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Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one ? —O’ertaken there
By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along ;
And while gust followed gust more furiously,
As if 'twould sweep me o'er the horrid brink,
And 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 !

DOUGLAS'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF.

Douglas, BY HOME. 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 longed 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, Rushed, 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, Hovered about the enemy, and marked 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 conquered! Ere a sword was drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierced their chief,
Who wore, that day, the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdained
The shepherd's slothful life ; and, having heard
That our good king had summoned 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 passed these towers ;
And, heaven-directed, came this day, to do
The happy deed, that gilds my humble name.

ROLLA TO THE PERUVIANS.

Pizarro, BY SHERIDAN. 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 ! -Where'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-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' legacythe 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.

RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE MEN OF ROME.

Rienzi, BY MISS MITFORD.
FRIENDS,
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom :- - we are slaves !
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave :-not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame;
But base, ignoble slaves-slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages-
Strong in some hundred spearmen-only great

In that strange spell, a name. Each hour, dark fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cries out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbour—there he stands -
Was struck-struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini ; because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men,
And suffer such dishonour ? men, and wash not
The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common.

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you, -
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son ! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty, harmless hoy was slain! I saw
The corse, -the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans : rouse, ye slaves !
Have

ye brave sons ? Look, in the next fierce brawl,
To see them die. Have ye daughters fair ? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonoured ; and, if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash. Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne
Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans !
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a king! And once, again,-
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus !-once again, I swear,
The eternal city shall be free! her sons
Shall walk with princes !

a

CATILINE TO THE ROMAN SENATE.

Catiline, BY DR. CROLY. “BANISHED from Rome!”— what's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe ? “ Tried and convicted traitor !” – Who

says

this? Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my

head ? “ Banished ?”—I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this hour, But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords; I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, To leave you in your lazy dignities. But here I stand and scoff you :-here I fling Hatred and full defiance in

face. Your Consul's merciful. For this all thanks. He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. “ Traitor !” I go-but I return. This— trial ! Here I devote your senate ! I've had wrongs, To stir a fever in the blood of age, Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrows !—This hour's work Will breed proscriptions.-Look to your hearths, my lords, For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, Shapes hot from Tartarus !-all shames and crimes ;Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe ; Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.

your

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