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3. CARDINAL WOLSEY CAST OFF BY HENRY VIII., 1529.-Shakspeare.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness !
and glory of this world, I hate ye !
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
4. MARCELLUS TO THE ROMAN POPULACE.—Shakspeare.
Wherefore rejoice that Cæsar comes in triumph ? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! 0, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome !
Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft
5. THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.--Dimond. In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life’s merry morn ; While memory stood sidewise, half covered with flowers,
Restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
The swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.
A father bends o'er him with looks of delight,
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite
With the kiss of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
Joy quickens his pulse—all hardships seem o'er ; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,
“O God! thou hast blessed me, I ask for no more.” Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?
Ah ! what is that sound that now 'larms his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky !
'Tis the crashing of thunder, the groan of the sphere ! He springs from his hammock,-he flies to the deck ;
Amazement confronts him with images dire ; Wild winds and waves drive the vessel a-wreck,
The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on fire !
Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell ;
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ;Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
And the death-angel flaps his dark wings o'er the wave.
0, sailor-boy! woe to thy dream of delight !
In darkness dissolves the gay frostwork of bliss ;Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright,
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ? O, sailor-boy! sailor-boy ! never again
Shall love, home, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance of thee,
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge ; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge. On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid,
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below. Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters shall over thee roll; Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye
O, sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! peace to thy soul !
-1. OPPOSITION TO MISGOVERNMENT, 1814.- Daniel Webster.
All the evils which afflict the country are imputed to opposition. It is said to be owing to opposition that the war became necessary; and, owing to opposition also, that it has been prosecuted with no better success. This, sir, is no new strain. It has been sung a thousand times. It is the constant tune of every weak and wicked administration. What minister ever yet acknowledged that the evils which fell on his country were the necessary consequences of his own incapacity, his own folly, or his own corruption ? What possessor of political power ever yet failed to charge the mischiefs resulting from his own measures upon those who had uniformly