the offender's life lies at the mercy Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st: For it appears, by manifest proceeding, 156 The United States Speaker. That, indirectly, and directly, too, Thou hast contriv'd against the very life Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd The danger formerly by me rehears'd. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. Gra. Beg that thou may'st have leave to hang thyself; And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, Thou hast not left the value of a cord; Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. Duke. That thou may'st see the difference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it; For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; The other half comes to the general state, Which humbleness may change into a fine. Por. Ay, for the state; not for Antonio. Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that. You take my house, when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life, When you do take the means whereby I live. Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? Gra. A halter gratis; and leave to hang himself— Ant. So please my lord, the duke, and all the court, To quit the fine for one half of his goods; I am content, so he will let me have The other half in use,- That for this favour, He presently become a Christian; The other, that he do record a gift, Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. Duke. He shall do this; or else I do recant The pardon that I late pronounced here. Por. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say? Shy. I am content Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; I am not well; send the deed after me, And I will sign it. 157 ODE ON THE PASSIONS. WHEN Music, heavenly maid! was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell; Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possessed beyond the Muse's painting. By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, From the supporting myrtles round, They snatch'd her instruments of sound; And, as they oft had heard apart, Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each, (for madness rul'd the hour,) Would prove his own expressive power. First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder'd laid; And back recoil'd, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made. i Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings, In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woful measure, wan Despair, Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd: A solemn, strange, and mingled air: 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure! Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still through all her song: And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smil'd and wav'd her golden hair; 158 The United States Speaker. And longer had she sung, but with a frown, Revenge impatient rose. He threw his blood stain'd sword in thunder down: And with a withering look, The war denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo; And ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side, Her soul subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While cach strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state; Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; And, now it courted Love; now, raving, called on Hate. With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd, Pale Melancholy sat retir'd; And, from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes, by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul, And dashing, soft, from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay, (Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lonely musing) In hollow murmurs died away. But, O how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known; The oak crown'd Sisters, and their chaste ey'd Queen, Satyrs and Sylvan Boys were seen, Peeping forth their alleys green : The United States Speaker. 159 Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear: And Sport leap'd up and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial, He with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addressed- But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol; Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing: While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love fram'd with mirth a gay fantastic round, (Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound) And he amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. BATTLE OF FLODDEN FIELD, and DEATH OF MARMION. AMID the scene of tumult high, They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly, While on the left, unseen the while, Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle. Though there the western mountaineer Rush'd with bare bosom on the spear, And flung the feeble targe aside, And with both hands the broadsword plied. 'Twas vain.-But fortune on the right, With fickle smile cheer'd Scotland's fight; Then fell that spotless banner white, The Howard's lion fell; Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew, With wavering flight, while fiercer grew Around the battle yell. The border slogan rent the sky, Loud fell the clanging blows; Advanced, forced back, now low, now high, The pennon sunk and rose; } 愁 ​160 The United States Speaker. As bends the bark's mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It wavered mid the foes. 66 No longer Blount the view could bear: By heaven and all its saints I swear, I will not see it lost! Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare, May bid your beads and patter prayer- I gallop to the host." And to the fray he rode amain, Followed by all the archer train. The fiery youth, with desperate charge, Made, for a space, an opening large, The rescued banner rose· But darkly closed the war around, Like pine tree rooted from the ground, It sunk among the foes. Then Eustace mounted too;-yet staid As loth to leave the helpless maid, When fast as shaft can fly, Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread, The loose rein dangling from his head, Housing and saddle bloody red, Lord Marmion's steed rush'd by; And Eustace, maddening at the sight, A look and sign to Clara cast, To mark he would return in haste, Then plung'd into the fight. And soon straight up the hill there rode, Two horsemen drenched with gore, And in their arms, a helpless load, A wounded knight they bore; His hand still strain'd the broken brand, His arms were smeared with blood and sand. Dragg'd from among the horses' feet, With dinted shield and helmet beat, The falcon crest and plumage gone; Can that be haughty Marmion! Young Blount his armour did unlace, And gazing on his ghastly face, Said "By Saint George, he's gone! The United States Speaker. 16. The spear wound has our master sped: And see the deep cut on his head! Good night to Marmion!" "Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling cease, He opes his eyes," said Eustace, "peace!" When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare: "Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace, where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! Redeem my pennon-charge again! Cry, "Marmion to the rescue!"-Vain! Last of my race, on battle plain, That shout shall ne'er be heard again! Must I bid twice?-hence, varlets! fly! Leave Marmion here alone-to die.' With fruitless labour Clara bound, And strove to staunch, the gushing wound. The war, that for a space did fail, Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale, And, Stanley! was the cry; A light on Marmion's visage spread, And fired his glaring eye; With dying hand above his head He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted, "Victory!", Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on! Were the last words of Marmion. THE OLD BEGGAR. Do you see the old beggar who sits at yon gate- With his beard silver'd over like snow? Tho' he smiles as he meets the keen arrows of fate Still his bosom is wearied with wo. Many years has he sat at the foot of the hill, Many days seen the summer-sun rise; And at ev'ning the traveller passes him still, While the shadows steal over the skies. How mild is his aspect-how modest his eye- How meekly his soul bears each wrong! How much does he speak, by his eloquent sigh, Tho' no accent is heard from his tongue. 02 162 The United States Speaker. Time was when this beggar, in martial trim dight, Was as bold as the chief of his throng; When he march'd thro' the storms of the day or the night, And still smil'd as he journied along.- Then his form was athletic; his eye's vivid glance Spoke the lustre of youth's glowing day! And the village all mark'd, in the combat and dance, The brave younker still valiant as gay. When the prize was propos'd, how his footsteps would bound, While the maid of his heart led the throng While the ribands that circled the May-pole around, Wav'd the trophies of garlands among. But love o'er his bosom triumphantly reign'd, Love taught him in secret to pine; Love wasted his youth, yet he never complain’d- For the silence of love-is divine. Amidst the loud din of the battle he stood Like a lion, undaunted and strong; But the tear of compassion was mingled with blood, When his sword was the first in the throng. When the bullet whizzed by, and his arm bore away, Still he shrunk not, with anguish opprest; And when victory shouted the fate of the day, Not a groan check'd the joy of his breast.- To his dear native shore the poor wanderer hied, But he came to complete his despair; For the maid of his soul was that morning a bride, And a gay lordly rival was there. From that hour, o'er the world he has wander'd forlorn, But still love his companion would go: And though deeply fond memory planted his thorn, Still he silently cherish'd his wo; See him now, while with age and with sorrow opprest, He the gate opens slowly, and sighs! See him drop the big tears on his wo-wither'd breast,' The big tears that fall fast from his eyes! The United States Speaker. 163 See his habit all tatter'd, and shrivell'd cheek pale, See his locks, waving thin in the air; See his lips are half froze with the sharp cutting gale, And his head, o'er the temples, all bare. His eye beam no longer in lustre displays The warm sunshine that visits his breast; For deep sunk is its orbit, and darken'd its rays, And he sighs-for the grave's silent rest. See the tear which, imploring, is fearful to roll, Tho' in silence he bows as you stray; 'Tis the eloquent silence which speaks to the soul, 'Tis the star of his slow-setting day! Perchance, ere the May blossoms cheerfully wave, Ere the zephyrs of summer soft sigh, The sun-beams shall dance on the grass o'er his grave, And his journey be mark'd-TO THE SKY. BATTLE OF BEIL AND DUINE, THERE is no breeze upon the fern, No ripple on the lake, Upon her eyrie nods the erne, The deer has sought the brake; The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, That swathes as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill. Is it the thunder's solemn sound, That mutters deep and dread, Or echoes from the groaning ground, The warrior's measur'd tread? Is it the lightning's quivering glance, That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance The sun's retiring beams? I see the dagger crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star, 164 The United States Speaker, Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, That up the lake comes winding far! To hero bound for battle strife Or bard of martial lay, 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life One glance of their array. Their light arm'd archers far and near, Survey'd the tangled ground, Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, A twilight forest frown'd; Their barbed horsemen in the rear, The stern battalia crown'd. No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armour's clang, The sullen march was dumb. There breathed no wind their crest to shake, Or wave their flags abroad; Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake, That shadowed o'er their road. Their wayward scouts no tidings bring, Can rouse no lurking foe, Nor spy a trace of living thing, Save when they stirred the roe; The host moves like a deep-sea wave, Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, High swelling, dark, and slow. The lake is pass'd, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain, Before the Trosach's rugged jaws; And here the horse and spearmen pause, While to explore the dangerous glen, Dive through the pass the archer men. At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends from heaven that fell, Had peal'd the banner cry of hell! Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear; For life! for life! their plight they ply; And shriek, and shout, and battle cry, The United States Speaker. 165 And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in their rear. Onward they drive in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursued; Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall he keep its rooted place, The spearman's twilight wood? "Down, down," cried Mar, "your lances down! Bear back both friend and foe!" Like reeds before the tempest's frown, That serried grove of lances brown, At once lay levelled low; And closely shouldering side to side The bristling ranks the onset bide. "We'll quell the savage mountaineer As their hunters cow the game! They come as fleet as forest deer, We'll drive them back as tame.' Bearing before them in their course, The relics of the archer force, Like wave, with crest of sparkling foam, Right onward did Clan Alpine come. Above their tide each broadsword bright Was brandishing like beam of light, Each targe was dark below, And like the ocean's mighty swing, When heaving to the tempest's wing, They hurl'd them on the foe. I heard the lance's shivering crash, As when the whirlwind rends the ash; I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, As if a hundred anvils rang; But Moray wheel'd his rearward rank Of horsemen on Clan Alpine's flank, "My banner men advance! I see," he cried, "their column shake: Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake, Upon them with the lance.' The horsemen dash'd among the rout, As deer break through the broom; Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, They soon make lightsome room. 166 The United States Speaker. Clan Alpine's best are backward borne Where, where was Roderic, then? One blast upon his bugle horn, Were worth a thousand men. And refluent through the pass of fear The battle's tide was pour'd; Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear, Vanish'd the mountain sword. As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, Receives the roaring lynn, As the dark caverns of the deep, Suck the wild whirlpool in, So did the deep and darksome pass, Devour the battle's mingled mass; None linger now upon the plain, Save those who ne'er shall fight again. SCOTT. ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND THE FAIR IMOGENE. A WARRIOR SO bold, and a virgin so bright, Convers❜d as they sat on the green; They gaz'd on each other with tender delight; Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight- The maid's was the Fair Imogene. "And oh!" said the youth, "since to-morrow I go To fight in a far distant land, Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow; Some other will court you, and you will bestow On a wealthier suitor your hand!" "Oh! hush these suspicions," Fair Imogene said, "Offensive to love and to me: For, if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead, Shall husband of Imogene be. "If e'er I, by lust or by wealth led aside, Forget my Alonzo the Brave, God grant that, to punish my falsehood and pride, Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side, May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, And bear me away to the grave!” The United States Speaker. 167 To Palestine hasten'd the hero so bold; His love, she lamented him sore:- But scarce had a twelvemonth elapsed, when behold! A baron, all cover'd with jewels and gold, Arriv'd at Fair Imogene's door. His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain, Soon made her untrue to her vows: He dazzled her eyes, he bewilder'd her brain; He caught her affections so light and so vain, And carried her home as his spouse! And now had the marriage been blest by the priest; The revelry now was begun; The tables they groan'd with the weight of the feast, Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceas'd, When the bell at the castle toll'd-ONE! Then first with amazement Fair Imogene found That a stranger was plac'd by her side: His air was terrific, he utter'd no sound, He spake not, he mov'd not, he look'd not around- But earnestly gaz'd on the bride: His vizor was clos'd, and gigantic his height; His armour was sable to view: All pleasure and laughter were hush'd at his sight; The dogs, as they ey'd him, drew back in affright; The lights in the chamber burn'd blue! His presence all bosoms appear'd to dismay, The guests sat in silence and fear; At length spake the bride, while she trembled, "I pray, Sir knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, And deign to partake of our cheer!" The lady is silent; the stranger complies; His vizor he slowly unclos'd;- Oh, God! what a sight met Fair Imogene's eyes! What words can express her dismay and surprise, When a skeleton's head was expos'd! All present then utter'd a terrified shout, All turn'd with disgust from the scene; The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out; And sported his eyes and his temples about, Whilst the spectre address'd Imogene :- ? * 168 The United States Speaker. "Behold me, thou false one; behold me!" he cried; "Remember Alonzo the Brave! God grants, that, to punish thy falsehood and pride, My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side; Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride, And bear thee away to the grave!" Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound, While loudly she shriek'd in dismay; Then sunk with his prey through the wide yawning ground; Nor ever again was fair Imogene found, Or the spectre that bore her away! Not long liv'd the baron; and none, since that time, To inhabit the castle presume; For chronicles tell, that, by order sublime, There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime, And mourns her deplorable doom, At midnight, four times in each year, does her sprite, When mortals in slumber are bound, Array'd in her bridal apparel of white, Appear in the hall with the skeleton knight, And shrieks as he whirls her around! While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave, Dancing round them the spectres are seen: Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave They howl-"To the health of Alonzo the Brave, And his consort, the Fair Imogene!" THE LIGHTHOUSE. THE scene was more beautiful far to my eye Than if day in its pride had array'd it; The land breeze blew mild, and the azure arch'd sky Look'd as pure as the spirit that made it. The murmur rose soft as I silently gaz'd On the shadowy waves playful motion, From the dim distant hill 'till the lighthouse fire blaz'd, Like a star in the midst of the ocean The United States Speaker. 169 No longer the joy of the sailor boy's breast, Was heard in his wildly breath'd numbers, The sea bird had flown to her sea-girdled nest, The fisherman sunk to his slumbers. One moment I look'd from the hill's gentle slope, All hush'd was the billows' commotion, And thought that the lighthouse look'd lovely as hope, That star of life's tremulous ocean. The time is long pass'd, and the scene is afar, Yet when my head rests on its pillow, Will memory sometimes rekindle the star That blaz'd on the breast of the billow. In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, And death stills the heart's last emotion, O then may the seraph of mercy arise Like a star on eternity's ocean. 1 MOORE. 1 2 THE GIPSEY WANDERER. 'Twas night, and the farmer, his fire-side near, O'er a pipe quaff'd his ale, stout and old; The hinds were in bed, when a voice struck his ear, "Let me in, I beseech you!" just so ran the pray'r, "Let me in!-I am dying with cold!" To his servant, the farmer cried-" Sue, move thy feet, Admit the poor wretch from the storm; For our chimney will not lose a jot of its heat, Although the night wanderer may there find a seat, And beside our wood embers grow warm. >> At that instant a gipsey girl, humble in pace, Bent before him, his pity to crave: He, starting, exclaim'd, "wicked fiend, quit this place, A parent's curse 'light on the whole gipsey race! They have bow'd me almost to the grave!" "Good sir, as our tribe passed the church yard below, I just paused the tuft-graves to survey: I fancied the spot where my mother lies low, When suddenly came on a thick fall of snow- And I know not a step of my way." P 170 The United States Speaker. "This is craft," cried the farmer, "if I judge aright, I suspect thy cursed gang would be near: Thou would'st open the doors to the ruffians at night; Thy eyes o'er the plunder now rove with delight, And on me with sly treachery leer!" With a shriek on the floor, the young gipsey girl fell; Help!" cried Susan, " your child to uprear; (6 Your long stolen child!-she remembers you well,, And the terrors and joys in her bosom which swell, Are too mighty for nature to bear!" + THE FIRE-FLY LAMP. THEY made her a grave toò cold and damp For a soul so warm and true; And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long by the fire-fly lamp, She paddles her white canoe. 1 And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, And her paddle I soon shall hear, Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, When the footstep of death is near! Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds- His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled Juniper, beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, And man never trod before! And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, If slumber his eyelids knew, He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear, and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew! And near him, the she-wolf stirred the brake, And the copper-snake breath'd in his ear, Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, "Oh! when shall I see the dusky lake, And the white canoe of my dear?' The United States Speaker 171 He saw the lake, and a meteor bright, Quick over its surface play'd- "Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light!" And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, The name of the death-cold maid! Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark, Which carried him off from the shore; Far he followed the meteor spark, The wind was high and the clouds were dark, And the boat return'd no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp, This lover and maid so true, Are seen at the hour of midnight damp, To cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp, And paddle their white canoe! MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY. Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle tow'rd my hand? come, let me clutch thee.- I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation Proceeding from the heat oppress'd brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw.. Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses, Or else worth all the rest- I see thee still; And on the blade of the dudgeon, goots of blood, Which was not so before.- -There's no such thing.- It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er one half the world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd Murther, (Alarm'd by his centinel, the wolf, 172 The United States Speaker. Whose howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rds his design Moves like a ghost.-Thou sound and firm set earth Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear The very stones prate of my where-about: And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it.Whilst I threat, he lives— I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell. SHAKSPEARE. DESCRIPTION OF A BATTLE IN LALLA ROOKH. of BUT see-he starts-what heard he then? That dreadful shout-across the glen From the land side it comes, and loud Rings through the chasm: as if the crowd Of fearful things that haunt that dell, Its Ghodes and Dives and shapes of hell, Had all in one dread howl broke out, So loud, so terrible, that shout. "They come! the Moslems come!" he cries, His proud soul mounting to his eyes- Their swords, as with instinctive leap, Together at that cry accurst, Had from their sheaths like sunbeams burst. And hark! again, again it rings; Near and more near its echoings Peal through the chasm-O, who that then Had seen those listening warrior-men, With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of flame Turn'd on their chief, could doubt the shame, The indignant shame with which they thrill To hear those shouts, and yēt stand stilk He read their thoughts, they were his own- "What! while our arms can wield these blades, Shall we die tamely? die alone? Without one victim to our shades? No, though of all earth's hope bereft, Life, swords, and vengeance still are left." The United States Speaker. 173 Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, While vigour more than human, strung Each arm and heart-The exulting foe Still through the dark defiles below, Track'd by his torches' lurid fire, Wound slow, as through Golconda's vale, The mighty serpent in his ire, Glides on with glittering deadly trail. No torch the Ghebers need-so well They knew each mystery of the dell, So oft have in their wanderings, Cross'd the wild race that round them dwell, The very tigers from their delves Look out, and let them pass as things Untam'd and fearless like themselves! There was a dark ravine, that lay Yet darkling in the Moslem's way; Fit spot to make invaders rue The many fallen before the few. The torrents from that morning's sky Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast high; And on each side aloft and wild, Huge cliffs and topping crags were piled, The guards with which young freedom lines, The pathways to her mountain shrines. Here at this pass the scanty band Of Iran's last avengers stand; Here wait in silence like the dead, And listen for the Moslem's tread So anxiously, the carrion bird Above them flaps his wings unheard! They come that plunge into the water Gives signal for the work of slaughter. Now Ghebers, now--if e'er your blades Had point or prowess, prove them now-- Wo to the file that foremost wades! They come a falchion greets each brow, And as they tumble trunk on trunk, Beneath the gory waters sunk, Still o'er their drowning bodies press New victims quick and numberless, P 2 174 The United States Speaker. Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band, So fierce their toil, has power to stir, But listless from each crimson hand The word hangs clogg'd with massacre. Never was horde of tyrants met With bloodier welcome-never yet To patriot vengeance hath the sword More terrible libations pour'd! But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, Still hundreds, thousands more succeed; To this terrific spot they pour, Till bridg'd with Moslem bodies o'er It bears aloft their slippery tread, And o'er the dying and the dead, Tremendous causeway! on they pass. Then hapless Ghebers; then, alas! What hope was left for you; for you Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice Is smoking in their vengeful eyes- Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew, And burn with shame to find how few. Crush'd down by that vast multitude, Some found their graves where first they stood; While some with hardier struggle died, And still fought on by Hafed's side, Who fronting to the foe, trod back Towards the tower his gory track, And as a lion swept away By sudden swell of Ganges' pride, From the wild covert where he lay, Long battles with the o'erwhelming tide, So fought he back with fierce delay, And kept both foes and fate at bay. He reach'd the tower, aloft, alone, Upon the steep way breathless thrown, He lay beside his reeking blade; Resign'd, as if life's task were o❜er, Its last blood offering amply paid 'And Iran's self could claim no more. A voice spoke near him-'twas the tone Of a lov'd friend, the only one The United States Speaker. 175 Of all his warriors, left with life From that short night's tremendous strife "And must we then, my chief, die here? Foes round us, and the shrine so near!" These words arous'd the last remains Of life within him-"What! not yet Beyond the reach of Moslem chains!" The thought shall make e'en death forget His icy bondage-with a bound He springs all bleeding from the ground, He grasps his comrade's arm, now grown Even feebler, heavier than his own, And up the painful pathway leads, Death gaining 'on each step he treads. 2 ་ Speed them, thou God, who heard'st their vow! They mount-they bleed-O save them now- The crags are red, they've clamber'd o'er, The rock-weed's dripping with their gore- Thy blade too, Hafed, false at length, Now breaks beneath thy tottering strength- Haste, haste, the voices of the foe Come near and nearer from below. One effort more-thank heaven 'tis past, They've gain'd the topmost steep at last. And now they touch the temple's walls, Now Hafed sees the fire divine- When lo! his weak worn comrade falls Dead on the threshold of the shrine. Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled! And must I leave thee withering here? The sport for every ruffian's tread, The mark for every coward's spear? No, by yon altar's sacred beams! He cries, and with a strength that seems Not of this world, uplifts the frame Of the fall'n chief, and tow’rds the flame Bears him along;-with death damp hand The corpse upon the pyre he lays, Then lights the consecrated brand, And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's sea- "Now Freedom's God, I come to thee," 1 176 The United States' Speaker. The youth exclaims, and with a smile Of triumph, vaulting on the pile, In that last effort, ere the fires Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires! LAY OF THE LAST IRISH HARPER. Ан! dark are the halls where your ancestors revell'd, And mute is the harp that enliven'd the day; The tow'rs they dwelt in are awfully levell'd— The signs of their greatness are sunk in decay Where is the chief, that strode forward to glory? Where is the bard that told valour's dread story? Alas! they are gone, and the years now before you Are faintly illumin'd by fame's setting ray. O Erin! whilst life in this bosom is swelling, Shall I neglect thee-the land of my birth! On thy mountains I'll hold with sweet friendship my dwelling, I And hymn forth thy praises, thou favoured earth: Beauty shall weave rosy garlands beside me, Peace round thy shores shall with plenty provide me, In thy prosperous hour, O my country, I'll pride me, And the trials that point to the nations thy worth. PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF CATO. To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart, To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold; For this the tragic muse first trod the stage, Commanding tears to stream through every age; Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move The hero's glory or the virgin's love The United States Speaker. 177 In pitying love we but our weakness show, And wild ambition well deserves its wo. Here tears shall flow from a more generous cause; Such tears as patriots shed for dying-laws: He bids your breast with ancient ardours rise, And calls forth Roman drops from other eyes; Virtue confess'd in human shape he draws, What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was : No common object to your sight displays, But what, with pleasure, heaven itself surveys: A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state! While Cato gives his little senate laws, What bosom beats not in his country's cause? Who sees him act, but envies every deed? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? E'en when proud Cæsar, midst triumphal cars, The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, Ignobly vain, and impotently great, Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state: As her dead father's rev'rend image pass'd, The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast, The triumph ceas'd-tears gush'd from every eye, The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by; Her last good man, dejected Rome ador'd, And honour'd Cæsar's, less than Cato's sword. Let all attend. Be worth like this approv'd: And show you have the virtue to be mov'd. With honest scorn the first fam'd Cato view'd, Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subdu❜d. Our scene precariously subsists too long On French translation, and Italian song. Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the stage: Be justly warm'd with your own native rage. Such plays alone should please the virtuous ear, As Cato's self had not disdain'd to hear. HOT COCKLES. Charles. Brother, all our friends have left us, and yet I am n-still in a playing humour. What game shall we choose? 178 The United States Speaker. # Henry. There are only two of us, and I am afraid we should not be much diverted. Cha. Let us play at something, however. Hen. But at what? Cha. At blindman's buff, for instance. Hen. That is a game that would never end. It would not be as if there were a dozen, of which number some are generally off their guard: but where there are only two, I should not find it difficult to shun you, or you me: and then when we had caught each other, we should know for certain who it was. Cha. That is true, indeed. Well, then, what think you of Hot Cockles? Hen. That would be the same, you know. We could not possibly guess wrong. Cha. Perhaps we might. However, let us try. Hen. With all my heart, if it will please you. here, if you like it, I will be hot cockles first. Look Cha. Do, brother. Put your right hand on the bot- tom of this chair. Now stoop down, and lay your face close upon it, that you may not see. [He does so.] That is well-and now your left hand on your back. Well, Master!-But I hope your eyes are shut. [Carefully look- ing round to see.] Hen. Yes, yes; do not be afraid. Cha. Well, Master, what have you to self?- Hen. Hot Cockles! hot! Cha. [Slapping him with his left hand.] Who struck? Hen. Getting up.] Why you, you little goose? Cha. Yes, yes; but with which hand? Hen. The the right. Cha. No, it was the left. Now you are the goose. - Að ! THE BABE. 'Twas on a cliff, whose rocky base Baffled the briny wave;- Whose cultur'd heights their verdant store To many tenants gave, 1 The United States Speaker. 179 A mother, led by rustic cares, Had wander'd with her child; Unwean'd the babe-yet on the grass He frolick'd and he smil'd. With what delight the mother glow'd To mark the infant's joy: How oft would pause, amidst her toil, To contemplate her boy. Yet soon, by other cares estrang'd, Her thoughts the child forsook; Careless he wanton'd on the ground, Nor caught his mother's look. Cropt was each flow'r that caught his eye, 'Till scrambling o'er the green, He gain'd the cliff's unshelter'd edge, And pleas'd, survey'd the scene. 'Twas now, the mother from her toil, Turn'd to survey the child- The urchin gone, her cheeks were flush'd, Her wandering eye was wild! She saw him on the cliff's rude brink- Now careless peeping o'er- He turn'd, and to his mother smil'd, Then sported as before. Sunk was her voice, 'twas vain to fly, 'Twas vain the brink to brave; Oh, nature! it was thine alone To prompt the means to save! She tore the kerchief from her breast, And laid her bosom bare; He saw delighted-left the brink, And sought to banquet there. * OCTAVIAN. I CANNOT sleep.-The leaves are newly pull'd; And as my burning body presses them, Their freshness mocks my misery.-That frets me- 180 The United States Speaker. 1 And then I could outwatch the lynx. 'Tis dawn.- Thou hot and rolling sun! I rise before thee! For I have twice thy scorching flames within me,' And am more restless. Now to seek my willow- That droops his mournful head across the brook : He is my calendar; I'll score his trunk, With one more long, long day of solitude! I shall lose count else, in my wretchedness; And that were pity.- Oh, Octavian! Where are the times thy ardent nature painted, When fortune smil'd upon thy lusty youth, And all was sunshine?-where the look'd for years, Gayly bedeck'd with fancy's imagery, When the high blood ran frolic through thy veins, And boyhood made thee sanguine?-let them vanish: Prosperity's a cheat-despair is honest; And will stick by me, steadily-I'll hug it- Will glut on't-why the graybeard tore her from me, Even in my soul's fond dotage. O, 'tis pastime To see men, now, tug at each other's hearts; I fear not for my strings are crack'd already. I will go prowl-but look I meet no fathers. Now, willow-Floranthe! O Floranthe! OTHELLO'S APOLOGY FOR HIS MARRIAGE, Most potent, grave and reverend seigniors: My very noble and approv'd good masters: That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in speech, And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years' rith, Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd Their dearest action in the tented field; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broils and battle; And therefore little shall I grace my cause, In speaking of myself. Yet by your patience, The United States Speaker. 181 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver, Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic, (For such proceedings I am charg'd withal,) I won his daughter with. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; Still questioned me the story of my life From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I had past. I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances; Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And with it all my travel's history. -All these to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline, But still the house affairs would draw her thence; Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse. Which I observing Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage relate; Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not distinctly. I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs. She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful; 'twas wondrous pitiful; She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man. She thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. On this hint I spake; She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd; And I lov'd her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft which I've us’d. ર 182 LADY FROZEN TO A STATUE. ON Dove's green brink the fair Tremella stood, And view'd her playful image in the flood; To each rude rock, lone dell, and echoing grove, Sung the sweet sorrows of her secret love. "Oh stay!-return!"-along the sounding shore Cry'd the sad Naiads,—she return'd no more!— Now girt with clouds the sullen evening frown'd, And withering Eurus swept along the ground; The misty moon withdrew her horned light, And sunk with Hesper in the skirt of night; No dim electric streams, (the northern dawn,) With meek effulgence quiver'd o'er the lawn; No star benignant shot one transient ray, To guide or light the wanderer on her way. Round the dark crags the murmuring whirlwinds blow, Woods groan above, and waters roar below; As o'er the steeps with pausing foot she moves, The pitying Dryads shriek amid their groves. She flies-she stops-she pants-she looks behind, And hears a demon howl in every wind. -As the bleak blast unfurls her fluttering vest, Cold beats the snow upon her shuddering breast; Through her numb'd limbs the chill sensations dart, And the keen ice-bolt trembles at her heart. "I sink, I fall! oh, help me, help!" she cries, Her stiffening tongue the unfinished sound denies; Tear after tear adown her cheek succeeds, And pearls of ice bestrew the glittering meads; Congealing snows her lingering feet surround, Arrest her flight, and root her to the ground; With suppliant arms she pours the silent prayer; Her suppliant arms hang crystal in the air; Pellucid films her shivering neck o'erspread, Seal her mute lips, and silver o'er her head; Veil her pale bosom, glaze her lifted hands, And, shrined in ice, the beauteous statue stands. -Dove's azure nymphs, on each revolving year, For fair Tremella shed the tender tear; With rush-wove crowns in sad procession move, And sound the sorrowing shell to hapless love 183 LADY SHOT IN BATTLE. So stood Eliza on the wood-crown'd height, O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight; Sought with bold eye amid the bloody strife Her dearer self, the partner of her life; From hill to hill the rushing host pursued, And view'd his banner, or believed she view'd. Pleas'd with the distant roar, with quicker tread Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led; And one fair girl amid the loud alarm Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm While round her brows bright beams of honour dart, And love's warm eddies circle round her heart. -Near and more near the intrepid beauty press'd, Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest; saw on his helm, her virgin hands inwove, Bright stars of gold, and mystic knots of love; Heard the exulting shout, "they run! they run!” Great God!" she cried, "he's safe! the battle's won!" A ball now hisses through the airy tides, Some fury wing'd it, and some demon guides!) Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck, Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck; The red stream, issuing from her azure veins, Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains.- "Ah me!" she cried, and, sinking on the ground, Kiss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound; "Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn! Wait, gushing life, oh wait my love's return!- Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far! The angel, Pity, shuns the walks of war!- Oh spare, ye war-hounds, spare the tender age!- On me, on me," she cried, "exhaust your rage!” Then with weak arms her weeping babes caress'd, And, sighing, hid them in her blood-stain'd vest. From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies, Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes; Eliza's name along the camp he calls, Eliza echoes through the canvass walls; Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead, 181 The United States Speaker. Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood, Lo! dead Eliza weltering in her blood!— £ -Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds, With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds:- 66 Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand, "Eliza sleeps upon the dew-cold sand; Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake- Why do you weep?-Mamma will soon awake." "She'll wake no more!" the hopeless mourner cried, Upturn'd his eyes, and clasp'd his hands, and sigh'd; Stretch'd on the ground awhile entranc'd he lay, And press'd warm kisses on the lifeless clay; And then upsprung with wild convulsive start, And all the father kindled in his heart; Oh, heavens!" he cried, " my first rash vow forgive! These bind to earth, for these I pray to live!". Round his chill babes he wrapp'd his crimson vest, And clasp'd them, sobbing, to his aching breast. LOT'S WIFE. THUS when loud thunders o'er Gomorrah burst, And heaving earthquakes shook his realms accurst, An angel guest led forth the trembling fair With shadowy hand, and warn'd the guiltless pair; "Haste from these lands of sin, ye righteous, fly, Speed the quick step, nor turn the lingering eyel”. Such the command, as fabling bards recite,- When Orpheus charm'd the grisly king of night; Sooth'd the pale phantoms with his plaintive lay, And led the fair assurgent into day. Wide yawn'd the earth, the fiery tempest flash'd, And towns and towers in one vast ruin crash'd; Onward they move,—loud horror roars behind, And shrieks of anguish bellow in the wind. With many a sob, amid a thousand fears, The beauteous wanderer pours her gushing tears; Each soft connexion rends her troubled breast, -She turns, unconscious of the stern behest!- "I faint!-I fall!-ah, me! sensations chill Shoot through my bones, my shuddering bosom thrill! * The United States Speaker. 185 I freeze! I freeze! just heaven regards my fault, Numbs my cold limbs, and hardens into salt! Not yet, not yet, your dying love resign!- This last, last kiss receive!-no longer thine!". She said, and ceased, her stiffen'd form he press'd, And strain❜d the briny column to his breast; Printed with quivering lips the lifeless snow, And wept, and gazed the monument of wo. So when Eneas through the flames of Troy Bore his pale sire, and led his lovely boy, With loitering step the fair Creusa stay'd, And death involved her in eternal shade.- -Oft the lone pilgrim, that his road forsakes, Marks the wide ruins, and the sulphur'd lakes; On mouldering piles amid asphaltic mud Hears the hoarse bittern, where Gomorrah stood; Recals the unhappy pair with lifted eye, Leans on the crystal tomb, and breathes the silent sigh. BRUTUS'S HARANGUE ON THE DEATH OF CÆSAR. ROMANS, Countrymen, and lovers!-Hear me for my cause; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honour; and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom! and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him, I say, that Brutus' love to Cæsar, was no less than his. If then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer: not that I loved Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves; than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death for his ambition. Who's here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him I have offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him I 42 186 } The United States Speaker. have offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him I have offended. I pause for, a reply None! Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar than you shall do to Brutus. The ques- tion of his death is enrolled in the capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth; as Which of you shall not? With this I depart-that as I my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the samdagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS. Lovel. The master of the house, disguised as a country boy. Philip.-His steward. Kitty.-A servant. Other servants, visiters. Enter PHILIP and KITTY with LovEL. Phil. Come, my boy, and see how we live in London. Where are John and Kingston, Kitty? Kit. Drunk as two bears. Phil. Poor fellows, I suppose they have been drinking their master's health, ha, ha, ha! Send them to bed, and let them sleep themselves sober, that they may be able to get drunk again by and by. Do you love drinking, Jemmy? Lov. Yees, I loves ale. Phil. Ale, you dog, you shall swim in Burgundy- You see how we live, boy. Lov. Yees, I sees how you live. Phil. Let the supper be elegant, Kitty. Kit. Who pays for it? Phil. Master, to be sure; who should, pray? Kit. Prithee, Philip, whose boy is this. Phil. An unlicked cub of Freeman's recommending. Lov. Yees, I be master Freeman's boy. Bows. The United States Speaker. 187 L Phil. Freeman is a stingy hound, and you may tell him I say so. He dines with my master three times a week, and I never saw the colour of his money yet. By the way, I intend the entertainment this evening, as a compliment to you, Kitty; but I beg I may see none of your airs, or hear of your French gibberish with the duke. Kit. Don't be jealous, Phil. Phil. I intend before our marriage to settle something handsome upon you, and with the five hundred pounds I have already saved in this extravagant fellow's house Lov. Five hundred pounds! Phil. Peace, blockhead. Kit. I'll tell you what you shall do, Phil; you shall set up a coffee house, my dear, and you know my educa- tion was a genteel one, I was a half boarder at Chelsea, and I speak French like a native, Comme voo porty vop, monsieur.?" Phil. Pshaw! pshaw! Kit. One is nothing without French. Do you speak French, boy? Lov. Hey! Kit. Hey, you fool! ha, ha, ha, come here do, and let me new mould you a little. You must be a good boy, and wait upon the gentlefolks to night. [she ties and powders his hair. Lov. Yees, Ize do my beest. Kit. His beest! the natural! This is a strange head of hair, boy, it is so coarse and croty. Lov. Yees, all my brothers and sister be red heads tow. Kit. [Turning him round.] There, now you ĺook some- thing like. Come, Philip, give the boy a lesson, and then I'll lecture him out of the servant's guide. Phil. Come, sir, first hold up your head-very well, turn out your toes, sir-very well now call coach Lov. What is call coach? Phil. Thus, coach, coach, coach! Lov. [Imitating.] Coach, coach, coach! Phil. Admirable! the knave has a good-ear, nos tell me a lie. 188 The United States Speaker. Lov. O la! I never told a fib in all my life. Phil. Then it is high time you should begin to learn. So, if master comes home to-morrow, you must tell him there has been no company here during his absence. Lov. Yees, Ize lie. Kit. And stand to it. Now lecture him. [Takes out a book.] This is the servant's guide, Jemmy. Phil. Mind, sir, what excellent rules the book contains, and remember them-come Kitty, begin. ፡ Kit. [Reads.] Advice to the footman. "Let it forever be your plan, To be the master not the man, And do as little as you can." Lov. He! he he! I'll do nothing at all, not I. Kit. "In buying be not over nice To add a little to the price, Which you will pocket if you're wise." Phil. You will understand this better one of these days, Jemmy. Kit. Advice to the groom. "Never allow your master able To judge of matters in the stable. If he should roughly speak his mind, Or to dismiss you seem inclin'd, Lame the best horse or break his wind." Lov. He, he, he! that's a good one. * Kit. + "If your good master on you dotes, Ne'er leave his house to serve a stranger, But pocket hay, and straw, and oats, And let the horses eat the manger." Lov. Yees, yees! eat the manger. Kit. I wont give you too much at a time; here, boy, take the book, and read it every night and morning be- fore you say your prayers. [Knocking at the door. Enter DUKE's servant. Duke. Ah ma sheer mademsel, comme voo porty voo? Kit. For bee an je voo marcy. Phil. Now we shall have nonsense by wholesale. The United States Speaker. 189 Enter SIR HARRY's servant. Sir H. How are you, my lord duke? Duke. Stand off, sir, I have no acquaintance with com- moners. Sir H. You are so proud of your master's nobility- let me tell you, sir, a knight of the shire- Duke. A knight of the shire! ha, ha, ha! a mighty honour, truly, to represent all the fools in the county. Kit. O lud! this is charming to see two noblemen quarrel. Sir H. Why any fool may be born to a title, but only a wise man can make himself honourable. Duke. I hope you make some distinction between hereditary honours, and those of a mob. Kit. Very smart, my lord-Now sir Harry- Sir H. If you make use of your hereditary honours to screen you from debt- + Duke. Zounds, sir, what do you mean by that. Phil. Hold! hold! or we shall have some fine old noble blood spilt here. Ha' done, sir Harry. Sir H. Not I, faith. upon his upper house. He is always, valuing himself Duke. [With an important air.] We have dignity. Sir H. But what becomes of your dignity if we refuse the supplies? Kit. Peace, peace! here comes Lady Bab. Enter LADY BAB's servant-and exit LovEL. Lady Bab. Miss Kitty, your servant. My lord duke, your servant; yours too, sir Harry. Mr. Philip, your devoted. Well, and how do you all do? I am afraid I have trespassed in point of time, [looks at her watch,] but I got into my favourite author. Kit. What author is your ladyship so fond of? L. Bab. Shikspur, my dear: did you never read Shikspur? Kit. Shikspur! Shikspur! who wrote it Lady Bab? L. Bab. Why Ben Jonson, to be sure. I thought every body had read Shikspur! How do you like it, my lord duke? Dike. Poor stuff, poor stuff! Phil. How so? 190 The United States Speaker. Duke. Very low, very low, indeed. Sir H. Can you write better? Duke. I hope so. Sir H. That is very conceited. Duke. What is conceited, you scoundrel? Sir H. Scoundrel! you rascal, I'll pull your nose. Duke. Look ye, friend, don't give yourself airs, and make a disturbance among the ladies. gentleman, name your weapons. Sir H. What you please-pistols. If you are a Duke. Done-behind Montague house. Sir H. Done-with seconds. Duke. Done- Phil. O for shame, gentlemen, my lord duke!- Harry! fie! Enter LovEL, affecting to be drunk. -Sir Lov. Philip, the son of Alexander the great, where are you? Sir Philip, your servant. Lady Bab your most obedient. Miss Kitty, how do ye do? Phil. You scoundrel, begone. 1 Lov. You scoundrel, I am your master. Phil. With surprise.] My master! Kit. Aside. What can be done, Philip? [Kicking him. Phil. Your honour is at present in liquor, but in the morning, when your honour is recovered, I will set all to rights again. Lov. [Changing his voice.] We'll set all to rights now. Get out of my sight, you scoundrel? - Duke. Sir, I have not the honour to be known to you, but I have the honour to serve his grace, the duke of--. Lov. And the impudence familiarly to assume his title. Your grace will give me leave to tell you, that is the door; and if you ever enter there again, I assure you, my lord duke, I will break every bone in your grace's skin-begone! [Exit. Duke. This comes of visiting commoners.: Lov. Sir Harry, shall I order your carriage? [Exit Sir Harry. Lov. Lady Bab shall I attend you home? L. Bab. They are downright hottenpots. [Fxit. The United States Speaker. 191 Phil. and Kit. I hope your honour will not take away our bread. Lov. Five hundred pounds will set you up in a coffee house. I have seen enough of your roguery, extrava- gance, and ingratitude. 1 Lov. You, madam, may stay here till to-morrow morning; and here take this book, [giving it back,] and "read it every night and morning before you say your prayers." Kit. I am ruined and undone. [Exit. Lov. And you, sir, for your villany, and what is worse, your hypocrisy, shall not stay a minute longer in this house. Away! and if possible learn to be honest. There is the door, sir. [Turns him out. PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. HECTOR now pass'd, with sad presaging heart, To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part. At home he sought her; but he sought in vain; She, with one maid, of all her menial train, Had thence retir'd; and with her second joy, The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy, Pensive she stood on Ilion's towery height, Beheld the war and sicken'd at the sight: There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore, Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore. Hector, this heard, return'd without delay; Swift through the town he took his former way, Through streets of palaces, and walks of state, And met the mourner at the Scæan gate. With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair, His blameless wife, Aetion's wealthy heir. The nurse stood near; in whose embraces press'd, His only hope hung, smiling at her breast; Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn, Fair as the new born star that gilds the morn. Silent, the warrior smil'd; and pleas'd resign'd To tender passions, all his mighty mind. His beauteous princess cast a mournful look, Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke. 192 The United States Speaker. Her bosom laboured with a boding sigh, And the big tear stood trembling in her eye. "Too daring prince! ah! whither wilt thou run? Ah! too forgetful of thy wife and son! And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be? A widow I, an helpless orphan he! For sure such courage length of life denies, And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice. Greece in her single heroes strove in vain; Now hosts oppose thee-and thou must be slain. Oh, grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom, All I can ask of heaven-an early tomb! So shall my days in one sad tenor run, And end with sorrows as they first begun. Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share; Oh! prove a husband's, and a parent's care. That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, Where yon wild fig tree joins the walls of Troy: Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given; Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven. Let others in the field their arms employ; But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy." The chief replied-"That post shall be my care; Nor that alone, but all the works of war. How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd, And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground, Attaint the lustre of my former name, Should Hector basely quit the field of fame! My early youth was bred to warlike pains; My soul impels me to the martial plains. Still foremost let me stand to guard the throne, To save my father's honours and my own. Yet, come it will! the day decreed by fates! (How my heart trembles, while my tongue relates!) The day when thou, imperial Troy, must bend, Must see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. And yet, no dire presage so wounds my mind, My mother's death, the ruin of my kind, Not Priam's hoary hairs, defil'd with gore, Not all my brothers gasping on the shore, The United States Speaker. 193 As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread! I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led, In Argive looms our battles to design, And woes, of which so large a part was thine. There, while you groan beneath the load of life, They cry-" Behold the mighty Hector's wife!" Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, Embitters all thy woes by naming me. The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, A thousand griefs shall waken at the name! May I be cold before that dreadful day, Press'd with a load of monumental clay! Thy Hector, wrapp'd in everlasting sleep, Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.' Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. The babe clung, crying, to the nurse's breast, Scared with the dazzling helm and nodding crest. With secret pleasure each fond parent smil'd, And Hector hasted to relieve his child: The glitt❜ring terrors from his brows unbound, And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground. Then kiss'd the child; and, lifting high in air, Thus to the gods preferr'd a parent's prayer. 66 'Oh thou, whose glory fills th' etherial throne! And all ye deathless powers! protect my son! Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown; Against his country's foes the war to wage, And rise the Hector of the future age. So when triumphant from successful toils, Of heroes slain, he bears the reeking spoils, Whole hosts may hail him with deserv'd acclaim, And say, 'This chief transcends his father's fame; While pleas'd amidst the general shouts of Troy, His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy." He spoke; and fondly gazing on her charms, Restor❜d the pleasing burden to her arms, Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd: The troubled pleasure, soon chastis'd with fear, She mingled with a smile, a tender tear. R 1 194 The United States Speaker. 7 7 The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd, And dried the falling drops; and thus pursued- “Andromache! my soul's far better part! Why with untimely sorrow heaves thy heart? No hostile hand can antedate my doom, Till fate condemn me to the silent tomb: Fix'd is the term of all the race of earth; And such the hard condition of our birth. No force can then resist, no flight can save; All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. No more-but hasten to thy task at home; There guide the spindle and direct the loom. Me, glory summons to the martial scene; The field of combat is the sphere for men: Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, The first in danger, as the first in fame." Thus having said, th' undaunted chief resumes His towery helmet, black with shading plumes. His princess parts with a prophetic sigh, Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye, That stream'd at every look; then moving slow, Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her wo. There, while her tears deplored the godlike man, Through all her train the soft infection ran: The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed And mourn'd the living Hector as the dead. ANTONY'S ORATION OVER CÆSAR'S BODY. FRIENDS, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your car”, I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him. The evil that men do, lives after them; The good isoft interred with their bones: So let it be with Cæsar! Noble Brutus Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault; And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, (For Brutus is an honourable man, So are they all, all honourable men,) Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral- He was my friend, faithful and just to me : But Brutus says he was ambitious; The United States Speaker. 195 And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill; Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept! Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious: And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, Was thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse: Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke; But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once; not without cause; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me: My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar; And I must pause till it come back to me. But yesterday the word of Cæsar might Have stood against the world! now lies he there And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters! if I were dispos'd to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong; Who, you all know, are honourable men. I will not do them wrong-I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honourable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar; I found it in his closet; 'tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood- Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now, You all do know this mantle; I remember 196 The United States Speaker. ' The first time ever Cæsar put it on; Twas on a summer's evening in his tent, That day he overcome the Nervii- Look! in this place run Cassius' dagger through- See what a rent the envious Casca made- Through this the well beloved Brutus stabb'd, And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it! This, this was the unkindest cut of all! For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, Quite vanquish'd him! then burst his mighty heart, And in his mantle muffling up his face, E'en at the base of Pompey's statue, (Which all the while ran blood) great Cæsar fell! O what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity! These are gracious drops. Kind souls! What, weep you when you behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here!' Here is himself-marr'd, as you see, by traitors. Good friends! sweet friends! Let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny! * They that have done this deed are honourable! What private griefs they have, alas, Lknow not, That made them do it! They are wise and honourable, And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That loves my friend—and that they knew full well, That gave me public leave to speak of him! For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech, To stir men's blood-I,only speak right on, I tell you that which you yourselves do know- Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb mouths, : And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony The United States Speaker. 197 Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Cæsar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise in mutiny. A ON THE ORDER OF NATURE. SEE, through this air, this ocean and this earth, All matter quick, and bursting into birth, Above, how high progressive life may go, Around how wide! how deep extend below! Vast chain of being, which from God began: Nature's ethereal, human; angel, man; Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, No glass can reach: from infinite to thee. From thee to nothing. On superior powers Were we to press, inferior might on ours; Or in the full creation leave a void, Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroy'd : From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike. What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread, Or hand, to toil, aspir'd to be the head? What if the head, the eye, or ear repin'd To serve mere engines to the ruling mind? Just as absurd for any part to claim To be another, in this general frame; Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains, The great directing MIND of ALL ordains. All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul: That, chang'd through all, and yet in all the s Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame, Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent, Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart: As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: R 2 198 The United States Speaker. { To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects and equals all. Cease, then, nor ORDER, imperfection name: Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point; this kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, heaven bestows on thee. Submit. In this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou can'st bear Safe in the hand of one disposing power, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All nature is but art unknown to thee; All chance, direction which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good, And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear, "WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT. "" JUPITER TO THE INFERIOR DEITIES. AURORA, now, fair daughter of the dawn, Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn; When Jove conven'd the senate of the skies, Where high Olympus' cloudy tops arise. The sire of gods his awful silence broke, The heavens, attentive, trembled as he spoke : "Celestial states! Immortal gods! give ear: Hear our decree; and rev'rence what ye hear: The fix'd decree, which not all heaven can move: Thou fate fulfil it: and ye powers approve. What god shall enter yön forbidden field, Who yields assistance, or but wills to yield; Back to the skies, with shame he shall be driven; Gash'd with dishonest wounds, the scorn of heaven. Or, from our sacred hill with fury thrown Deep in the dark Tartarean gulf shall groan; With burning chains fix'd to the brazen floors, And lock'd by hell's inexorable doors: As far beneath the infernal centre hurl'd, As from that centre to th' ethereal world: Let each submissive dread those dire abodes, Nor tempt the vengeance of the god of gods. ; The United States Speaker. 199 League all your forces, then, ye powers above; Your strength unite against the might of Jove. Let down our golden, everlasting chain, Whose strong embrace holds heaven, and earth and main. Strive all of mortal, or immortal birth, To drag, by this, the thund'rer down to earth. Ye strive in vain. If I but stretch this hand, I heave the gods, the ocean and the land. I fix the chain to great Olympus's height, And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight. For such I reign unbounded and above; And such are men and gods compar'd to Jove." : ENEAS TO QUEEN DIDO. ALL were attentive to the godlike man, When from his lofty couch he thus began Great queen! What you command me to relate, Renews the sad remembrance of our fate; An empire from its old foundations rent, And every wo the Trojans underwent; A populous city made a desert place; All that I saw and part of which I was, Not e'en the hardest of our foes could hear, Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. 'Twas now the dead of night, when sleep repairs Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares, When Hector's ghost before my sight appears: Shrouded in blood he stood, and bath'd in tears: Such as when, by the fierce Pelides slain, Thessalian coursers dragg'd him o'er the plain, Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust Through the pierc'd limbs; his body black with dust. Unlike that Hector who return'd from toils Of war, triumphant, in Ecian spoils; Or him who made the fainting Greeks retire, Hurling amidst their fleets the Phrygian fire. His hair and beard were clotted stiff with gore: The ghastly wounds he for his country bore, Now stream'd afresh. 200 The United States Speaker. I wept to see the visionary man; And, whilst my trance continued, thus began; "O light of Trojans, and support of Troy! Thy father's champion, and thy country's joy! O long expected by thy friends! From whence Art thou so late return'd to our defence? Alas! what wounds are these? What new disgrace Deforms the manly honours of thy face?" The spectre groaning from his inmost breast, This warning in these mournful words express'd. "Haste, goddess born! Escape by timely flight, The flames and horrors of this fatal night; Thy foes already have possessed our wall; Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall. Enough is paid to Priam's royal name, Enough to country and to deathless fame. If by a mortal arm my father's throne Could have been sav'd-this arm that feat had done. Troy now commends thee to her future state, And gives her gods companions of her fate; Under their umbrage hope for happier walls, And follow where thy various fortune calls." He said, and brought from forth the sacred choir, The gods and relics of the immortal fire. Now peals of shouts came thundering from afar, Cries, threats, and loud lament, and mingled war. The noise approaches, though our palace stood Aloof from streets, embosom'd close with wood; Louder and louder still I hear the alarms Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms. Fear broke my slumbers. I mount the terrace, thence the town survey, And listen what the swelling sounds convey, Then Hector's faith was manifestly clear'd; And Grecian fraud in open light appear'd. The palace of Deiphobus ascends In smoky flames and catches on his friends. Ucalegon burns next; the seas are bright With splendours not their own, and shine with sparkling light New clamours and new clangours now arise, The trumpet's voice, with agonizing cries. 1 The United States Speaker. 201 With phrenzy seized, I run to meet th' alarms, Resolved on death, resolv'd to die in arms. But first to gather friends with whom t' oppose, If fortune favour'd, and repel the foes, By courage rous'd, by love of country fired, With sense of honour and revenge inspired. : Pantheus, Apollo's priest, a sacred name, Had 'scaped the Grecian swords and passed the flame: With relics loaded, to my doors he fled, And by the hand his tender grandson led. 1 "What hope, O Pantheus? Whither can we run? Where make a stand? Or, what can yet be done?” Scarce had I spoke, when Pantheus, with a groan, "Troy is no more! Het glories now are gone. The fatal day, the appointed hour is come, When wrathful Jove's irrevocable doom Transfer's the Trojan state to Grecian hands; Our city's wrapt in flames; the foe commands: To several posts their parties they divide; Some block the narrow streets; some scour the wide. The bold they kill; th' unwary they surprise; Who fights meets death, and death finds him who flies." SOLILOQUY OF HAMLET ON DEATH. To be or not to be-that is the question; Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune- Or to take arms against a sea of trouble; And, by opposing, end them? To die-to sleep- No more? And, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to.-'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die-to sleep- To sleep, perchance to dream-ay, there's the rub- For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. -There's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, } } 202 The United States Speaker. Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, ' The pangs of despised love the law's delay— The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To groan and sweat under a weary life, But that a dread of something after death, (That undiscovered country, from whose bourne No traveller returns) puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard their currents turn away, And lose the name of action. 1 THE CAMELION. OFT has it been my lot to mark, A proud, conceited, talking spark, Returning from his finish'd tour, Grow ten times perter than before; Whatever word you chance to drop, The travell'd fool your mouth will stop- "Sir, if my judgment you'll allow- I've seen-and sure I ought to know.' So begs you'd pay a due submission, And acquiesce in his decision. Two travellers of such a cast, As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd; And on their way in' friendly chat, Now talk'd of this, and then of that- Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter, Of the Camelion's form and nature. "A stranger animal,” cries one, "Sure never lived beneath the sun': A lizard's body, lean and long, A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, The United States Speaker. ' Its tooth with triple claw disjoin'd- And what a length of tail behind! How slow its pace!-and then its hue- Who ever saw so fine a blue?". "Hold there," the other quick replies, ""Tis green-I saw it with these eyes, As late with open mouth it lay, And warm'd it in the sunny ray: Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd, And saw it eat the air for food." "I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm it blue. At leisure I the beast survey'd Extended in the cooling shade.” } """Tis green, 'tis green, sir. I assure ye,” "Green!" cries the other in a fury- "Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" ""Twere no great loss," the friend replies- "For if they always serve you thus, You'll find them but of little use. So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows- When luckily, came by a third; To him the question they referr'd, And begg'd he'd tell them if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. (6 Sirs," cries the umpire, " cease your pother, The creature's neither one nor t'other. I caught the animal last night, And view'd it o'er by candlelight; I mark'd it well-'twas black as jet- You stare-but sirs, I've got it yet, And can produce it."-"Pray, sir, do: I'll lay my life the thing is blue." "And I'll be sworn that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce it green." "Well then, at once to end the doubt,” Replies the man, “I'll turn him out: And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.' He said then full before their sight Produc'd the beast-and lo, 'twas white. ļ 204 The United States Speaker. # PROVIDENCE VINDICATED IN THE PRESENT State of man. HEAVEN from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescrib'd, their present state; From brutes what men, from men what spirits know; Or who could suffer, being here below? -The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood. Oh blindness to the future! kindly given, That each may fill the circle mark'd by heaven; Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall; Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, 1 And now a bubble burst, and now a world. Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher death; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest. The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come. + Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor❜d mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; His soul, proud science never taught to stray, Far as the solar walk, or milky way; Yet simple nature to his hope has given, Behind the cloud-topped hill, an humbler heaven; Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, Some happier island in the watʼry waste; Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold, To be, contents his natural desire; He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire: But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company. Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense, Weigh thy opinion against providence; Call imperfection what thou fanciest such; Say, here he gives too little, there too much.. The United States Speaker. 205 In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies; All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes; Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels, men rebel; And who but wishes to invert the laws Of order, sins against the eternal cause. POPE SELFISHNESS REPROVED. HAS God, thou fool, work'd solely for thy good, Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food? Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, For him as kindly spread the flow'ry lawn. Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings? Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat? Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note. The bounding steed you pompously bestride, Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain? The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain. Thine the full harvest of the golden year? Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer. The hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all. Know nature's children all divide her care; The fur that warms a monarch, warm'd a bear. While man exclaims, "See all things for my use!” "See man for mine!" replies a pamper'd goose. And just as short of reason he must fall, Who thinks all made for one, not one for all. Grant that the powerful still the weak control; Be man the wit and tyrant of the whole: Nature that tyrant checks; he only knows, And helps another creature's wants and woes. Say, will the falcon stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove? Admires the jay the insects gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings? 206 The United States Speaker. } ་ Man cares for all: to birds he gives his woods, To beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods: For some his interest prompts him to provide, For some his pleasure, yet for more his pride. All feed on one vain patron, and enjoy Th' extensive blessing of his luxury. That very life his learned hunger craves, He saves from famine, from the savage saves: Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast; And, till he ends the being, makes it blest: Which sees no more the stroke, nor feels the pain, Than favour'd man by touch ethereal slain. The creature had its feast of life before; Thou too must perish when thy feast is o'er! Porz, 1 HAMLET AND HORATIO. Hor. Hail to your lordship! Ham. I am glad to see you well, Horatio, For I do forget myself. Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir; my good friend; I'll change that name with you. And what makes you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so; Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, To make it trustier of your own report Against yourself. I know you are no truant; But what is your affair in Elsinor; We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. Ham. I pr'ythee do not mock me, fellow-student; I think it was to see my mother's wedding. Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio; the funeral bak'd meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father-methinks I see my father. The United States Speaker 207 Hor. Oh where, my lord? Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Ham. Saw! who? Hor. My lord, the king, your father. Ham. The king, my father! Hor. Season your admiration but awhile With an attentive ear; till I deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you. Ham. Let me hear! Hor. Two nights together, had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead waste and middle of the night, Been thus encountered: A figure like your father, Arm'd at all points exactly cap-a-pie, Appears before them, and with solemn march, Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes, Within his truncheon's length; whilst they (distill'd Almost to jelly with the effect of fear) Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me In dreadful secrecy, impart they did, And I with them the third night kept the watch: Where, as they had delivered both in time, Form of the thing, each word made true and good, The apparition comes. I knew your father; These hands are not more alike. Ham. But where was this? Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. Ham. Did you not speak to it? Hor. My lord I did, But answer made it none. Yet once methought It lifted up its head, and did address Itself to motion, like as it would speak, But even then the morning cock crew loud, And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, And vanish'd from our sight Ham. 'Tis very strange. } 208 + The United States Speaker. Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty To let you know of it. Ham. Indeed, indeed, Sir, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to-night? Hor. We do, my lord. Ham. Arm'd, say you? Hor. Arm'd, my lord. Ham. From top to toe? { Hor. My lord, from head to foot. Ham. Then saw you not his face? Hor. Oh, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up. Ham. What, look'd he frowningly? Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. Ham. Pale or red? Hor. Nay, very pale. Ham. And fixed his eyes upon you? Hor. Most constantly. Ham. I'would I had been there. Hor. It would have much amazed you. Ham. Very like. Staid it long? Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. Ham. His beard was grizzl’d?—no- Hor, It was, as I have seen in his life, A sable silver'd. Ham. I'll watch to-night; perchance 'twill walk again. Hor. I warrant you, it will. Ham. If it assumes my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, tho' hell itself should gape, And bid me hold my peace. I pray you, If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, Let it be ten'ble in your silence still: And whatsoever shall befall to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue; I will requite your love, so fare you well Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve I'll visit you. HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER, SHAKSPEARE. Glen. Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur; For, by that name, as oft as Lancaster The United States Speaker. 209 Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale! and with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glen. I blame him not: at my nativity, The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets; know that at my birth, The frame and foundation of the earth Shook like a coward. Hot. So it would have done At the same season, Though you had ne'er been born. Glen. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. Hot. I say, the earth' then was not of my mind; If you suppose, as fearing you, it shook. Glen. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions; and the teeming earth Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd, By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her; which for enlargement striving, Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down High tow'rs and moss-grown steeples. At your birth, Our grandam earth, with this distemperature In passion shook. Glen. Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings; give me leave To tell you once again, that at my birth The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds Were strangely clam'rous in the frighted fields; These signs have mark'd me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show, I am not in the roll of common men. Where is he living, clipt in with the sea, That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland, Who calls me pupil, or hath read to me? And bring him out, that is but woman's son, 1 $ 2 210 The United States Speaker. Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, Or hold me pace in deep experiments. $ Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh. Glen. I can speak English, lord, as well as you, For I was train'd up in the English court: Where, being young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart. I had rather be a kitten and cry mew! Than one of these same metre-ballad mongers! I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree, And that would nothing set my teeth on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry; 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. Glen. And I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man: But will they come when you do call for them? Glen. Why, I can teach thee to command the devil. Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth and shame the devil. If thou hast power to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn, I've power to shame him hence. Oh, while you live, Tell truth and shame the devil. SHAKSPEARE, HOTSPUR READING A LETTER. "But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect to the love I bear your house." He could be contented to be there? why is he not then? "In respect to the love he bears our house!" He shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. "The pur- pose you undertake is dangerous. Why, that is cer- tain: it is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink : but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle danger we pluck this flower safety. "The purpose you undertake The United States Speaker. 211 T is dangerous, the friends you have named, uncertain, the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoise of so great an opposition." Say you so, say you so?. I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack brain is this? Our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends. true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue this is? Why, my lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself, lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of next month? and are there not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel. Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king and lay open all our proceedings. Ó, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honour- able an action. Hang him, let him tell the king. We are prepared, I will set forward to night. SHAKSPEARE. THE MAN OF ROSS. ALL our praises why should lords engross? Rise, honest muse! and sing the Man of Ross! Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn's hoarse applause resounds. Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? From the dry rock, who bade the waters flow? Not to the skies in useless columns tost, Or in proud falls magnificently lost, But clear and artless, pouring through the plain Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? Whose seats the weary traveller repose? Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise? "The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. 212 The United States Speaker. Behold the market place with poor o'erspread! The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread: He feeds yon almshouse, neat, but void of state, Where age and want sit smiling at the gate: Him portion'd maids, apprenticed orphans blest, The young who labour, and the old who rest. Is any sick? The Man of Ross relieves, Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes and gives. Is there a variance? Enter but his door, Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more. Despairing quacks with curses fled the place, And vile attorneys, now a useless race. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue What all so wish, but want the power to do! O say what sums that generous hand supply? What mines, to swell that boundless charity? Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This man possess'd-five hundred pounds a year. Blush grandeur, blush! proud courts withdraw your blaze! Ye little stars! hide your diminish'd rays. And what? no monument, inscription, stone? His race, his form, his name almost unknown! Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name: Go search it there, where to be born and die, Of rich and poor makes all the history; Enough, that virtue fill'd the space between; Prov'd by the ends of being to have been. POPE. THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. NEAR Yonder copses where once the garden smil'd, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was, to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place; The United States Speaker. 213 Unpractis'd he to fawn or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wand'rings but reliev'd their pain. The long remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken soldier kindly bade to stay; Sate by his fire and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their wo: Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, His pity gave e'er charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watch'd and wept, he felt and pray'd for all. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new fledg'd offspring to the skies; He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, The reverend champion stood; at his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray. The service past, around the piou's man, With ready zeal each honest rustic ran; E'en children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile: His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, Their welfare pleas'd him and their cares distrest: 214 1 The United States Speaker. To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. GOLDSMITH. t 1 THE BEGGAR'S PETITION. PITY the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, Oh! give relief, and heaven will bless your store. These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak, These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek, Has been the channel to a flood of tears. Yon house erected on the rising ground, With tempting aspect drew me from my road For plenty there a residence has found, And grandeur a magnificent abode. Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor! There, as I crav'd a morsel of their bread, A pamper'd menial drove me from the door, To seek a shelter in an humbler shed. Oh! take me to your hospitable dome; Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold; Short is my passage to the friendly tomb, For I am poor and miserably old. Should I reveal the sources of my grief, If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,› Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, And tears of pity would not be repress'd. Heaven sends misfortunes; why should we repine? 'Tis heaven has brought me to the state you see; And your condition may be soon like mine, The child of sorrow and of misery. The United States Speaker. 215 A little farm was my paternal lot, ' Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn; But ah! oppression forc'd me from my cot, My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. My daughter, once the comfort of my age, Lur'd by a villain from her native home, Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage, And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam. My tender wife, sweet soother of my care! Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair, And left the world to wretchedness and me. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, Oh! give relief, and heaven will bless your store. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF AN UNFORTUNATE YOUNG LADY. WHAT beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade, Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis she! but why that bleeding bosom gor'd Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, Is it in heaven a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To act a lover's or a Roman's part? Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die? Why bade ye else, ye pow'rs! her soul aspire Above the var flight of low desire? Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes; The glorious fault of angels and of gods: Thence to their images on earth it flows, And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows. Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age, Dull sullen prisoners in the body's cage: Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years, Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres; 216 The United States Speaker. Like eastern kings a lazy state they keep, And, close confined to their own palace, sleep. From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die) Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky. As into air the purer spirits flow, And separate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the soul to its congenial place, Nor left one virtue to redeem her race. But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood! See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks, now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breast which warmed the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball, Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall: On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates. There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, (While the long funerals blacken all the way) Lo these were they, whose souls the furies steeled And cursed with hearts unknowing how to yield. Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all, whose breast. ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' wo. What can atone (oh ever injured shade!) Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier: By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed; By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned, By strangers honoured and by stgers mourned, What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of wo To midnight dances, and the public show; What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace, Nor polished marble emulate thy face; What though no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallowed dirge be muttered o'er thy tomb; The United States Speaker. 217 * Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be drest, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast; There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground now sacred by thy relics made. So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. How loved, how honoured once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be! Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, Deaf the praised ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Even he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays; Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart; Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er, The muse forgot, and thou beloved no more! POPE. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER'S MARRIAGE. On that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't; oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature, Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two month's dead! nay, not so much; not two:- So excellent a king, that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother, That he permitted not the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember!- Why she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on: yet within a month,- T 218 The United States Speaker. Let me not think-Frailty, thy name is woman! A little month! or ere those shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears-Why, she, even she- (O heaven! a beast that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourned longer)-married with mine uncle, My father's brother; but no more like my father, Than I to Hercules. Within a month! Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Hal left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married-Oh, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not, nor it cannot come to good." But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue. SHAKSPEARE. HAMLET AND GHOST. Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intent wicked or charitable, Thou comest in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee. I'll call the Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane: oh! answer me; Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in earth, Have burst their searments? Why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again? What may this mean? That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous, and us fools of nature So horribly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? Ghost. Mark mẹ. Ham. I will. Ghost. My hour is almost come, The United States Speaker. 219 When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself. Ham. Alas poor ghost! Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. Ghost. So art thou to revenge when thou shalt hear. Ham. What? Ghost. I am thy father's spirit; Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day, confined to fast in fire: Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres Thy knotty and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood; list, list, oh list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love- Ham. I will! Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther. Ham. Murther? Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. Ham. Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as swift As meditation or the thoughts of love, May fly to my revenge. Ghost. I find thee apt; And duller should'st thou be, than the fat weed That roots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf, Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear! 'Tis given out, that sleeping in my orchard A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life, Now wears his crown. Ham. O my prophetic soul! my uncle! 220 The United States Speaker. Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous gifts, (Oh wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming virtuous queen. O Hamlet, what a falling off was there! But soft! methinks I scent the morning air- Brief let me be: Sleeping within mine orchard, My custom always in the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole With juice of cursed hebenon in a phial, And in the porches of mine ear did pour The leperous distilment. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, Of life, of crown, of queen at once bereft; Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin; No reck'ning made! but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head! Ham. Oh horrible! oh horrible! most horrible! Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; But howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire. Adieu, adieu, adieu: Remember me. Ham. Oh, all you host of heaven! oh earth! what else? And shall I couple hell? oh fie! hold my heart! And you, my sinews, grow not instant old: But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee! Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe; remember thee! Yea, from the tablet of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there; And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter.. SHAKSPEARE. The United States Speaker. 221 } ALCANZAR AND ZAIDA. Part I. SOFTLY blow the evening breezes, Gently falls the dew of night; Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzar, Shunning every glare of light. In yon palace lives fair Zaida, Whom he loves with flame so pure; Loveliest she of Moorish ladies, He a young and noble Moor. Waiting for the appointed minute, Oft he paces to and fro; Stopping now, now moving forward, Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow. Hope and fear alternate seize him, Öft he sighs with heartfelt care; See, fond youth, from yonder window, Softly steps the tim'rous fair. Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre, To the lost, benighted swain, When all silv'ry bright she rises, Gilding mountain, grove, and plain. Lovely seems the sun's full glory To the fainting seaman's eyes, When some horrid storm dispersing, O'er the waves his radiance flies. But a thousand times more lovely, To her longing lover's sight, Steals half seen the beauteous maiden, Through the glimm'ring of the night. Tiptoe stands the anxious lover, Breathing forth a gentle sigh; Alla keep thee, lovely lady; Tell me, am I doomed to die? Is it true, the dreadful story Which thy damsel tells my page, That seduced by sordid riches, Thou wilt sell thy youth to age? * t T3 232 The United States Speaker. " Is it true, now plainly tell me, 1 Nor thus trifle with my woes; Hide not then from me the secret Which the world so clearly knows. Deeply sighs the conscious maiden, While the pearly tears descend; Ah! my lord, too true the story, Here our tender loves must end. Our fond friendship is discovered, Well are known our mutual vows; All my friends are full of fury, Storms of passion shake the house. Threats, reproaches, fears surround me, My stern father breaks my heart; Alla knows how dear it cost me, Generous youth, from thee to part. Ancient wounds of hostile fury Long have rent our house and thine, Why then did thy shining merit, Win this tender heart of mine. Well thou knowest how dear I lov'd thee, In spite of all their hated pride, Though I fear'd my haughty father Ne'er would let me be thy bride. Well thou knowest what cruel chidings I have from my mother borne, What I've suffer'd oft to meet thee At still eve, and early morn. But I no longer can resist them, All to force my hand combine, And to morrow to thy rival, This weak frame I must resign. But think not, thy faithful Zaida Can survive so great a wrong; Well my breaking heart assures me; That my woes will not be long. Farewell then my dear Alcanzar; ;. Farewell to my life with thee; Take this scarf, a parting token, When thou wearest it, think on me. The United States Speaker. $ 1 Soon, loved youth, some worthier maiden Shall reward thy generous truth; Sometimes tell her, that thy Zaida Died for thee in time of youth. To him, all amazed, confounded, Did she thus her woes impart, Deep he sigh'd, then cried. Oh! Zaida, do not, do not break my heart. Dost thou think I thus can leave thee, Dost thou think my love so small; No, a thousand times I'd perish, And my old rival too shall fall. Canst thou, wilt thou thus yield to them, Oh! break forth and fly to me; This fond heart shall bleed to save thee, These fond arms shall shelter thee. 'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzar, Spies surround me, bars secure; Scarce I steal this last dear moment, While my damsel keeps the door. Hark! I hear my father storming; Hark! I hear my mother chide; I must go, farewell forever, Gracious Alla, be thy guide. Part II. Sullen moaned the distant ocean, Slow the waves broke on the shore, And the forest's murmuring motion Mingled with the lulling roar. From behind a misty mountain, Rose the moon serenely bright, Scattering o'er each bubbling fountain, Dewy rays of silvery light. When Alcanzar, rob'd in mourning,. Bent his footsteps sad and slow, Where a riv'let gently turning, Laved a grot, sacred to wo. 224 The United States Speaker There, upon a sod reclining, Tears of poignant grief he shed, At his hapless fate repining, Thus the slighted lover said, Cruel fortune, thus to leave me, Sad, déserted, lone, despised, Why didst thou of Zaida 'reave me, All, alas! my bosom prized. Why was she adorned with beauty, With her wit why was I charmed? Or, ah! why did rigid duty, Break the bonds which nature formed? Wretched man, too soon believing That false sex thou ought'st to shun; Sex, delighting in deceiving, Thou, alas! hast, been undone; As he spoke, a fragile shadow, Clad in white, all lily pale, Glided slow along the meadow, Sighing mournful to the gale. At the beauteous vision starting, All aghast Alcanzar gazed, And his tearful eyes averting, Groans of agony he rais'd. • Through his bosom life past slowly, Strength forsook his trembling knees, And the phantom whispering lowly, Said, Alcanzar, knowest thou me? I am the maid by thee upbraided Charged with falsehood, folly, pride; See how all my bloom is faded, 'Twas for thee alone I died. Riches could no bliss afford me, What of joy had rank to give, No soft wishes to retard me, Depriv'd of thee I ceased to live. Ah! exclaimed the widowed lover, Well I know thee, dear distressed, But the toil of life is over, Of my Zaida repossessed. The United States Speaker. 225 Then, his palsied hands unclasping, Up to heaven a glance he cast, And the airy figure grasping, Down he sunk and sighed his last. } SOLILOQUY OF THE KING IN HAMLET. On! my offence is rank, it smells to heaven. It hath the primal, eldest curse upon it; A brother's murder-pray I cannot: Though inclination be as sharp as 'twill, My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; And like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy, But to confront the visage of offence? And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, To be forestalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd being down?Then I'll look up: My fault is past. -But oh, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder? That cannot be, since I am still possessed Of those effects for which I did the murder, My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. May one be pardoned, and retain th' offence? In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself Buys out the laws. But 'tis not so above. There is no shuffling; there the action lies In its true nature, and we ourselves compelled Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: what can it not! Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? Oh wretched state! oh bosom black as death! Oh limped soul, that, struggling to be free, 1 226 The United States Speaker. Art more engaged! help, angels! make assay! Bow stubborn knees; and heart, with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe! All may be well. SHAKSPEARE. THE RAINBOW. Lo! what bright arch of varied hue From heaven to earth is bowed? Haste, ere it vanish, haste to view The rainbow in the cloud. How bright its glory! there behold The emerald's verdant rays; The topaz blends its hue of gold With the deep ruby's blaze. Yet not alone to charm thy sight Was given the vision fair: Gaze on that arch of coloured light, And read God's mercy there. It tells us that the mighty deep, Fast by the eternal chained, No more o'er earth's domains shall sweep, Awful and unrestrained. It tells that seasons, heat and cold, Fixed by his sovereign will, Shall, in their course, bid man behold Seed-time and harvest still;- That still the flower shall deck the field, When vernal zephyrs blow; That still the vine its fruit shall yield, When autumn sun-beams glow. Then child of that fair earth! which yet Smiles, with each charm endowed, Bless thou his name, whose mercy set The rainbow in the cloud! MRS. HEMANS. The United States Speaker. 227 MOSES IN THE BULRUSHES. IN Judah's hall the harp is hushed; Her voice is but the voice of pain; The heathen heel her helm has crushed; Her spirit wears the heathen chain: From the dark prison house she cried, "How long, O Lord, thy sword has slept! O, quell the oppressor in his pride!" Still Pharaoh ruled, and Israel wept. The morning breezes freshly blow, The waves in golden sunlight quiver; A Hebrew mother wanders slow Beside the mighty idol river; A babe within her bosom lay- And must she plunge him in the deep? She raised her eyes to heaven, to pray- She turned them down to earth, to weep. She knelt down by the swelling tide, 'Mid rushes dank, and flowerets wild; Beneath the plane-tree's shadow wide, The weeping mother placed her child. "Peace be around thee: though thy bed A mother's breast no more may be, Yet he that shields the lily's head, Deserted babe, will watch o'er thee!" She's gone! that mourning mother, gone!- List to the sound of dancing feet- And, lightly bounding, one by one, A lovely train their timbrels beat. 'Tis she of Egypt-Pharaoh's daughter- That, with her maidens, comes, to lave Her form of beauty in the water, And light with beauty's glance the wave: Oh! woman's heart is like the rose, That glows beneath the tropic's flame, That blooms as sweet 'mid northern snows, For ever lovely, and the same. Whate'er her rank, whate'er her lot, Where'er her gentle influence ranges, The art to bless is ne'er forgot, The will to comfort never changes. 228 The United States Speaker. The monarch's daughter saw, and wept (How lovely falls compassion's tear!) The babe that there in quiet slept, Blessed in unconsciousness of fear. 'Twas hers to pity and to aid The infant chief the infant sage: Undying fame the deed repaid, Recorded upon heaven's own page. Years passed away-the land is free! Daughter of Zion mourn no more! The oppressor's hand is weak on thee, Captivity's dark reign is o'er. Thy chains are burst, thy bonds are riven; On, like a river strong and wide! A captain is to Judah given- The babe that slept by Nile's broad tide. SCENES FROM THE DRAMA OF MOSES IN THE BULRUSHES. Jochebed. Why was my prayer accepted? why did heaven In anger hear me, when I asked a son? Ye dames of Egypt! happy! happy mothers! No tyrant robs you of your fondest hopes; You are not doomed to see the babes you bore, The babes you nurture, bleed before your eyes! You taste the transports of maternal love, And never know its anguish! Happy mothers! How different is the lot of thy sad daughters, O wretched Israel! Was it then for this? Was it for this the righteous arm of God Rescued his chosen people from the jaws Of cruel want, by pious Joseph's care? Joseph, th' elected instrument of heaven, Decreed to save illustrious Abram's race, What time the famine raged in Canaan's land. Israel, who then was spared, must perish now! O thou mysterious power! who hast involved Thy wise decrees in darkness, to perplex The United States Speaker. 229 The pride of human wisdom, to confound The daring scrutiny, and prove the faith Of thy presuming creatures! clear this doubt; Teach me to trace this maze of providence; Why save the fathers, if the sons must perish? Miriam. Ah me, my mother! whence these floods of grief? Joch. My son! my son! I cannot speak the rest. Ye who have sons can only know my fondness! Ye who have lost them, or who fear to lose, Can only know my pangs! None else can guess them. A mother's sorrows cannot be conceived, But by a mother. Wherefore am I one? Mir. With many prayers thou didst request this son, And heaven has granted him. Joch. O sad estate Of human wretchedness! so weak is man, So ignorant and blind, that did not God Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask, We should be ruined at our own request. Too well thou knowest, my child, the stern decree Of Egypt's cruel king, hard-hearted Pharaoh; "That every male, of Hebrew mother born, Must die." O! do I live to tell it thee? Must die a bloody death! My child! my son, My youngest born, my darling must be slain! Mir. The helpless innocent! and must he die? Joch. No: if a mother's tears, a mother's prayers, A mother's fond precautions can prevail, He shall not die. I have a thought, my Miriam!* And sure the God of mercies, who inspired, Will bless the secret purpose of my soul, To save his precious life. Mir. A Hop'st thou that Pharaoh- Joch. I have no hope in Pharaoh; much in God; Much in the rock of ages. Mir. Think, O think, What perils thou already hast incurred; And shun the greater, which may yet remain. Three months, three dangerous months, thou hast pre- served U 2301 The United States Speaker. Thy infant's life, and in thy house concealed him! Should Pharaoh know! Joch. O! let the tyrant know, And feel what he inflicts! Yes, hear me, heaven! Send the right aiming thunderbolts-But hush, My impious murmurs! Is it not thy will, Thou infinite in mercy? Thou permittest This seeming evil for some latent good. • Yes, I will laud thy grace, and bless thy goodness For what I have, and not arraign thy wisdom For what I fear to lose. O, I will bless thee, That Aaron will be spared! that my first born Lives safe and undisturbed! that he was given me Before this impious persecution raged! : Mir. And yet who knows, but the fell tyrant's rage May reach his precious life? Joch. I fear for him, For thee, for all. A doting parent lives In many lives; through many a nerve she feels; From child to child the quick affections spread, Forever wandering, yet forever fixed. Nor does division weaken, nor the force Of constant operation e'er exhaust Parental love. All other passions change With changing circumstances; rise or fall, Dependant on their object; claim returns; Live on reciprocation and expire Unfed by hope. A mother's fondness reigns. Without a rival, and without an end. Mir. But say what heaven inspires to save thy son? Joch. Since the dear fatal morn which gave him birth, I have revolved in my distracted mind Each mean to save his life: and many a thought, Which fondness prompted, prudence has opposed As perilous and rash. With these poor hands I've fram'd a little ark of slender reeds! With pitch and sliine I have secured the sides. In this frail cradle I intend to lay My little helpless infant, and expose him Upon the banks of Nile. Mir. 'Tis full of danger. .. Joch. 'Tis danger to expose, and death to keep him. The United States Speaker. 231 Mir. Yet, O reflect! Should the fierce crocodile, The native and the tyrant of the Nile, Seize the defenceless infant! Joch. O, forbear! Spare my fond heart. Yet not the crocodile, Nor all the deadly monsters of the deep, To me are half so terrible as Pharaoh, That heathen king, that royal murderer! Mir. Should he escape, which yet I dare not hope, Each sea-born monster: yet the winds and waves He cannot 'scape. Joch. Know God is every where; Not to one narrow, partial spot confined; No, not to chosen Israel. He extends Through all the vast infinitude of space. At his command the furious tempests rise, The blasting of the breath of his displeasure: He tells the world of waters when to roar; And at his bidding, winds and seas are calm. In him, not in an arm of flesh I trust; In him, whose promise never yet has failed, I place my confidence. Mir. What must I do? } Command thy daughter, for thy words have wak'd A holy boldness in my youthful breast. Joch. Go then, my Miriam; go, and take the infant, Buried in harmless slumbers, there he lies; Let me not see him. Spare my heart that pang. Yet sure, one little look may be indulged; One kiss; perhaps the last. No more, my soul! That fondness would be fatal. I should keep him. I could not doom to death the babe I clasped: Did ever mother kill her sleeping boy? I dare not hazard it. The task be thine. O! do not wake my child; remove him softly; And gently lay him on the river's brink. Mir. Did those magicians, whom the sons of Egypt Consult, and think all potent, join their skill, And was it great as Egypt's sons believe; Yet all their secret wizard arts combin'd, To save this little ark of bulrushes, Thus fearfully exposed, could not effect it. t 232 The United States Speaker. Their spells, their incantations, and dire charms Could not preserve it. Joch. Know, this ark is charmed With spells, which impious Egypt never knew. With invocations to the living God, I twisted every slender, reed together, And with a prayer did every osier weave. Mir. I go. Joch. Yet ere thou goest, observe me well,- When thou hast laid him in his watery bed, ✪ leave him not; but at a distance wait, } And mark what heaven's high will determines for him. Lay him among the flags on yonder beach, Just where the royal gardens meet the Nile- I dare not follow him. Suspicion's eye Would note my wild demeanour; Miriam, yes, The mother's fondness would betray the child. Farewell! God of my fathers, O protect him! Enter MIRIAM, after having deposited the child. Yes, I have laid him in his watʼry bed, His wat❜ry grave, I fear!—I tremble still! It was a cruel task-still I must weep! But ah! my mother, who shall sooth thy griefs? The flags and sea-weeds will awhile sustain Their precious load, but it must sink ere long! Sweet babe, farewell! Yet think not I will leave thee; No, I will watch thee, till the greedy waves Devour thy little bark: I'll sit me down, And sing to thee, sweet babe! Thou can'st not hear; But 'twill amuse me, while I watch thy fate. [She sits down on a bank and singe, SONG. Thou who canst make the feeble strong, O God of Israel, hear my song! Not mine such notes as Egypt's daughters raise : 'Tis thee, O God of hosts, I strive to praise. Ye winds, the servants of the Lord, Ye waves, obedient to his word, O spare the babe committed to your trust! And Israel shall confess the Lord is just! The United States Speaker. 233 Though doomed to find an early grave, This helpless infant thou canst save; And he, whose death's decreed by Pharaoh's hand, May rise a prophet to redeem the land. [She rises and looks out. Who moves this way? of royal port she seems; Perhaps sent hither by the hand of heaven, To prop the falling house of Levi-Soft; I'll listen unperceived, these trees will hide me. [She stands behind. Enter the PRINCESS of Egypt, attended by a train of ladies. Princess. No farther, virgins: here I mean to rest, To taste the pleasant coolness of the breeze; Perhaps to bathe in this translucent stream. Did not our holy law enjoin the ablution Frequent and regular, it still were needful To mitigate the fervours of our clime, Melita stay-the rest at distance wait. [They all go out except one. The PRINCESS looks out. Sure, or I much mistake, I do perceive Upon the sedgy margin of the Nile A chest: entangled in the reeds it seems; Discern'st thou aught? Melita. Something, but what I know not. Prin. Go, and examine what this sight may mean. [Exit maid. Mir. [behind.] O blest, beyond my hopes! he is dis- covered: My brother will be saved! Who is this stranger! Ah! 'tis the princess, cruel Pharaoh's daughter. If she resemble her inhuman sire, She must be cruel too; yet fame reports her Most merciful and mild:-I'll mark the event, And pray that heaven may prompt her to preserve him. Re-enter MELITA. Prin. Hast thou discovered what the vessel is? Mel. Oh, princess, I have seen the strangest sight! Within the vessel lies a sleeping babe, A fairer infant have I never seen! : v 2 234 The United States Speaker. Prin. Who knows, but some unhappy Hebrew woman Has thus exposed her infant, to evade The stern decree of my too cruel sire? Unhappy mothers! oft my heart has bled In secret anguish o'er your slaughtered sons. 1 Mel. Should this be one, my princess knows the danger. Prin. No danger should deter from acts of mercy. Mir. [behind.] A thousand blessings on her princely head! Prin. Too much the sons of Jacob have endured From royal Pharaoh's unrelenting hate; Too much our house has crush'd their alien race. Is't not enough that cruel task-masters Grind them by hard oppression and stern bondage? Is't not enough my father owes his greatness, His palaces, his fanes magnificent; Those structures which the world with wonder views, To the hard toils of much insulted Israel? To them his growing cities owe their splendour, Their labours built fair Rameses and Pythom; And now, at length, his still increasing rage To iron bondage adds the guilt of murder. And shall this little helpless infant perish? Forbid it, justice; and forbid it, heaven! Mel. I know thy royal father fears the strength Of this still growing race, who flourish more The more they are oppressed; he dreads their numbers. Prin. Apis forbid! Pharaoh afraid of Israel! Yet should this outcast race, this hapless people E'er grow to such a formidable greatness, (Which all the gods avert, whom Egypt worships,) This infant's life can never serve their cause, Nor can his single death prevent their greatness. Mel. I know not that; by weakest instruments Sometimes are great events produced: this child Perhaps may live to serve his upstart race More than a host. Prin. How ill does it beseem Thy tender years and gentle womanhood, To steel thy breast to pity's sacred touch! So weak, so unprotected is our sex, The United States Speaker. 235 So constantly exposed, so very helpless, That did not heaven itself enjoin compassion, Yet human policy should make us kind, Lest we should need the pity we refuse. Yes, I will save him-lead me to the place; And from the feeble rushes we'll remove The little ark which cradles this poor babe. [The PRINCESS and her maid go out. Mir. [comes forward.] How poor were words to speak my boundless joy! The princess will protect him; bless her heaven! [She looks out after the PRINCESS, and describes her action. ] With what impatient steps she seeks the shore! Now she approaches where the ark is laid! With what compassion, with what angel sweetness, She bends to look upon the infant's face! She takes his little hand in hers-he wakes-es She smiles upon him-hark! alas, he cries; Weep on, sweet babe! weep on, till thou hast touched Each chord of pity, waken'd every sense Of melting sympathy, and stolen her soul! She takes him in her arms-O lovely princess! How goodness heightens beauty! now she clasps him With fondness to her heart: she gives him now With tender caution to her damsel's arms: She points her to the palace, and again This way the princess bends her gracious steps: The virgin train retire, and bear the child. Re-enter the PRINCESS. Prin. Did ever innocence and infant beauty Plead with such dumb but powerful eloquence? If I, a stranger, feel these soft emotions, What must the mother who exposed him feel? Go, fetch a woman of the Hebrew. race, That she may nurse the babe; and, by her garb, Lo such a one is here! Mir. Princess, all hail! Forgive the bold intrusion of thy servant, Who stands a charmed spectator of thy goodness. Prin. I have redeemed an infant from the waves, Whom I intend to nurture as mine own. 236 The United States Speaker. Mir. My transports will betray me!-[Aside.] Generous princess! Prin. Know'st thou a matron of the Hebrew race To whom I may confide him? Mir. Well I know A prudent matron of the house of Levi; Her name is Jochebed, the wife of Amram; Gentle she is, and famed throughout her tribe For soft humanity; full well I know That she will rear him with a mother's love. [Aside.] O truly spoke! a mother's love indeed! To her despairing arms I mean to give This precious trust: the nurse shall be the mother! Prin. With speed conduct this matron to the palace Yes, I will raise him up in princely greatness, And he shall be my son. His name be Moses. For I have drawn him from the perilous flood. [They go out. She kneels. Thou great unseen! thou causest gentle deeds, And smil'st on what thou causest: thus I bless thee, That thou didst deign consult the tender make Of yielding human hearts, when thou ordain'dst Humanity a virtue! Didst incline The natural bias of the soul to mercy, Then mad'st that mercy duty! Gracious power! Mad'st the keen rapture exquisite as right; Beyond the joys of sense; as pleasure sweet; As reason constant, and as instinct strong! PERICLES. When the family and friends of Pericles were dead, and he was bimself persecuted by the Athenians, he bore it all with iron firm- ness; till at the burial of the last of his sons, he burst into tears, while attempting to place a funeral garland over the dead. -Stranger. "Who are thèse, with mournful tread, Bearing out the youthful dead? And who is he? the crowds retire Before his eye's commanding fire; The lines of age are in his face, But time bends not his martial grace, The United States Speaker. 237 } Nor sorrow bows his head; And while the maddening throng condemn, He hath not e'en a thought for them, His soul is with the dead!" Athenian. "Stranger! 'twould fire my aged cheek That deeply injured name to speak! 'Twas once the Athenian's breath of life, The watchword of the reddest strife; For when he led the marshal'd brave, His galley rode the foremost wave, And when the thundering shock began, His sword was blazing in the van. "Who hath not seen the stormy crowd Before his mild persuasion bow'd, Or still with awe, as o'er them pass'd His burning accents fierce and fast? Like the breeze the forest bending, Lightly in its evening play; Like the storm the mountain rending, Hurrying on its whirlwind way. He told the funeral praise of those Who fell before our Saurian foes, And made our hearts with rapture swell That Athens triumph'd when they fell; But when he chang'd the magic scene, And show'd them on the crimson'd green, Fallen in the morning of their years, We wept for those ill-fated men, And knew not which was mightiest then, The glory or the tears. "Look! within that marble court, Where the sparkling fount is playing, See the youth in careless sport, Each his mimic fleet arraying! There the yellow sunbeams fall Through the garden's wreathed wall, Where fruit groves, faint with sweetness, lean Their heavy folds of tender green, In which yon mansion's turrets sleep, Like sunny islands in the deep. 288 The United States Speaker. These courts are mine! and but for him, My blood had dyed that fountain's brim, And cold and blacken'd ruins press'd The spot so peaceful, calm, and blest. "Look round on many a roof, excelling The splendour of a royal dwelling; Mark those trees, in shady ranks Climbing up the marble banks. To where yon dark hill towers! There Athens, in victorious pride, Surveys afar on every side, Her wide extending powers. Look! for my aged eyes are dim! Each tower and temple tells of him, Whose might the radiant marble threw Against the heaven's transparent blue; High over all, a pearly crown, The Parthenon looks calmly down, Like our own goddess, from the head Of Jove in youth immortal springing: A gentle grace is round it shed, Far, far abroad its brightness flinging; The many colour'd tints of day Around its portals love to play, And gild its columns, light and proud, As glories from an evening cloud. "Go to the battle's stormy plain, Where changing squadrons charge again, And read the war cry on their lips! Or go to Athens' thousand ships, And ask what name of power presides Above the warfare of the tides! And when the harp of after days Is ringing high with sounds of praise, Go! learn what name has longest hung Upon the true Athenian's tongue.” Stran. "Injured old man! and can it be That Athens hath rewarded thee, By striving, with ungenerous aim, To change thy glory into shame!" The United States Speaker. 289 Ath. "Death, struck the dearest from his side Till none were left but one; And now he mourns that only pride, His last surviving son! He kept the sternness of his heart, The lightning of his eye; But death hath struck the tenderest part, And he begins to die. He hath none left to bear disgrace-" Stran. “Oh! may it fall on Athens' race! May they go down to well earn'd graves, Like thankless and dishonour'd slaves! How many a time, in future years, Shall they recall, with hopeless tears, That glorious day's departed sun, When Athens and renown were one. Then the Greek maid will fain discover Thy spirit in her youthful lover; The matron press her infant's charms With warmer rapture in her arms, When breathing prayers that she may see Her darling child resembling thee!" The hero by the burial stands, With head declined and folded hands! But when he vainly tries to spread The garland on that marble head, One burst of grief, with desperate start, Springs upwards from his breaking heart. 'Tis but one moment-and 'tis past; That moment's weakness is the last, His eye no more is dim! But many a tear of blood shall fall Within the guilty city's wall, When Athens weeps for him! THE FELON. O MARK his wan and hollow cheek, And mark his eye-balls glare, 40 The United States Speaker. And mark his teeth in anguish clench'd, The anguish of despair. Know since three days his penance borne Yon felon left a jail, And since three days no food has passed Those lips, so parched and pale. Where shall I turn, the wretch exclaims, Where hide my shameful head? How fly from scorn? oh, how contrive To earn my honest bread? This branded hand would gladly toil, But when for work I pray, Who sees this mark, a felon cries, And loathing turns away. This heart hath greatly err'd, but now Would fain revert to good; This hand has deeply sinned, but yet Has ne'er been stained with blood. Here virtue spurns me with disdain, There pleasure spreads her snare, Strong habit drags me back to vice, And urged by fierce despair. I strive while hunger gnaws my heart To fly from guilt in vain; World, 'tis thy cruel will I yield And plunge in guilt again. There's mercy in each ray of light That mortal eyes e'er saw, There's mercy in each breath of life That mortal lips e'er draw: There's mercy both for bird and beast In God's indulgent plan, There's mercy for each creeping thing But man has none for man. Ye proudly honest, when ye heard My wounded conscience groan, Had generous hand or feeling heart One glimpse of mercy shown, That act had made from burning eyes Sweet tears of virtue roll, Had fixed my heart, assured my faith, And heaven had gained a soul. The United States Speaker. 241 Reply to the Address of a Missionary at a Council of the Chiefs of the Six Nations," in 1805,-by Sagnym Wha- thah, alias Red Jacket. Friend and Brother!—It is the will of the Great Spirit, that we should meet together this day. He orders all things; and has given us a fine day for our council. He has taken his garment from before the sun, and caused it to shine with brightness upon us. Our eyes are opened, that we see clearly; our ears are unstopped, that we have been able to hear distinctly the words you have spoken. For all these favours we thank the Great Spirit, and him only. Brother! Listen to what we say. There was a time when our forefathers owned this great island. Their seats extended from the rising to the setting sun: the Great Spi- rit had made it for the use of the Indians. He had created the buffalo, the deer, and other animals for food. He had made the bear and the beaver; their skins served us for clothing. He had scattered them over the country, and taught us how to take them. He had caused the earth to produce corn for bread. All this he had done for his red children, because he loved them. If we had disputes about our hunting ground, they were generally settled without the shedding of much blood. But an evil day came upon us; your forefathers crossed the great waters, and landed on this island: their numbers were small: they found us friends, and not enemies. They told us they had fled from their own country, through fear of wicked men, and had come here to enjoy their religion. They asked for a small seat; we took pity on them, and granted their request; and they sat down amongst us. We gave them corn and meat, and, in return, they gave us poison. The white peo- ple having now found our country, tidings were sent back, and more came amongst us; yet we did not fear them. We took them to be friends: they called us brothers; we believed them, and gave them a larger seat. At length their numbers so increased, that they wanted more land: they wanted our country. Our eyes were opened, and we became uneasy. Wars took place; Indians were hired to fight against Indians; and many of our people were de- stroyed. They also distributed liquor amongst us, which has destroyed thousands. Brother! Once our seats were large, and yours were small. You have now become a great people, and we have scarcely a place left to spread our blankets. You have got X 242 The United States Speaker. our country, but, not satisfied, you want to force your reli- gion upon us. Brother! Continue to listen. You say you are sent to instruct us how to worship the Great Spirit agreeably to his mind, and that if we do not take hold of the religion which you teach, we shall be unhappy hereafter. How do we know this to be true? We understand that your reli- gion is written in a book. If it was intended for us as well as you, why has not the Great Spirit given it to us; and not only to us, but why did he not give to our forefathers the knowledge of that book, with the means of rightly un- derstanding it? We only know what you tell us about it, and having been so often deceived by the white people, how shall we believe what they say? Brother! You say there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit. If there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it? Why not all agree, as you can all read the book? Brother! We do not understand these things: we are told that your religion was given to your forefathers, and has been handed down from father to son. We also have a religion which was given to our forefathers, and has been handed down to us: it teaches us to be thankful for all favours received, to love each other, and to be united: we never quarrel about religion. Brother! The Great Spirit made us all; but he has made a great difference between his white and his red children—he has given us different complexions and dif- ferent customs. To you he has given the arts; to these he has not opened our eyes. Since he has made so great a difference between us in other things, why may he not have given us a different religion? The Great Spirit does right: he knows what is best for his children. Brother! We do not want to destroy your religion, or to take it from you. We only want to enjoy our own. Brother! We are told that you have been preaching to the white people in this place. These people are our neighbours. We will wait a little, and see what effect your preaching has had upon them. If we find it makes them honest, and less disposed to cheat Indians, we will then consider again of what you have said. Brother! You have now heard our answer, and this is all we have to say at present. As we are about to part, we will come and take you by the hand: and we hope the Great Spirit will protect you on your journey, and return you safe to your friends. The United States Speaker. 243 The Slave Trade.-Extract from a Discourse delivered at Plymouth, Massachusetts, December 22, 1820, in com- memoration of the first settlement of New England, by Daniel Webster. If the blessings of our political and social condition have not now been too highly estimated, we cannot well over- rate the responsibility which they impose upon us. We hold these institutions of government, religion, and learn- ing, to be transmitted as well as enjoyed. We are in the line of conveyance through which whatever has been ob- tained by the spirit and efforts of our ancestors, is to be communicated to our children. We are bound to maintain public liberty, and, by the example of our own systems, to convince the world, that order and law, religion and morality, the rights of con- science, the rights of persons, and the rights of property, may all be preserved and secured, in the most perfect manner, by a government entirely and purely elective. If we fail in this, our disaster will be signal, and will furnish an argument, stronger than has yet been found, in support of those opinions, which maintain that government can rest safely on nothing but power and coercion. As far as expe- rience may show errors in our establishments, we are bound to correct them; and if any practices exist contrary to the principles of justice and humanity, within the reach of our laws or our influence, we are inexcusable if we do not exert ourselves to restrain and abolish them. I deem it my duty, on this occasion, to suggest, that the land is not yet wholly free from the contamination of a traffick, at which every feeling of humanity must revolt- I mean the African slave trade. Neither publick senti- ment, nor the law, has yet been able entirely to put an end to this odious and abominable trade. At the moment when God, in his mercy, has blessed the world with a universal peace, there is reason to fear, that, to the disgrace of the christian name and character, new efforts are making for the extension of this trade, by subjects and citizens of christian states, in whose hearts no sentiment of justice inhabits, and over whom neither the fear of God nor the fear of man exercises a control. In the sight of our law, the African slave trader is a pirate and a felon; and in the sight of heaven, an offender far beyond the ordinary depth of human guilt. There is no brighter part of our history, than that which records the measures which have been 244 The United States Speaker. adopted by the government, at an early day, and at differ- ent times since, for the suppression of this traffick; and I would call upon all the true sons of New England, to co- operate with the laws of man, and the justice of heaven. If there be, within the extent of our knowledge or influ- ence, any participation in this traffick, let us pledge our- selves here, upon the Rock of Plymouth, to extirpate and destroy it. It is not fit that the land of the pilgrims should bear the shame longer. I hear the sound of the hammer -I see the smoke of the furnaces where manacles and fetters are still forged for human limbs. I see the visages of those, who by stealth, and at midnight, labour in this work of hell, foul and dark, as may become the artificers of such instruments of misery and torture. Let that spot be purified, or let it cease to be of New England. Let it be purified, or let it be set aside from the christian world; let it be put out of the circle of human sympathies and human regards; and let civilized man henceforth have no communion with it. I would invoke those who fill the seats of justice, and all who minister at her altar, that they execute the wholesome and necessary severity of the law. I invoke the ministers of our religion that they proclaim its denunciation of these crimes, and add its solemn sanctions to the authority of hu- man laws. If the pulpit be silent, whenever, or wherever there may be a sinner, bloody with his guilt, within the hearing of its voice, the pulpit is false to its trust. I call on the fair merchant, who has reaped his harvest upon the seas, that he assist in scourging from those seas the worst pirates that ever infested them. That ocean which seems to wave with a gentle magnificence, to waft the burdens of an honest commerce, and to roll its trea- sures with a conscious pride; that ocean which hardy in- dustry regards, even when the winds have ruffled its sur- face, as a field of grateful toil; what is it to the victim of this oppression when he is brought to its shores, and looks forth upon it, for the first time, from beneath chains, and bleeding with stripes?-What is it to him, but a wide- spread prospect of suffering, anguish and death? Nor do the skies smile longer; nor is the air fragrant to him. The sun is cast down from heaven. An inhuman and cursed traffick has cut him off in his manhood, or in his youth, from every enjoyment belonging to his being, and every blessing which his Creator intended for him. + The United States Speaker. 245 LETTER FROM THE BRITISH SPY, IN VIRGINIA.- -Wirt. I HAVE just returned from an interesting morning's ride. My object was to visit the site of the Indian town, Powhatan; which, you will remember, was the metropo- lis of the dominions of Pocahontas' father, and very prob- ably, the birth place of that celebrated princess. The town was built on the river, about two miles below the ground now occupied by Richmond: that is, about two miles below the head of tide water. Aware of the slight manner in which the Indians have always constructed their habitations, I was not at all dis- appointed in finding no vestige of the old town. But as I traversed the ground over which Pocahontas had so often bounded and frolicked in the sprightly morning of her youth, I could not help recalling the principal features of her history, and heaving a sigh of mingled pity and ven- eration to her memory. Good Heaven! What an eventful life was hers! To speak of nothing else, the arrival of the English in her fa- ther's dominions must have appeared (as indeed it turned out to be) a most portentous phenomenon. It is not easy for us to conceive the amazement and consternation which must have filled her mind and that of her nation at the first appearance of our countrymen. Their great ship, with all her sails spread, advancing in solemn majesty to the shore; their complexion; their dress; their language; their domestic animals; their cargo of new and glittering wealth; and then the thunder and irresistible force of their artillery; the distant country announced by them, far be- yond the great water, of which the oldest Indian had ne- ver heard, or thought, or dreamed-all this was so new, so wonderful, so tremendous, that, I do seriously suppose, the personal descent of an army of Milton's celestial angels, robed in light, sporting in the bright beams of the sun and redoubling their splendour, making divine harmony with their golden harps, or playing with the bolt and chasing the rapid lightning of heaven, would excite not more as- tonishment in Great Britain, than did the debarkation of the English among the aborigines of Virginia. Poor Indians! Where are they now? Indeed, this is a truly afflicting consideration. The people here may say what they please; but, on the principles of eternal truth and justice, they have no right to this country. They say that they have bought it.-Bought it! Yes;-of whom?- Of the poor trembling natives who knew that refusal 2 x 246 The United States Speaker. would be vain; and who strove to make a merit of neces- sity by seeming to yield with grace, what they knew that they had not the power to retain. Such a bargain might appease the conscience of a gentleman of the green bag, "worn and hackneyed" in the arts and frauds of his pro- fession; but in heaven's chancery, there can be little doubt that it has been long since set aside on the ground of com- pulsion. Poor wretches! No wonder that they are so implaca- bly vindictive against the white people; no wonder that the rage of resentment is handed down from generation to generation; no wonder that they refuse to associate and mix permanently with their unjust and cruel invaders and exterminators; no wonder that in the unabating spite and frenzy of conscious impotence, they wage an eternal war, as well as they are able; that they triumph in the rare op- portunity of revenge; that they dance, sing, and rejoice, as the victim shrinks and faints amid the flames, when they imagine all the crimes of their oppressors collected on his head, and fancy the spirits of their injured forefath- ers hovering over the scene, smiling with ferocious delight at the grateful spectacle, and feasting on the precious odour as it arises from the burning blood of the white man. Yet the people, here, affect to wonder that the Indians are so very unsusceptible of civilization; or, in other words, that they so obstinately refuse to adopt the man- ners of the white men. Go, Virginian; erase, from the Indian nation, the tradition of their wrongs; make them forget, if you can, that once this charming country was theirs; that over these fields and through these forests, their beloved forefathers, once, in careless gayety, pursued their sports and hunted their game; that every returning day found them the sole, the peaceful, the happy proprie- tors of this extensive and beautiful domain. Make them forget too, if you can, that in the midst of all this inno- cence, simplicity, and bliss-the white man came; and lo! -the animated chase, the feast, the dance, the song of fearless, thoughtless joy were over; that ever since, they have been made to drink of the bitter cup of humiliation; treated like dogs; their lives, their liberties, the sport of the white men; their country and the graves of their fath- ers torn from them, in cruel succession: until, driven from river to river, from forest to forest, and through a period of two hundred years, rolled back, nation upon nation, they find themselves fugitives, vagrants and strangers in their The United States Speaker. 247 own country, and look forward to the certain period when their descendants will be totally extinguished by wars, driven at the point of the bayonet into the western ocean, or reduced to a fate still more deplorable and horrid, the condition of slaves. Go, administer the cup of oblivion to recollections and anticipations like these, and then you will cease to com- plain that the Indian refuses to be civilized. But until then, surely it is nothing wonderful that a nation even yet bleeding afresh, from the memory of ancient wrongs, per- petually agonized by new outrages, and goaded into des- peration and madness at the prospect of the certain ruin which awaits their descendants, should hate the authors of their miseries, of their desolation, their destruction; should hate their manners, hate their colour, their lan- guage, their name, and every thing that belongs to them. No; never, until time shall wear out the history of their sorrows and their sufferings, will the Indian be brought to love the white man, and to imitate his manners. Great God! To reflect that the authors of all these wrongs were our own countrymen, our forefathers, profes- sors of the meek and benevolent religion of Jesus! O! it was impious; it was unmanly; poor and pitiful! Gracious Heaven! what had these poor people done? The simple inhabitants of these peaceful plains, what wrong, what in- jury, had they offered to the English? My soul melts with pity and shame. As for the present inhabitants, it must be granted that they are comparatively innocent: unless indeed they also have encroached under the guise of treaties, which they themselves have previously contrived to render expedient or necessary to the Indians. Whether this have been the case or not, I am too much a stranger to the interior transactions of this country to de- cide. But it seems to me that were I a president of the United States, I would glory in going to the Indians, throw- ing myself on my knees before them, and saying to them, "Indians, friends, brothers, O! forgive my countrymen ! Deeply have our forefathers wronged you; and they have forced us to continue the wrong. Reflect, brothers; it was not our fault that we were born in your country; but now, we have no other home; we have no where else to rest our feet. Will you not, then, permit us to remain? Can you not forgive even us, innocent as we are? If you can, O! come to our bosoms; be, indeed, our brothers; and since there is room enough for us all, give us a home in 248 The United States Speaker. your land, and let us be children of the same affectionate family." I believe that a magnanimity of sentiment like this, fol- lowed up by a correspondent greatness of conduct on the part of the people of the United States, would go farther to bury the tomahawk and produce a fraternization with the Indians, than all the presents, treaties, and missiona- ries that can be employed; dashed and defeated as these latter means always are, by a claim of rights on the part of the white people which the Indians know to be false and baseless. Let me not be told that the Indians are too dark and fierce to be affected by generous and noble sen- timents. I will not believe it. Magnanimity can never be lost on a nation which has produced an Alknomok, a Logan, and a Pocahontas. The repetition of the name of this amiable princess brings me back to the point from which I digressed. I wonder that the Virginians, fond as they are of anniversa- ries, have instituted no festival, or order, in honor of her memory. For my own part, I have little doubt, from the histories which we have of the first attempts at colonizing their country, that Pocahuntas deserves to be considered as the patron deity of the enterprise. When it is remem- bered how long the colony struggled to get a footing; how often sickness or famine, neglect at home, mismanagement here, and the hostilities of the natives, brought it to the brink of ruin; through what a tedious lapse of time it al- ternately languished and revived, sunk and rose, sometimes hanging, like Addison's lamp, "quivering at a point," then suddenly shooting up into a sickly and shortlived flame; in one word, when we recollect how near and how often it verged towards total extinction, maugre the patronage of Pocahontas; there is the strongest reason to believe that, but for her patronage, the anniversary cannon of the fourth of July would never have resounded throughout the United States. Is it not probable, that this sensible and amiable wo- man, perceiving the superiority of the Europeans, forsee- ing the probability of the subjugation of her countrymen, and anxious as well to soften their destiny, as to, save the needless effusion of human blood, desired, by her marri- age with Mr. Rolfe, to hasten the abolition of all distinc- tion between Indians and white men; to bind their inter- ests and affections by the nearest and most endearing ties, and to make them regard themselves, as one people, the children of the same great family? The United States Speaker. 249 If such were her wise and benevolent views, and I have no doubt but they were, how poorly were they backed by the British court? No wonder at the resentment and in- dignation with which she saw them neglected; no wonder at the bitterness of the disappointment and vexation which she expressed to captain Smith, in London, arising as well from the cold reception which she herself had met, as from the contemptuous and insulting point of view in which she found that her nation was regarded. Unfortunate princess! She deserved a happier fate! But I am consoled by these reflections: first, that she sees her descendants among the most respectable families in Virginia; and that they are not only superior to the false shame of disavowing her as their ancestor, but that they pride themselves, and with reason too, on the honor of their descent; secondly, that she herself has gone to a country, where she finds her noble wishes realized; where the distinction of color is no more; but where indeed, it is perfectly immaterial "what complexion an Indian or an African sun may have burned" on the pilgri'n. Conclusion of a Discourse delivered at Plymouth, Massa· chusetts, December 22d. 1820, in commemoration of the first settlement in New England.-WEBSTER. Let us not forget the religious character of our origin. Our fathers were brought hither by their high veneration for the Christian religion. They journeyed in its light, and labored in its hope. They sought to incorporate its principles with the elements of their society, and to dif- fuse its influence through all their institutions, civil, politi- cal, and literary. Let us cherish these sentiments, and extend their influence still more widely; in the full con- viction that that is the happiest society which partakes in the highest degree of the mild and peaceable spirit of Christianity. The hours of this day are rapidly flying, and this occa- sion will soon be passed. Neither we nor our children can expect to behold its return. They are in the distant regions of futurity, they exist only in the all-creating power of God, who shall stand here, a hundred years hence, to trace, through us, their descent from the pil- grims, and to survey, as we have now surveyed, the pro- 250 The United States Speaker. gress of their country during the lapse of a century. We would anticipate their concurrence with us in our senti- ments of deep regard for our common ancestors. We would anticipate and partake the pleasure with which they will then recount the steps of New-England's advance- ment. On the morning of that day although it will not disturb us in our repose, the voice of acclamation and gratitude, commencing on the rock of Plymouth, shall be transmitted through millions of the suns of the pilgrims, till it lose itself in the murmurs of the Pacific seas. We would leave, for the consideration of those who shall then occupy our places, some proof that we hold the blessings transmitted from our fathers in just estimation; some proof of our attachment to the cause of good gov- ernment, and of civil and religious liberty; some proof of a sincere and ardent desire to promote every thing which may enlarge the understandings and improve the hearts of men. And when, from the long distance of a hundred years, they shall look back upon us, they shall know, at least, that we possessed affections, which, running back- ward, and warming with gratitude for what our ancestors have done for our happiness, run forward also to our pos- terity, and meet them with cordial salutation, ere yet they have arrived on the shore of Being. Advance, then, ye future generations! We would hail you, as you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now fill, and to taste the blessings of existence where we are passing, and soon shall have passed, our hu- man duration. We bid you welcome to this pleasant land of the Fathers. We bid you welcome to the healthful skies, and the verdant fields of New-England. We greet your accession to the great inheritance which we have enjoyed. We welcome you to the blessings of good gov- ernment, and religious liberty. We welcome you to the treasures of science and the delights of learning. We welcome you to the transcendent sweets of domestic life, to the happiness of kindred, and parents, and children. We welcome you to the immeasurable blessings of ration- al existence, the immortal hope of Christianity, and the light of everlasting Truth! The United States Speaker. 251 Embarkation of the Plymouth Pilgrims from England. Ir is certain that, although many of them were repub- licans in principle, we have no evidence that our New England ancestors would have emigrated, as they did, from their own native country, become wanderers in Eu- rope, and, finally, undertaken the establishment of a colony here, merely from their dislike of the political systems of Europe. They fled, not so much from the civil government as from the hierarchy, and the laws which enforced con- formity to the church establishment. Mr. Robinson had left England as early as sixteen hundred and eight, on ac- count of the prosecutions for non-conformity, and had re- tired to Holland. He left England, from no disappointed ambition in affairs of state-from no regrets at the want of preferment in the church, nor from any motive of dis- tinction or of gain. Uniformity, in matters of religion, was pressed with such extreme rigour, that a voluntary exile seemed the most eligible mode of escaping from the pe- nalties of non-compliance. The accession of Elizabeth had, it is true, quenched the fires of Smithfield, and put an end to the easy acquisition of the crown of martyrdom. Her long reign had established the reformation, but toleration was a virtue beyond her conception, and beyond the age. She left no example of it to her successor; and he was not of a character which rendered it probable that a senti- ment, either so wise or so liberal, should originate with him. At the present period, it seems incredible, that the learned, accomplished, unassuming, and inoffensive Robin- son should neither be tolerated in his own peaceable mode of worship, in his own country, nor suffered quietly to de- part from it. Yet such was the fact. He left his country by stealth, that he might elsewhere enjoy those rights which ought to belong to men in all countries. The em- barkation of the Pilgrims for Holland is deeply interest- ing, from its circumstances, and also as it marks the cha- racter of the times, independently of its connexion with names now incorporated with the history of the empire. The embarkation was intended to be in the night, that it might escape the notice of the officers of government.- Great pains had been taken to secure boats, which should come undiscovered to the shore, and receive the fugitives; and frequent disappointments had been experienced in this respect. At length the appointed time came, bringing with it unusual severity of cold and rain. An unfrequented 252 The United States Speaker. and barren heath, on the shores of Lincolnshire, was the selected spot, where the feet of the Pilgrims were to tread, for the last time, the land of their fathers. The vessel which was to receive them did not come un- til the next day, and in the mean time the little band was collected, and men, and women, and children, and baggage, were crowded together, in melancholy and distressed con- fusion. The sea was rough, and the women and children. already sick, from their passage down the river to the place of embarkation. At length the wished-for boat si- lently and fearfully approaches the shore, and men, and women, and children, shaking with fear and cold, as many as the small vessel could bear, venture off on a dangerous sea. Immediately the advance of horses is heard from be- hind, armed men appear, and those not yet embarked are seized, and taken into custody. In the hurry of the mo- ment, there had been no regard to the keeping together of families, in the first embarkation; and, on account of the appearance of the horsemen, the boat never returned for the residue. Those who had got away, and those who had not, were in equal distress. A storm, of great violence, and long duration, arose at sea, which not only protracted the voyage, rendered distressing by the want of all those ac- commodations which the interruption of the embarkation had occasioned, but also forced the vessel out of her course, and menaced immediate shipwreck; while those on shore, when they were dismissed from the custody of the officers of justice, having no longer homes or houses to retire to, and their friends and protectors being already gone, be- came objects of necessary charity, as well as of deep com- miseration. As this scene passes before us, we can hardly forbear asking whether this be a band of malefactors and felons flying from justice? What are their crimes, that they hide themselves in darkness? To what punishment are they exposed, that, to avoid it, men, and women, and children, thus encounter the surf of the North Sea, and the terrors of a night storm? What induces this armed pursuit, and this arrest of fugitives, of all ages and both sexes? Truth does not allow us to answer these inquiries in a manner that does credit to the wisdom or the justice of the times. This was not the flight of guilt, but of virtue. It was an humble and peaceable religion, flying from causeless op- pression. It was conscience, attempting to escape from the arbitrary rule of the Stuarts. It was Robinson and Brewster, leading off their little band from their native The United States Speaker. 253 soil, at first to find shelter on the shores of the neighbor- ing continent, but ultimately to come hither; and, having surmounted all difficulties, and braved a thousand dangers, to find here a place of refuge and of rest. Thanks be to God, that this spot was honored as the asylum of religious liberty. May its standard, reared here, remain forever! May it rise up as high as heaven, till its banner shall fan the air of both continents, and wave as a glorious ensign of peace and security to the nations!-WEBSTer. On the laying of the Corner Stone of the Bunker Hill Monument.-WEBSTER. THE Society, whose organ I am, was formed for the pur- pose of rearing some honorable and durable monument to the memory of the early friends of American Indepen- dence. They have thought, that, for this object, no time could be more propitious than the present prosperous and peaceful period: that no place could claim preference over this memorable spot; and that no day could be more auspicious to the undertaking than the anniversary of the battle which was here fought. The foundation of that monument we have now laid. With solemnities suited to the occasion, with prayers to Almighty God for his bles- sing, and in the midst of this cloud of witnesses, we have begun the work. We trust it will be prosecuted; and that, springing from a broad foundation, rising high in massive solidity and unadorned grandeur, it may remain, as long as Heaven permits the works of man to last, a fit emblem, both of the events in memory of which it is rais- ed, and of the gratitude of those who have reared it. We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions is most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We know, that, if we could cause this struc- ture to ascend, not only till it reached the skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surfaces could still contain but part of that, which, in an age of knowledge, hath al- ready been spread over the earth, and which history charges itself with making known to all future times. We know that no inscription, on entablatures less broad than the earth itself, can carry information of the events we commemorate where it has not already gone; and that no structure, which shall not outlive the duration of letters Υ 254 The United States Speaker. and knowledge among men, can prolong the memorial. But our object is, by this edifice, to show our own deep sense of the value and importance of the achievements of our ancestors; and, by presenting this work of gratitude to the eye, to keep alive similar sentiments, and to foster a constant regard for the principles of the revolution. Hu- man beings are composed, not of reason only, but of ima- gination, also, and sentiment; and that is neither wasted nor misapplied, which is appropriated to the purpose of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening proper springs of feeling in the heart. Let it not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military spi- rit. It is higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the spirit of national independence, and we wish that the light of peace may rest upon it forever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of that unmeasured benefit, which has been conferred on our own land, and of the happy influences, which have been produced, by the same events, on the general interests of mankind. We come, as Americans, to mark a spot, which must forever be dear to us and our posterity. We wish, that whosoever, in all coming time, shall turn his eyes hither, may behold that the place is not undistinguished, where the first great bat- tle of the revolution was fought. We wish, that this structure may proclaim the magnitude and importance of that event to every class and every age. We wish, that infancy may learn the purpose of its erection from mater- nal lips, and that weary and withered age may behold it, and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests.- We wish, that labor may look up here, and be proud, in the midst of its toil. We wish, that, in those days of dis- aster, which, as they come on all nations, must be expect- ed to come on us also, desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of our national power still stand strong. We wish, that this column, rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God, may contribute, also, to produce, in all minds, a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last object on the sight of him who leaves his native shore, and the first to gladden his who revisits it, may be something which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till it meet the sun in his coming; let the earli- est light of the morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its summit. The United States Speaker. 255 Alliance between Religion and Liberty.—FROTHINGHAM. : RELIGION is an ennobling principle. It tells us that we are of a divine origin, and lie in the arms of a universal Providence; that we are connected with immortal pow- ers by our dependence, and with an immortal life by our hopes and our destiny. It sets at a far higher elevation than could else be thought of, the dignity of our race, and the worth of the intelligence that is within us. It inspires the conviction, that we are made for no mean purposes; and that they should not live as slaves on the earth, who are encouraged to expect something beyond its highest distinctions. It gives that moral courage and noble intent, which are the way to the inheritance of the best advanta- ges. How often has it been seen in advance of prevailing opinions and manners, leading them forward! How often has it furnished the first occasion for bold inquiries to go forth, and liberal truths to make themselves felt and re- cognised! The reply has been well pressed on those, who have wished that the African slaves might be instruct- ed in the Christian faith-You will thus make them impa- tient of their subjection; you will teach them to be free; you cannot drive and scourge the bodies of a population, after you have emancipated their souls; keep them, if you would keep them at all, in the deepest ignorance,-an ignorance as dark as God has made their skin, and as ab- ject as you have made their fate. Religion is an equalising principle. It treats with utter disregard those differences among men, which are produ- ced by necessity, altered by accident, destroyed by time. It tells those in the humblest condition, that they are of one blood with the proudest, and that the common Father, who has made the light to fall as sweet, and the courses of nature to roll as gloriously, round one as another, has appointed a world, in which the only distinction is righte- ousness. It tells the great, and the most fully prospered, and the most brilliantly endowed, that God looks not on the outward appearance, but searches the heart. It binds all by the same obligations, and invites all to the same bles- sings. It includes all under sin. It offers the same con- solations for troubles, from which the most favored classes are not exempted. It points to an impartial Sovereign, before whom the high and low, they who govern and they who serve, stand on the common level of humanity. It maintains just those truths, which exalt the poor in spirit, and the depressed in circumstances, and bring down the 256 The United States Speaker. haughty imaginations of those who would lord it over their fellows. It shows so many respects, in which we are alike and dependent, as to forbid presumption on one side; and, on the other, so many circumstances by which we are alike distinguished, as to raise the lowest above base complian- ces. It bows us down together in prayer, and who then will boast of his superiority? It assigns us our rest togeth- er in the dust, and what then will become of the superior- ity? It ranges us together before the judgment seat, and how will the oppressor appear there? Religion is a moral principle-essentially and vitally so; and, in this view, its importance to the cause of freedom is incalculable. That it has been refined away into unpro- fitable subtleties, that its records have been misinterpreted into all abomination, and its services fooled into mummery and a masque, there is no denying. But it is equally un- deniable that good sentiments and conduct are the very signs of its life. Its great law is duty. Its crowning glory is moral excellence. In spite of all the corruptions, which ignorance and fraud, ambition and frenzy, have heaped up- on it, it has been always accomplishing much in the work of a spiritual regeneration. It has spread itself through the masses of society like a refiner's fire. That it does no more for the community we may wonder, perhaps; but there is cause of thankfulness that it does so much. It is the most precious auxiliary of liberty, then; for, without moral cultivation, what would that be but lawlessness, a wild state of insecurity and excesses? It is righteousness that makes a people fit to be free, and noble in its free- dom. Religion in an independent principle. It ill bears dicta- tion and control. It is jealous of its freedom. It dwells in its own world of thought, and hope, and sensibility, and refuses to yield there to the hand of a master. It sets up its altars and holy usages; and has it not always been one of the most perilous attempts of tyranny to violate or over- throw them? "And, when they saw the sanctuary deso- late, and the altar profaned, they blew an alarm with the trumpets, and appealed to heaven." Many of the earliest resistances to oppression sprang from indignation at an abridged liberty here. The rights of conscience were among the first to be discerned and acted on. The main- taining of them long preceded the abstract discussions of political rights, and prepared men for the understanding and defence of those also. The patriot has taken copy of the martyr. The struggle for free thought has led on the The United States Speaker. 257 struggle for free government. There is a force in reli- gious conviction and feeling, that is the most expansive of all forces. It cannot be restrained by any arbitrary impo- sitions. It owns obedience to nothing but the truth, and the truth, in both a political and moral sense, makes men free. Rolla's Address to the Peruvians. My brave associates, partners of my toil, my feel- ings, and my fame! Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts? No; you have judged as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you, Your gen- erous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives, which in a war like this, can animate their minds, and ours. They, by a strange phrensy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rule; we, for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate: we serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom we adore. Whenever they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress! Whenever they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship! They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error! Yes; they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride. They offer us their protection: yes, such protection as vultures give to lambs, covering and devouring them! They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited and proved, for the desperate chance of something better, which they promise. Be our plain answer this: The throne we honor is the people's choice; the laws we reverence are our brave father's legacy! the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all man- kind, and die in hopes of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this; and tell them too, we seek no change; and least of all, such change as they would bring us. 2 Y 258 The United States Speaker. Extract of an Oration delivered at Rhode Island College, 1796. The Dignity of Human Nature. GUIDED by reason, man has travelled through the abstruse regions of the philosophic world. He has origin- ated rules by which he can direct the ship through the pathless ocean, and measure the comet's fight over the fields of unlimited space. He has established society and government. He can aggregate the profusions of every climate, and every season. He can meliorate the severi- ty, and remedy the imperfections of nature herself. All these things he can perform by the assistance of reason By imagination, man seems to verge towards creative power. Aided by this, he can perform all the wonders of sculpture and painting. He can almost make the marble speak. He can almost make the brook murmur down the painted landscape. Often, on the pinions of imagination, he soars aloft where the eye has never travelled; where other stars glitter on the mantle of night, and a more efful- gent sun lights up the blushes of morning. Flying from world to world, he gazes on all the glo- ries of creation; or, lighting on the distant margin of the universe, darts the eye of fancy over the mighty void, where power creative never yet has energized, where ex- istence still sleeps in the wide abyss of possibility. By imagination he can travel back to the source of time; converse with the successive generations of men, and kindle into emulation while he surveys the monumen- tal trophies of ancient art and glory. He can sail down the stream of time until he loses "sight of stars and sun, by wandering into those retired parts of eternity, when the heavens and the earth shall be no more. "" To these unequivocal characteristics of greatness in man, let us adduce the testimony of nature herself. Sur- rounding creation_subserves the wants and proclaims the dignity of man. For him day and night visit the world. For him the seasons walk their splendid round. For him the earth teems with riches, and the heavens smile with beneficence. All creation is accurately adjusted to his capacity for bliss. He tastes the dainties of festivity, breathes the per- fumes of morning, revels on the charms of melody, and regales his eye with all the painted beauties of vision. Whatever can please, whatever can charm, whatever can The United States Speaker. 259 expand the soul with ecstacy of bliss, allures and solicits his attention. All things beautiful, all things grand, all things sublime, appear in native loveliness, and proffer man the richest pleasures of fruition. Extract from an Address, delivered at Northampton (Mass.) before the Agricultural Society, by SAMUEL F. DICKINSON. A GOOD husbandman will educate his daughters. I distinguish the education of daughters from that of sons, because nature has designed them to occupy places in families, and in society, altogether dissimilar. Daughters should be well instructed in the useful scien- ces, comprising a good English education, including a tho- rough knowledge of our own language, geography, history, mathematics, and natural philosophy. The female mind, so sensitive, so susceptible of improvement, should not be neglected. This sensibility presents strong claims for its culture. God hath designed nothing in vain. Daughters should, also, be thoroughly acquainted with the business and cares of a family. These are among the first objects of woman's creation; they ought to be among the first branches of her education. She was made for a mother. They should learn neatness, economy, industry, and sobriety. These will constitute their ornaments. No vermillion will be necessary to give color or ex- pression to the countenance; no artificial supports to give shape or torture, to the body. Nature will appear in all her loveliness of proportion and beauty; and modesty, unaffected gentleness of manner, will render them amiable in the kitchen and dining room, and ornaments to the sit- ting room and parlor. How enviable the parents of such a daughter. How lovely the daughter herself. How happy the husband of such a wife. Thrice happy the children of such a mother. They shall rise up and call her blessed, and her memory shall live. The influence of the female character can not be es- timated. It is decisive of the character of the other sex. If her character be pure, and elevated, and without re- proach; such will be the character of the other sex. There is no man so much a monster that he would dare to : 260 The United States Speaker. be vicious in the presence of a modest and virtuous wo- man. Her character is a shield against even the solicita- tion to vice. Every thing, domestic or social, depends on the fe- male character. As daughters and sisters, they decide the character of the family. As wives, they emphatically de- cide the character of their husbands, and their condition also. It has been not unmeaningly said, that the husband must ask his wife whether he may be respected. He cer- tainly must inquire at her altar whether he may be pros- perous or happy. As mothers, they decide the character of their children. Eternity only can disclose the conse- quences. Nature has constituted them the early guardians and instructers of their children, and clothed them with sym- pathies suited to this important trust. Who that had a pious and faithful mother, can, without emotion, call to mind her early solicitude, and prayers, and counsels, in his behalf? Such remembrance shall not cease to warm and enrich the heart, so long as clothed with mortality. And of this, and of that, it shall be said in heaven, he had a faithful, a pious mother. Half the wretchedness and misery in families, arising from temper, or want of economy in the wife, has not been told. Not even the bestial habit of drunkenness in the husband, produces more disastrous consequences. To this cause, also may be attributed many of the vices of the husband. He will not love home, if his fireside is render- ed uncomfortable or unpleasant. And when the love of home is gone, the man is lost. There is no redemption. Better that he had not been! The appearance of the husband, and the condition of the children, faithfully express the character of the wife. If she be the neat, prudent, modest and dignified woman, her husband will proclaim it wherever he goes; in his countenance, in his apparel, in his whole demeanor; it is inscribed on every thing about him. The children, also, will be modest and manly; in clean and whole ap- parel. If she chance to possess the opposite qualities, her husband will be uneasy, fretful, and gloomy, he knows not why; and her children, impudent and ugly, their ap- parel unmended and unwashed. These appearances, and they are not images of fan- cy, as surely foretel the ruin of a family, as does the The United States Speaker. 261 thunder cloud, the rain, or the rumbling of the mountain, the bursting of a volcano. How important, then, that every husbandman should educate well his daughters, cherishing and maturing all that excellence of mind, and temper, and sincerity of heart, which belong to her sex, pre-eminently fit her for the endearing relations of child, of sister, of wife, and of mother. How important, also, to every young man, that he be blessed with such a connexion. It cannot be too often, or too strongly impressed upon the minds of fathers, and of mothers too, that their daughters hold, in their keeping, the destinies of the pre- sent, and, at least, of the generation to come. How desi- rable, too, that their other virtues be clothed with piety. Pious women have ever been highly favored of heaven. They were first to listen at the feet of the Saviour, first to weep at his sufferings, last to linger around his cross, first to worship at his sepulchre; to them, first was an- nounced the resurrection. They shall stand nearest his throne. Extract from an Oration on the Virtues of General Wash- ington, pronounced the 8th of February, 1800. Ir is natural that the gratitude of mankind should be drawn to their benefactors. A number of these have suc- cessively arisen, who were no less distinguished for the elevation of their virtues than the lustre of their talents. Of those, however, who were born, and who acted through life as if they were born not for themselves, but for their country and the whole human race, how few are recorded in the long annals of ages, and how wide the intervals of time and space that divide them. In all this dreary length of way, they appear like five or six lighthouses on as many thousand miles of coast; they gleam upon the surrounding darkness with an inex- tinguishable splendor, like stars seen through a mist; but they are seen like stars, to cheer, to guide, and to save. Washington is now added to that small number. Al- ready he attracts curiosity, like a newly discovered star, whose benignant light will travel on to the world's and time's farthest bounds. Already his name is hung up by 262 The United States Speaker. history as conspicuously as if it sparkled in one of the constellations of the sky. By commemorating his death, we are called this day to yield the homage that is due to his virtue; to confess the common debt of mankind as well as our own; and to pronounce for posterity, now dumb, that eulogium, which they will delight to echo ten ages hence when we are dumb. The unambitious life of Washington, declining fame, yet courted by it, seemed, like his own Potomac, widening and deepening his channel, as he approaches the sea, and displaying most the usefulness and serenity of his great- ness toward the end of his course. Such a citizen would do honor to any country. The constant veneration and affection of his country will show that it was worthy of such a citizen. However his military fame may excite the wonder of mankind, it is. chiefly by his civil magistracy that his example will in- struct them. Great generals have arisen in all ages of the world, and, perhaps, most in those of despotism and dark- ness. In times of violence and convulsion, they rise, by the force of the whirlwind, high enough to ride in it, and direct the storm. Like meteors, they glare on the black clouds with a splendor, that, while it dazzles and terrifies, makes nothing visible but the darkness. The fame of heroes is, indeed, growing_vulgar! They multiply in every long war! They stand in history, and thicken in their ranks, almost as undistinguished as their own soldiers. But such a chief magistrate as Washington, appears like the polestar in a clear sky, to direct the skilful states- man. His presidency will form an epoch, and be distin- guished as the age of Washington. Already it assumes its high place in the political region. Like the milky way, it whitens along its allotted portion of the hemis- phere. The latest generations of men will survey, through the telescope of history, the space where so many virtues blend their rays, and delight to separate them into groups and distinct virtues. As the best illustration of them, the living monument, to which the first of patriots would have chosen to consign his fame, it is my earnest prayer to hea- ven, that our country may subsist, even to that late day, in the plenitude of its liberty and happiness, and mingle its mild glory with Washington's. The United States Speaker. 263 Political Economy.-MRS. Bryan." THE language of science is frequently its most diffi- cult part, but in political economy there are few technical terms, and those easily comprehended. It may be defined as the science which teaches us to investigate the causes. of the wealth and prosperity of nations. In a country of savages, you find a small number of inhabitants spread over a vast tract of land. Depending on the precarious subsistence afforded by fishing and hun- ting, they are frequently subject to dearths and famines, which cut them off in great numbers. As soon as they begin to apply themselves to pasturage, their means of subsistence are brought within narrower limits, requiring only that degree of wondering necessary to provide fresh pasturage for their cattle. Their flocks ensuring them a more easy subsistence, their families begin to increase; they lose, in a great measure, their ferocity, and a consid- erable improvement takes place in their character. By degrees the art of tillage is discovered, a small tract of ground becomes capable of feeding a greater rela- tive number of people: the necessity of wandering in search of food is superseded; families begin to settle in fixed habitations, and the arts of social life are introduced and cultivated. In the savage state scarcely any form of government is established; the people seem to be under no control but that of their military chiefs in time of warfare. The pos- session of flocks and herds in the pastoral state introduces property, and laws are necessary for its security; the el- ders and leaders, therefore, of these wandering tribes begin to establish laws to violate which is to commit a crime and to incur a punishment. This is the origin of social order; and when in the third state, the people settle in fixed habitations, the laws gradually assume the more regular form of monarchical or republican government. Every thing now wears a new aspect; industry flourishes, the arts are invented, the use of metals is discovered; labor is subdivided; every one applies himself more particularly to a distinct employ- ment, in which he becomes skilful. Thus, by slow degrees, this people of savages, whose origin was so rude and miserable, become a civilized peo- ple, who occupy a highly cultivated country, crossed by 1 264 The United States Speaker. fine roads, leading to wealthy and populous cities, and carrying on an extensive trade with other countries. The whole business of political economy is to study the causes which have thus co-operated to enrich and civ- ilize a nation. This science, therefore, is essentially foun- ded upon history, not the history of sovereigns, of wars, and of intrigues, but the history of the arts, and of trade, of discoveries, and of civilization. F We see some countries, like America, increase rap- idly in wealth and prosperity, while others, like Egypt and Syria, are empoverished, depopulated, and falling to de- cay; when the causes which produce these various effects are well understood, some judgment may be formed of the measures which governments have adopted to contrib- ute to the welfare of their people; whether certain branches of commerce should be encouraged in prefer- ence to others; whether it be proper to prohibit this or that kind of merchandise; whether any peculiar encour- agements should be given to agriculture; whether it be right to establish by law the price of provisions or the price of labor, or whether they should be left without con- trol; and whether many other measures, which influence the welfare of nations, should be adopted or rejected. It is manifest, therefore, that political economy con- sists of two parts, theory and practice; the science and the art. The science comprehends a knowledge of the facts which have been enumerated; the art relates more particularly to legislation, and consists in doing whatever is requisite to contribute to the increase of national wealth and avoiding whatever would be prejudical to it. THE END. ני UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA 3 1951 D00 803 981 U 2 NO. 31 MARKET ET, PILADELPHIA Has just published THE HISTORY OF SOUTH AMERICom the du covery of the new world by Columbus, to the dorpiest n Por by Pizarro, interspersed with amusing and containing a minute description of the a Setons, Arese, formaments, and more of William Grinshas Boter the In ONES low e Head History of atlised. 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