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His valiant peers were placed around,
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound;
The lovely Thais, by his side,
None but the brave,
None but the brave-deserves the fair.
Timotheus, placed on high
Amid the tuneful choir,
With flying fingers touched the lyre:
When he to fair Olympia pressed,
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound:
A present deity! they shout around;
A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound.—
With ravished ears
The monarch hears;
Assumes the god,
And seems to shake the spheres.
The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung;
Of Bacchus, ever fair, and ever young.
The jolly god in triumph comes !
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums.
Now give the hautboys breath-he comes! he comes!
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure;
Rich the treasure ;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ;
Fought all his battles o'er again ;
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
And, while he heaven and earth defied,
Changed his hand, and checked his pride.—
Soft pity to infuse.
He sung Darius, great and good,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
With downcast look the joyless victor sat,
The various turns of fate below;
The mighty master smiled, to see
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Never ending, still beginning,
If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh! think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais sits beside thee;
Take the good the gods provide thee.The many rend the skies with loud applause: So love was crowned, but music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gazed on the fair
Who caused his care,
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,
At length, with love and wine at once oppressed,
Now, strike the golden lyre again;
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain :
Has raised up his head,
As awaked from the dead;
And amazed he stares around.
Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries
See the furies arise!
See the snakes that they rear,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a ghastly band,
Each a torch in his hand!
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,
Behold how they toss their torches on high!
And glittering temples of their hostile gods !—
The princes applaud, with a furious joy;
And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy : Thais led the way,
To light him to his prey;
And, like another Helen-fired another Troy.
Thus long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,
And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage-or kindle soft desire.
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let Old Timotheus yield the prize,
18.-SPEECH OF ROLLA.
My brave associates-partners of my toil, my feelings, 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 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.-Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress !—Whene'er 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 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 with all mankind, and die with hope 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. SHERIDAN'S Pizarro.
19.-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's 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 have I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman? if any, speak; for him have I offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? if any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
None! then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar, than you should do to Brutus. The question 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 slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. SHAKSPEARE.
20. OSMOND'S DREAM.
HARK, fellows! Instruments of my guilt, listen to my punishment!-Methought I wandered through the lowbrowed caverns where repose the reliques of my ancestors; -my eye dwelt with awe on their tombs, with disgust on mortality's surrounding emblems!-Suddenly a female form glided along the vault: it was Angela! She smiled upon me, and beckoned me to advance. I flew towards her; my arms were already unclosed to clasp her, when suddenly her figure changed, her face grew pale, a stream of