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for us to be brave. There is no alternative but victory or death! and, if it must be death, who would not rather encounter it in battle than in flight? The immortal gods could give no stronger incentive to victory. Let but these truths be fixed in your minds, and once again I proclaim, you are conquerors !
O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD?
0, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ?
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade-
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye
The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,
The saint who enjoyed the communion of Heaven,
So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed
For we are the same that our fathers have been;
The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;
They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;
They died-ay! they died; and we, things that are now,
Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,
A SONG OF THE OAMP.
“Give us a song !" the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding, When the heated guns of the camp allied
Grew weary of bombarding.
The dark Redan, in silent scoff,
Lay grim and threatening under: And the tawny mound of the Malakoff
No longer belched its thunder.
There was a pause. A guardsman said,
“We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing, while we may; another day
Will bring enough of sorrow."
They lay along the battery's side,
Below the smoking cannonBrave hearts from Severn and from Clydo,
And from the banks of Shannon.
They sang of love, and not of fame :
Forgot was Britain's glory;
But all sang “ Annie Laurie."
Voice after voice caught up the song,
Until its tender passion
Their battle-eve confession.
Dear girll her name he dared not speak;
But as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek
Washed off the stains of powder.
Beyond the darkening ocean burned
The bloody sunset's embers,
How English love remembers.
And once again a fire of hell
Rained on the Russian quarters,
And bellowing of the mortars!
And Irish Nora's eyes are dim
For a singer dumb and gory,
Who sang of "Annie Laurie."
Sleep, soldiers ! still in honored rest
Your truth and valor wearing;
The loving are the daring.
POLONIUS TO LAERTES.
My blessing with you! And'these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thoạ familiar, but by no means vulgar: The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatched, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
RIOHELIEU AND FRANCE.
SIR E. BULWER LYTTON. My liege, your anger can recall your trust, Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, Rifle my coffers; but my name, my deeds, Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre. Pass sentence on me, if you will; from kings, Lo, I appeal to time! Be just, my liege. I found your kingdom rent with heresies And bristling with rebellion ; lawless nobles And dreadless serfs; 'England fomenting discord; Austria, her clutch on your dominion; Spain Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind To armèd thunderbolts. The arts lay dead; Trade rotted in your marts; your armies mutinous, Your treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke Your trust ? so be it! and I leave you sole, Supremest monarch of the mightiest realm From Ganges to the icebergs. Look withoutNo foe not humbled! Look within the Arts Quit, for our school, their old Hesperides, The golden Italy! while throughout the veins Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides Trade, the calm health of nations! Sire, I know That men have called me cruel; . .