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As where heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head',

Of his deeds to tell !



Anapestic. Four feet and three. In the first and fourth

stanza, each third and sixth line has an additional short

syllable. 1. Behold the moss'd corner-stone dropp'd from the wall',* And gaze on its daté, but remember its fall",

Ănd hope that some hand may replace it'; Think not of its pride when with pomp it was laid', But weep for the ruin its absence has madé,

And the lapse of the years that efface it. 2. Mourn Washington's death', when ye think of his birth', And far from your thoughts be the lightness of mirth',

And far from your cheek be its smilè.
To-day he was born —’twas a loan—not a gift;
The dust of his body' is all that is left',

To hallow his funeral pile.
3. Flow gently', Potomac'! thou washest away'
The sands where he trod, and the turf where he lay',

When youth brushed his cheek with her wing ; Breathe softly, ye wild winds', that circle around' That dearest, and purest, and holiest ground'

Ever pressed by the foot-prints of Spring.
4. Each breeze be a sigh', and each dewdrop a tear',
Each wave be a whispering monitor near',

To remind the sad shore of his story';
And darker', and softer', and sadder the gloom'
Of that evergreen mourner that bends o'er the tomb',

Where Washington sleeps in his glory.
5. Great God"! when the spirit of freedom shall fail',
And the sons of the pilgrims in sorrow bewail'

Their religion and liberty gone';
Oh', send back a form that shall stand as he stood',

* This line is faulty in its measure, and is a specimen of the carelessness of many modern poets.

Unsubdu'd by the tempesť, unmov'd by the flood' ;

And to Thee, be the glory alonè.



Iambis verse, with some irregularities. . I have endeavored to mark this extract from Shakspeare so as to give the true expression. Where there is such a tumult of conflicting passions, however, it is not easy to express the transitions, by any scheme of notation, with perfect accuracy ; but it is hoped that the notation here used will not be materially deficient.

Give me another horsè—bind up my wounds —
Have mercy', Jesù Soft'; I did but dream;
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!

The lights burn bluè.-It is now dēad midnight. 5 Cold fearful drops stand on my trēmbling flesh.

What do I fear? myself? there's none else bý' :
Richard" loves' Richard“; that is', I' am T.
Is there a murderer heré ? Nò;—Yes'; I'am :

Then fly',—What', from myself ? Greāt rēason! Why? 10 Lest I revenge. What'? Myself, on myself?

I love myself. Whereforé ? for any good "
That i' myself

' have done unto myself" ?
O, nò: alas", I rather hâte myself”,

For hateful deeds committed by myself. 15 I am a villain': Yet I lie'-I am notk.

Fool', of thyself speak well':-Fool', do not flatter'.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues',
And every tongue brings in a several talé,

And every talé condemns me for a villain. 20 Perjury', perjury', in the high'st degree;

Mụrder', stern mūrder', in the dir'st degree ;
All several sins', all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar', crying all', —Gạilty'! gụilty'!—

I shall despair. There is no créature loves mé; 25 And', if I dié, no soul will pity mè :

Nay, wherefore shoûld they'? since that I myself
Find in myself' no pity to myself?
Methought', the souls of all that I had murdered'

Came to my tent': and every one did threat 30 To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

In T In I



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Iambic. Epic.
As thus the snows arisé, and foul, and fiercé,
All winter drives along the darken'd air',
In his own loose-revolving fields', the swain'

Disaster'd stands"; sees other hills ascend',
5 Of unknown joyless brow'; and other scenes',

Of horrid prospecť, shag the trackless plain':
Nor finds the river', nor the forest", hid
Beneath the formless wild"; but wanders on

From hill to dalé, still more and more astray'; 10 Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps',

Stung with the thoughts of homel; the thoughts of homé
Rush on his nerves', and call their vigor forth'
In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul" !

What black despair', what horror' fills his heart'! 15 When, for the dusky spot which fancy feign'd',

His tufted cottagé rising through the snow',
He meets the roughness of the middle waste',
Far from the track, and blest abode of mano;

While round him night resistless closes fast, 20 And every tempest, howling o'er his head,

Renders the savage wilderness more wild.
Then throng the busy shapes into his mind',
Of cover'd pits unfathomably deep',

A dire descent', beyond the power of frost'! 25 Of faithless bogs'; of precipices hugé,

Smooth'd up with snow! and what is land unknown',
What water of the still unfrozen spring',
In the loose marsh' or solitary laké,

Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils', 30 These check his fearful steps'; and down he sinks'

Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift',
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,
Mix'd with the tender anguish Nature shoots'

Through the wrung bosom of the dying man', 35 His wifé, his children', and his friends unseen'.




In vain for him the officious wife prepares'
The fire fair-blazing', and the vestment warm";
In vain his little children, peeping out

Into the mingling storm', demand their siré 40 With tears of artless innocence. Alas'!

Nor wife nor children more shall he behold',
Nor friends', nor sacred home. On ev'ry nerve
The deadly Winter seizes, -shuts up sensé, -

And', o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold', 45 Lays him along the snows a stiffen'd corsé,

Stretch'd out', and bleaching in the northern blast.



Iambic. Epic.
Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears
The palm', “ that all men are abôut to livé”—
Forever on the brink of being bôrn:

All pay themselves the compliment to think'
5 They one day shall not driveľ; and their pridé,

On this reversion', takes up ready praisè,-
At leasť, their own"; their fûture selves applauds:
How excellent that life they ne'er will lead'!

Time lodged in their own hands', is Folly's' 'vails; 10 Time lodged in Fate's', to wisdom' they consign;

The thing they can't but purposé, they postpone.
'Tis not in folly' not to scorn a fool',
And scarce in human wisdom to do mörē.

All promisē, is poor dilatory man', 15 And that, through every stage. When young', indeed',

In full content we sometimes nobly rest',
Unanxious for ourselves', and only wish',
As duteous sons', our fâthers were more wisé.

At thirty, man suspects himself a fool";
20 Knows it at forty', and reforms his plan';

At fifty', chides his infamous delay',
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolvè ;
In all the magnanimity of thought'

Resolves', and rè-resolves; then dies the same. 25 And why'? because he thinks himself immortal';

All men think all men mortal', but themselves';
Themselves', when some alarming shock of Faté

Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread':

But their hearts wounded', like the wounded air', 30 Soon close; where passed the shaft no trace is found.

As from the wing no scar the sky retains',
The parted wavé no furrow from the keel',
So dies in human hearts the thought of death':

Even with the tender tear which nature sheds 35 O'er those we lové, we drop it' in their gravè.



Anapestic. Four feet.
1. The Assyrian came down* like the wolf on the fold',

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold';
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
2. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green',

That host with their banners' at sunset were seen':
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown',

That host' on the morrow lay withered and strown. 3. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast',

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill”,

And their hearts but once heaved', and forever grew still 4. And there lay the steed with his nostril all widé,

But through it there rolled not the breath of his pridè;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf',

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 5. And there lay the rider distorted and palé,

With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail';
And the tents were all silent', the banners alonè,

The lances uplifted', the trumpet unblown'.
6. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail',

And the idols are broke in the temple of Baalt;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !

* In the second foot there are three very short syllables and one long. It is at best a faulty foot. + Pronounced by the poet, Bale, but improperly.

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