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DRAMATIC AND RHETORICAL.

CXXV. THE BAYONET CHARGE.

NOT a sound, not a breath!

And as still as death,

As we stand on the steep in our bayonets' shine;
All is tumult below,

Surging friend, surging foe,

But not a hair's breadth moves our adamant line,
Waiting so grimly.

The battle smoke lifts

From the valley, and drifts

Round the hill where we stand, like a pall for the world; And a gleam now and then

Shows the billows of men,

In whose black, boiling surge we are soon to be hurled, Redly and dimly.

There's the word! 66

'Ready all!"

See the serried points fall,

The grim horizontal so bright and so bare;

Then the other word-Ha!

We are moving.

Huzza!

We snuff the burnt powder, we plunge in the glare,

Rushing to glory!

Down the hill, up the glen,

O'er the bodies of men;

Then on with a cheer to the roaring redoubt!

(324)

Why stumble so, Ned?

No answer; he's dead!

And there's Dutch Peter down, with his life leaping out, Crimson and gory.

On! on! Do not think

Of the falling; but drink

Of the mad, living cataract torrent of war!

On! on! let them feel

The cold vengeance of steel!

Catch the captain-he's hit! 'Tis a scratch, nothing more! Forward forever!

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From the jaws of the cannon the guerdon of Fame!
Charge! charge! with a yell

Like the shriek of a shell!

O'er the abatis, on through the curtain of flame!
Back again! Never!

The rampart! 'Tis crossed,

It is ours! It is lost!

No; another dash now and the glacis is won!
Huzza! What a dust!

Hew them down. Cut and thrust!

A tiger, brave lads! for the red work is done:
Victory! Victory!

-Nathan D. Urner.

CXXVI. TOM.

YES, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew. Just listen to

this:

When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through,

And I with it, helpless, there, full in my view,—

What do you think my eyes saw through the fire,
That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher,
But Robin, my baby boy, laughing to see

The shining? He must have come there after me,

Toddled alone from the cottage, without

Any one's missing him. Then with a shout-
Oh, how I shouted-" For Heaven's sake, men,
Save little Robin!" Again and again

They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall.
I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call:
"Never mind, baby, sit still like a man,

We're coming to get you as fast as we can.'
They could not see him, but I could; he sat
Still on a beam, his little straw hat
Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes
Staring at the flames with a baby's surprise,
Calm and unconscious as nearer it crept.
The roar of the fire above must have kept
The sound of his mother's voice, shrieking his name,
From reaching the child. But I heard it.
It came
Again and again-O God!-what a cry!
The axes went faster and faster; I saw the sparks fly
Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat
That scorched them-when, suddenly, there at their feet
The great beams leaned in-they saw him-then crash,
Down came the wall. The men made a dash-
Jumped to get out of the way-and I thought,
"All's up with poor little Robin," and brought
Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide

The sight of the child there, when swift at my side
Some one went by, and went right through the flame,
Straight as a dart-caught the child-and then came
Back with him, choking and crying, but saved!
Saved safe and sound! Oh! how the men raved,
Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all
Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall,
Where I was lying away from the fire,
Should fall in and bury me. Oh! you'd admire
To see Robin now, he's as bright as a dime,
Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time;
Tom it was saved him. Now isn't it true
Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew?
There's Robin now-see, he's strong as a log-
And there comes Tom, too-yes, Tom is our dog.

CXXVII. CASSIUS AGAINST CÆSAR.

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

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