CXXVII.-CASSIUS AGAINST CESAR.

HONOR is the subject of my story

I can not tell what you, and other men.
Think of this life; but for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Cæsar; so were you;
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.

For, once upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber, chafing with her shores,
Cæsar said to me-"Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me, into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?"-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it;
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,
And stemming it, with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried "Help me, Cassius, or I sink."

I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder, The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Cæsar; and this man

Is now become a god; and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their color fly;

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose his luster; I did hear him groan,
Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas, it cried—“Give me some drink, Titinius,”

As a sick girl. Ye gods! it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start of the majestic world,

And bear the palm alone.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we, petty men,

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about,
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.

Men, at some time, are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Cæsar! What should be in that Cæsar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together: yours is as fair a name;
Sound them: it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them: it is as heavy; conjure with 'em:
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.

Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man?
-Shakespeare.

CXXVIII.-CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD.

HERE'S the spot. Look around you. Above on the height
Lay the Hessians encamped. By that church on the right
Stood the gaunt Jersey farmers. And here ran a wall-
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball.
Nothing more. Grasses spring, waters run, flowers blow
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago.

Nothing more did I say? Stay one moment; you've heard Of Caldwell, the parson, who once preached the word

Down at Springfield? What, no! Come-that's bad; why, he had

All the Jerseys aflame! And they gave him the name
Of the "rebel high priest." He stuck in their gorge,
For he loved the Lord God-and he hated King George!

He had cause, you might say! When the Hessians that day Marched up with Knyphausen they stopped on their way

At the Farms," where his wife, with a child in her arms
Sat alone in the house. How it happened none knew
But God-and that one of the hireling crew

Who fired the shot! Enough!-there she lay,
And Caldwell, the chaplain, her husband, away!

Did he preach-did he pray? Think of him as you stand
By the old church to-day;—think of him and that band
Of militant plowboys? See the smoke and the heat
Of that reckless advance-of that straggling retreat!
Keep the ghost of that wife. foully slain, in your view-
And what could you—what should you, what would you do?
Why, just what he did! They were left in the lurch
For want of more wadding. He ran to the church,
Broke the door, stripped the pews, and dashed out to the road
With his arms full of hymn-books, and threw down his load
At their feet! Then above all the shouting and shots
Rang his voice "Put Watts into 'em,-boys, give 'em Watts!"

CXXIX.-ROLL CALL.

"CORPORAL GREEN!" the Orderly cried;

"Here!" was the answer, loud and clear, From the lips of a soldier standing near, And " Here!" was the word the next replied.

"Cyrus Drew!"—and a silence fell;

This time no answer followed the call;
Only his rear-man saw him fall,

Killed or wounded, he could not tell.
K.N. E.-28.

There they stood in the failing light,
These men of battle, with grave, dark looks,
As plain to be read as open books,

While slowly gathered the shades of night.

The fern on the slope was splashed with blood, And down in the corn where the poppies grew Were redder stains than the poppies knew; And crimson dyed was the river's flood.

For the foe had crossed from the other side
That day in the face of a murderous fire
That swept them down in its terrible ire;
And their life-blood went to color the tide.

"Herbert Kline!" At the call there came
Two stalwart soldiers into the line,
Bearing between them Herbert Kline,
Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.

"Ezra Kerr!" and a voice said "Here!"

"Hiram Kerr!" but no man replied.

They were brothers, these two, the sad winds sighed, And a shudder crept through the corn-field near.

"Ephraim Deane!" Then a soldier spoke:

"Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said; "When our Ensign was shot. I left him dead, Just after the enemy wavered and broke.

"Close to the road-side his body lies;

I paused a moment and gave him to drink; He murmured his mother's name, I think; And death came with it and closed his eyes.”

'Twas a victory; yes, but it cost us dear,

For that company's roll when called at night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered, "Here!" -N. G. Shepherd.

CXXX.-BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

THE warrior bowed his crested head and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire; "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!—Oh, break my father's chain!"

"Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day!

Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his

way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed,
And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band,

With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land; "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see.”

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went;

He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent;

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took-
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold—a frozen thing—it dropped from his like lead!

He looked up to the face above-the face was of the dead!
A plume waved o'er the noble brow-the brow was fixed and

white;

He met at last his father's eyes-but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed; but who could paint

that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze