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Makes glad whose frown is terrible; whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear

Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,
I'm with you once again!-I call to you
With all my voice!--I hold my hands to you
To show they still are free. I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!

Scaling yonder peak,

I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow,
O'er the abyss: his broad expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air.
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively
I bent my bow: yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as in the delight

Of measuring the ample range beneath,

And round about; absorbed, he heeded not

The death that threatened him.-I could not shoot
'Twas liberty!-I turned my bow aside,

And let him soar away!

Heavens! with what pride I used
To walk these hills, and look up to my God,
And think the land was free. Yes, it was free-
From end to end, from cliff to lake, 'twas free-
Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks,
And plough our valleys without asking leave;
Or as our peaks that wear their caps of snow
In very presence of the regal sun.

How happy was I then! I loved

Its very storms. Yes, I have often sat

In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake_
The stars went out, and down the mountain-gorge
The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master save his own.
-On the wild jutting cliff, o'ertaken oft
By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along;
And while gust followed gust more furiously,

As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,

Then I have thought of other lands, whose storms

Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there;-the thought that mine was free

Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head,

And cried in thraldom to that furious wind,

Blow on! This is the land of liberty!

XIV.-ION CONTEMPLATING THE DEATH OF KING ADRASTUS.

I DREAM no more

Talfourd.

Of azure realms where restless beauty sports
In myriad shapes fantastic; but black vaults
In long succession open, till the gloom

Afar is broken by a streak of fire

That shapes my name ;-the fearful wind, that moans Before the storm, articulates its sound:

And as I passed but now the solemn range

Of Argive monarchs, that in sculptured mockery
Of present empire sit, their eyes of stone
Bent on me, instinct with a frightful life
That drew me into fellowship with them

As conscious marble; while their ponderous lips-
Fit organs of eternity!-unclosed,

And murmured-"HAIL! HAIL! ION THE DEVOTED!"

The gods have prompted me! for they have given
One dreadful voice to all things which should be

Else dumb or musical; and I rejoice

To step from the grim round of waking thoughts
Into the fellowship which makes all clear.

Ye eldest gods!

Who in no statues of exactest form
Are palpable; who shun the azure heights
Of beautiful Olympus, and the sound
Of ever-young Apollo's minstrelsy,
Yet, mindful of the empire which ye held
Over dim Chaos, keep revengeful watch
On falling nations, and on kingly lines
About to sink for ever; ye, who shed
Into the passions of earth's giant brood
And their fierce usages, the sense of justice;
Who clothe the faded battlements of tyranny
With blackness, as a funeral pall, and breathe,
Through the proud halls of time-emboldened guilt,
Portents of ruin,-hear me! In your presence,
For now I feel you nigh, I dedicate

This arm to the destruction of the King
And of his race! O, keep me pitiless;
Expel all human weakness from my frame,

That this keen weapon shake not, when his heart
Should feel its point; and if he has a child
Whose blood is needful to the sacrifice

My country asks, harden my soul to shed it!

XV.-LEONI'S NIGHT-SOLILOQUY IN VENICE.-Byron.

I WILL to rest, right weary of this revel,

The gayest we have held, for many moons.
And yet, I know not why, it cheered me not;
There came a heaviness across my heart,
Which, in the lightest movement of the dance,
Oppressed me,

And through my spirit chilled my blood, until
A damp, like death, rose o'er my brow: I strove
To laugh the thought away, but 'twould not be;
So that I left the festival before

It reached its zenith, and will woo my pillow
For thoughts more tranquil, or forgetfulness.-

I will try

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Whether the air will calm my spirits: 'tis
A goodly night: the cloudy wind which blew
From the Levant, hath crept into its cave.

And the broad moon has brightened. What & stillness!
And what a contrast with the scene I left,
Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps'
More pallid gleam along the tapestried walls,
Spread over the reluctant gloom, which haunts
Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries,

A dazzling mass of artificial light,

Which showed all things, but nothing as they were.
Around me are the stars and waters,-
Worlds mirrored in the ocean, goodlier sight
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass;
And the great element, which is to space
What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths,
Softened with the first breathings of the spring;
The high moon sails upon her beauteous way,
Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls

Of those tall pines, and sea-girt palaces;
Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,
Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles,
Like altars ranged along the broad Canal,

Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed,

Reared up from out the waters,-scarce less strangely
Than those more massy and mysterious giants

Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,

Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have

No other record. All is gentle: nought

Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night,
Whatever walks, is gliding like a spirit.
The tinkling of some vigilant guitars
Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,
And cautious opening of the casement, showing
That he is not unheard; while her young hand.—
Fair as the moonlight, of which it seems a part,
So delicately white, it trembles in

The act of opening the forbidden lattice

To let in love through music.-makes his heart
Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight;-the dash
Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle
Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,
And the responsive voices of the choir

Of boatmen, answering back, with verse for verse—
Some dusky shadow, checkering the Rialto-
Some glimmering palace-roof, or tapering spire—
Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade
The ocean-born and earth-commanding city.
How sweet and soothing is the hour of calm!
I thank thee, Night! for thou hast chased away
Those horrid bodements, which, amidst the throng,
I could not dissipate, and,-with the blessing

Of thy benign and quiet influence,-
Now will I to my couch; although to rest
Is almost wronging such a night as this.

DIALOGUES.

I. BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.-Shakspeare.

Cas. That you have wronged me doth appear in thisYou have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letters (praying on his side, Because I knew the man) were slighted of.

Bru. You wronged yourself to write in such a case. Cas. In 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 condemned 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!

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March, remember Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touched his body, that did stab, And not for justice? 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, I,
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?

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Cas. O gods! ye gods! must I endure all this?

Bru. All this? ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break; 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? By the gods,
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 mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way-
I said, an elder soldier, not a better;
Did I say better?

Bru. If you did, I care not.

-you wrong me, Brutus;

Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved 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 armed 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;
For I can raise no money by vile means.

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 to pieces!

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not; he was but a fool

That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived my heart.

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Bru. I do not, till 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.

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