sublime virtues, he chose to separate himself from his kind, to forego their love, esteem, and gratitude, that he might become their gaze, their fear, their wonder; and for this selfish,

struck with the natural manner with which he arrogates supremacy in his conversation and proclamations. We never feel as if he were putting on a lordly air. In his proudest claims he speaks from his own mind and in native 25 language. His style is swollen, but never strained, as if he were conscious of playing a part above his real claims. Even

10

when he was foolish and impious enough to arrogate miraculous powers and a mission from God, his language showed that he thought there was something in his character and exploits to give a color to his blasphemous pretensions. The 5 empire of the world seemed to him to be in a measure his due, for nothing short of it corresponded with his conceptions of himself; and he did not use mere verbiage, but spoke a language to which he gave some credit, when he called his successive conquests "the fulfillment of his destiny."..

One of the striking properties of Bonaparte's character was decision, and this, as we have already seen, was perverted, by the spirit of self-exaggeration, into an inflexible stubbornness which counsel could not enlighten nor circumstances bend. Having taken the first step, he pressed 15 onward. His purpose he wished others to regard as a law of nature or a decree of destiny. It must be accomplished. Resistance but strengthened it; and so often had resistance been overborne that he felt as if his unconquerable will, joined to his matchless intellect, could vanquish all 20 things. On such a mind the warnings of human wisdom and of Providence were spent in vain; and the Man of Destiny lived to teach others, if not himself, the weakness and folly of that all-defying decision which arrays the purposes of a mortal with the immutableness of the 25 counsels of the Most High.

wanted lacked.

THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA

JOHN G. WHITTIER

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (1807-1892), the Quaker poet of New England, was well known for his liberal spirit and for the high moral character of his poems.

NOTE. The war with Mexico was brought on by a dispute concerning the western boundary of Texas. In February, 1847, the battle of Buena 5 Vista was won by the United States troops.

First Sister. Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,

O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come they near?

Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm 10 we hear?

Second Sister (Ximena). Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls;

Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!

First. Who is losing? who is winning?

Second.

Over hill and over plain,

I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the moun

First. Look forth once more, Ximena!

Second.

Ah! the smoke has rolled away;

And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks

of gray.

Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Miñon wheels;

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.

5 Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on:

First. Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and who has won?

Second. Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe together

fall,

O'er the dying rush the living: pray, my sisters, for them all!

Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting. Blessed Mother, save my brain!

10 I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain.

Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise;

Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes!

O my heart's love! O my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee;

Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me? canst thou see?

O my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bernal, look

once more

On the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is

o'er !

Third Sister. Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy 5 dear one down to rest;

Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his

breast;

Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses

said;

To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid.

Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay,

Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his 10 life away;

But, as tenderly before him, the lorn Ximena knelt,

She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt.

With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head;

With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her

dead;